Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (40 page)

Biting off his words sharply, Cobiah repeated himself: “Get out of my city.”

“And I believe that signals the end of today’s negotiations,” Nodobe murmured regretfully, rising from the table with a graceful motion. “Captain Isaye, please allow me to escort you to the Lionguard, who will ensure your safe return to the
Nomad
.” His dark eyes were unusually kind as he offered her a hand. Isaye shot a final look of reproof toward Cobiah but said nothing and took Nodobe’s arm rather than continue the argument. Tenzin managed a stiff but polite bow, thanking the council for its hospitality without meeting Cobiah’s eyes. When he was finished, Nodobe ushered the two Krytans to the stairwell and below.

Once they had left the deck, Cobiah slumped in his chair. Hedda stood up, walked over to him, and punched him in the shoulder. “That’s for being rude,” she growled. Cobiah winced, but he couldn’t blame her. “By Raven’s wing, this is convoluted,” the norn woman muttered, pacing back and forth. “If we stay here, we risk being slaughtered by the human king. If we go, we leave behind everything we’ve fought and struggled for, all the wealth and security we forged.” Her blue eyes were wide with anger and disbelief. “How can he make me choose between my children and my city?”

“Nobody’s choosing. Nobody’s leaving.” Cobiah struggled to believe the words even as he said them. “We’ve driven off nine fleets of Orrian ships—”

“But never an army! And never in a land-based attack!” Hedda exploded. “Even if we arm every man, woman,
and child in the city, we don’t have half as many soldiers as the Seraph.”

Sykox stepped in quickly, laying his hand on Hedda’s shoulder with a gentle restraint. “It’s all right, Hedda. We’ll call a meeting of the full council. Those who wish to leave the city can do so by the asura gate.”

“No.” Cobiah felt his stomach churn. “That’ll be the first thing they manage. Dark tides! If Isaye came here by ship, that means it’s probably already done.”

“What?” The others turned to stare at him.

“Lion’s Arch was built on gold stolen from the Arcane Council of Rata Sum when they built a gate in King Baede’s city Divinity’s Reach. The asuran colleges have always held a grudge against Lion’s Arch for that. If Edair’s seriously planning to attack us, he’s already negotiated with the asuran council.”

“They’ll shut off the gates.” Sykox’s eyes widened. “We’ll be stranded.”

“Hedda, send young Benedict to the asura gate platform. Tell him to check with Gatekeeper Yokk and Apprentice Roinna and see if the gates still work.” A deep anger plagued him. It felt as if the sand of security was being washed out from between his fingers. Frustrated, he said, “Heck, check and see if the two of them are still in the city. I bet they’re not.” Hedda nodded, and the gesture made her heavy braids thump against her wide shoulders. She spun and strode toward the stairwell, her massive bulk making the deck shudder with each heavy step, hands unconsciously balled into fists.

“Devious wretch, that Edair,” Sykox snarled. “He’s been planning this for a long time, hasn’t he? He was just waiting for ol’ Baede to die to kick it all off. Stupid human.” He looked up quickly, adding, “No offense intended, of course.”

Cobiah pulled off his hat and tossed it disdainfully on the table. He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it up with frustration. “None taken. I don’t want to be related to the man, either, even if just by the mutual ancestors of our race.” He sighed, struggling with the idea of a Krytan armada poised at the edge of their harbor. “From what Isaye says, Edair’s so eager that he’s willing to put off his own coronation just to hurry the seizure of Lion’s Arch. I’m surprised he didn’t lurch through the asura gate screaming, ‘Hello, city! I’m your new king!’ ”

Once more, Nodobe climbed the stairwell to the deck, this time with a weary step. “I instructed two of our port guards to escort the
Nomad
on the next tide,” he said. He gave Cobiah a slow smile and sat down in one of the wicker chairs. Taking up a piece of fruit, Nodobe pressed his fingers into it, allowing the juice to run over his fingertips as he picked away the peel. “Also, there was a scout downstairs from the lighthouse at Lion’s Gate. He’s already noted sails on the horizon. It appears that Prince Edair’s armada is assembling. Apparently, he wasn’t willing to wait and see if Isaye’s mission would prove fruitful.” Nodobe’s usually broad smile was wan. “It seems we’re already trapped.”

“It’ll be a fight, then.” Cobiah crossed his arms grimly. “But that’s all right. So long as Lion’s Arch has a fleet, we have a chance.”

P
eople were shouting, soldiers bellowed commands, and the bells at the docks were ringing and clattering in cacophonous noise. Cobiah’s eyes flew open. He was in the large, half-empty bed at his manor house, and darkness still surrounded him. The night was still late, then. Not yet morning. For a moment, Cobiah’s mind was still tangled in a dream: he was on the
Indomitable
, surrounded by the still-moving corpses of drowned friends. In a panic, he rolled over and reached to grasp the sword that lay on the ground tangled in his pants belt, but his hand fell instead upon a limp rag doll. Polla. She’d been tucked beneath his pillow, but apparently, he’d tossed and turned so much that he’d knocked her onto the floor. In a moment of curious pause, Cobiah lifted it, tucking the faded yellow curls behind her shoulders.

Then the world shifted into focus around him.

The city’s alarm bells were ringing, and a heavy smell of smoke filled the air. Quickly, Cobiah set the doll down and snatched up his coat and sword. He rolled out of bed and landed with his feet in his boots. The shouts were coming from the docks, and by the sound of it, trouble was already so far along that half the city was running
about in the night. Cobiah rushed to the balcony door, throwing open the curtains and stepping out onto the half-circle veranda that looked out over the inner harbor and the Gangplank Bridge. Black smoke hung thickly in the air, covering everything with a layer of fog. Lionguard—both in and out of armor—raced through the streets, carrying buckets of water. Cobiah lifted his head and followed them with his eyes as they headed west, toward . . .

The docks were on fire.

Massive flames leapt from ship to ship at Macha’s Landing, encompassing the levees all the way down to White Crane Terrace. Across the bay, the city’s main portage area was flaring up in brilliant shades of orange and red. A sudden explosion rocked the Gangplank Bridge as a charr frigate on the docks went up like a firecracker, armaments exploding with a blinding flash of white light. Sailors scurried like ants, desperate to stop the flames before they could spread farther, but more than three-fourths of the ships at dock were already suffering damage from the blaze. Without thinking, Cobiah leapt over the balcony rail, climbed down the tiered roof, and dropped to the street below.

“Commodore!” The shout came from a slender figure in the Grand Piazza. Through the haze, Cobiah recognized Benedict, the messenger lad. He was carrying an armload of empty buckets back along the fire-brigade line.

“What’s happened?” Cobiah grabbed half of the youth’s load and ran with him toward the water, where other citizens were filling them with sea and sand to douse oily areas of the blaze.

“Gamina said it was Krytans. She was on watch at the docks and saw four men dressed in black setting fire to
fuses. They hurled the bombs into the portholes of our munitions ships—the ones we were readying for an attack on the blockade. I heard her yelling right before they exploded.” Benedict dropped the buckets on the sandbar and tried to wipe smoke from his eyes. “She called the Lionguard, but the men ran across the Gangplank, and we lost sight of them.”

The
Nomad II
had sailed back out into the Sea of Sorrows four days ago, and Prince Edair’s ships had blocked all passage into or out of the city’s harbor. Clearly, the impatient prince wasn’t going to just sit by and wait while the city readied a defense. “Did Gamina see their faces?”

“Yeah.” Benedict brightened. “She said she saw them real well by the light of the first fires. She went across the Gangplank to the portage, in case they had a rowboat there.”

“Clever girl. She’ll need our help. Come with me; we’ll go see if we can lend her a hand.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Benedict saluted.

Yomm stood on the long slope that led up to the Gangplank, standing in the shelter of one of the massive sea-horse arches. The asura rocked back and forth on his feet, rubbing his ears in distress as he stared down at the fire. “Oh, Cobiah. What are we going to do?” he whimpered.

“We’ll keep fighting,” Cobiah said.

“I wrote to Rata Sum. I wrote the Arcane Council. I wrote every genius-level asura I knew, even the bad ones. Surely
someone
will help us.” Covered in soot, his ornate robes blackened by smoke and wet with seawater, Yomm looked like a drenched cat. “There’s got to be a way.” Over the years, Yomm had become an excellent quartermaster for the city. When he’d been told that the harbor was going to be blockaded, the shopkeep-captain immediately created a detailed system for organizing
what food was left in Lion’s Arch, apportioning it, and ensuring it would last as long as possible. Cobiah paused to pat Yomm gently on the shoulder, wondering how asuran parents consoled their children. Probably by giving them crystal wands and mechanical widgets to chew on. “There, there, Yomm,” Cobiah said awkwardly. “It’ll be all right.”

“Will it?”

“Can you fix the gate? Turn it back on?” Cobiah sat up hopefully.

“No. I graduated from the College of Statics,” Yomm said, pressing a three-fingered hand to either side of his forehead. “If the gate had, say, fallen over, I could get it back up, build a house around it, and shore up the architectural supports so that even an ettin couldn’t knock it over again! But I can’t fix the etheric ambulation. You need a graduate of Dynamics, and Captain Tarb’s half-senile. If you let him fix it, it’ll start teleporting people’s parts to random locations! Imagine it! Your head’s in the citadel, your feet are in Rata Sum, and your butt’s all the way up north among the glaciers! Nobody wants that.”

Cobiah stared at him, alternating between bemused and annoyed. “Go back to your shop, Yomm, and take inventory. We’ve lost everything stored on the docks, and that means we’ll have to start rationing.”

Yomm clambered to his feet, still muttering. “Fine, I can do that.” The asura grumbled and turned, slogging down the slope toward his shop in the Trader’s Forum. “ ‘Fix it, Yomm, fix it.’ Hmph. What does he think I am?”

Benedict grinned. Cobiah rolled his eyes and hurried across the wide wooden bridge.

On the far side of the bridge was a massive plaza, larger than the main trade terraces in the city square. It
was far less ornamented as well, covered with scuff marks where the Lionguard prepared for duty. Racks of weapons stood beneath shady awnings topped with gold flags, their edges blunted for use in training exercises. Cobiah was passing the archery range when Gamina stepped out of the shadows, her snub nose and impish smile far more suited to meadows than murder.

“Benedict said you were tracking the saboteurs?” Cobiah asked, trying not to look too surprised by her sudden appearance. He was good at stealth—or had been in his youth. She was better.

“Keep your voice down, Commodore,” she warned him. “I doubt they’ve gone far.”

When Captain Tarb had retired, the pixielike blonde had left the old asura’s service and joined the Lionguard. Bronn, now the captain of the guard, praised her to the skies. He even kept trying to give her command of one of the major traveler’s Havens, but Gamina always refused. She rarely accepted honors and often chose to work in the background.

Cobiah had discovered the reason she preferred a low profile when Gamina approached him with an offer from the Order of Whispers, a legendary underground agency of spies, infiltrators, and scouts. If he gave her access to the Captain’s Council—not to vote, just to watch and stay informed—she and her fellows would keep him apprised of activity happening in the underbelly of the city. He’d agreed. Since then, Gamina had proven to be even more valuable, rooting out thieves, smuggling rings, and other dangers in the newly established city. Without the order’s aid, Lion’s Arch might have fallen to any number of petty tyrants willing to trade the city’s future for their own gain.

“They headed out toward the tugboat dock,” she said
quietly, pointing with the blade of her dagger. “I haven’t seen a boat leave. Unless they swam, they’ll be down there.”

“You can’t swim out that far. They’re still here, probably waiting until the area’s clear before they try to make for the ships offshore.” He glanced at Benedict. “Can you wield a sword, Ben?”

“Yes, sir.” Benedict grinned. Cobiah gestured to the training weapons, and Benedict picked one up and strapped it to his waist. “Might not be very sharp, sir, but it’ll do.”

Gamina murmured, “That charr ship dropped a bellyful of oil when she went up in flames. It’s spread across the harbor, and most of it’s alight. The Krytans can’t row out right now, or they’ll be seen; the city’s bombard guns would make short work of them.” She gestured lightly toward the gun emplacements on the cliffs. “Keep to the shadows and stay quiet.” Cobiah and Benedict followed her into the shadows of the tugboat docks as Gamina continued. “The order got word that the Krytans might try something like this, but we had no timetable. We thought Prince Edair would wait at least a week before he tried to torch the docks.” She glanced back at Cobiah. “You must have really gotten on his bad side.”