Isaye tried for another, hoping to spear him with her sword. Henst dodged to the side, spinning out of the way of her blade, and caught her shoulder with his hand. He jerked her off balance, his weapon hurtling through the air to cut her open in a single slash. Isaye saw the danger and pulled her weapon down to block it, ending up inches from Henst with the two swords crossed between their bodies. They paused there, steel on steel, locked in a battle of will and strength.

With a shout of anger, Isaye drove the heel of her foot into Henst's instep and shoved with all her might. It may have been that he was growing weary or that Macha's similar move in the alley outside the pavilion had already injured that particular foot, but Henst staggered, suddenly overbalanced. His arms pinned by the weapons, Henst toppled, his sword slipping away from Isaye's. With a sickening crunch, he landed amid the broken chairs and pottery, scrambling to find his footing in the mess. Isaye raised the sword in her hands, ready to finish Henst while he was off balance, but her surety flickered, and her blade wavered in the air above his chest. He was her first mate, after all.

Nodobe, on the other hand, was in no way conflicted. Chanting, the Elonian captain extended his hand, and a sickly green miasma rose from his fingers like steam on a summer day. The smoke whispered from Nodobe's fingers and clung to Henst's fallen form, slipping around the Ascalonian's arms and legs, creeping into his nose, ears, and mouth as he screamed. Henst thrashed as the spell lifted him from the stone floor of the pavilion, and gurgled as his throat closed. Isaye stepped back and lowered her sword, horrified, as Henst's skin paled and his flesh rotted from the inside out. Retching and clawing at the air, Henst writhed back and forth, trying to rid himself of the awful sickness, but his body only grew more withered and more desiccated with each pa.s.sing second.

Moments later, the corpse fell to the ground. It was shriveled and dried to the core.

Revolted, Cobiah turned away. As the others lowered their weapons and accepted the surrender of the rest of Gr.i.m.j.a.w's warband, he walked back to the table and placed his hand on the arched back of Macha's chair. She sat with her head bowed, staring down at her bound hands. "I'm sorry it came to this, Macha. I'll do everything I can to make sure you have a fair trial. No one is going to forget that you helped us today."

Quietly, the asura whispered, "I'm sorry, too, Cobiah. I just wanted you, and the Pride, and all the wonderful adventures we used to have. Every day, this d.a.m.n city eats more and more of your soul. I can't be like that, Cobiah. I need to go on wandering. Inventing. Solving problems. All I do is sit around on an empty s.h.i.+p and think about how things should have been. I can't do that anymore. Not even for you."

"You've always been welcome by my side, Macha. You could have come into the city and helped . . ." Cobiah suddenly noticed that the asura was sitting completely still. Her lips weren't even moving. "Macha?" He reached out to touch her. As his fingers pa.s.sed through the asura's shoulder, the entire illusion gave way in a delicate wash of smoke and twilight, revealing beneath it only Moran's sash tangled on the seat of the chair. "Macha!"

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, G.o.ddess 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 G.o.ddess over their joined hands. "I now p.r.o.nounce you, Cobiah and Isaye, married in the eyes of the Six G.o.ds and within the laws of Lion's Arch. Congratulations."

Isaye pulled Cobiah's face down to hers, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "h.e.l.lo, 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.

"h.e.l.lo, 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 s.h.i.+ps 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 a.s.sa.s.sin 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p into the house he was building for himself and Isaye. It was a tall manor built from the hull of a s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p! Permission to come aboard?"

Aysom leaned over the rail and waved enthusiastically. "Permission granted, Commodore! Come aboard; Cap'n Fa.s.sur's been waiting for you."

"When do you set out?"

"Soon," Fa.s.sur answered, s.h.i.+fting 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, Fa.s.sur. 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."

Fa.s.sur 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 s.h.i.+p, Legionnaire. Take care of my crew. I expect them all to return in one piece, with profit enough to share."

Fa.s.sur 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 Fa.s.sur 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 s.h.i.+p." 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. "Fa.s.sur's got a good crew, both human and charr. I even think he talked Grimm Svaard into going with them. The s.h.i.+p'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."

ACT FOUR.

1256 AE.

(AFTER THE EXODUS OF THE G.o.dS).

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 offsh.o.r.e, 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 s.h.i.+ps, and the Trader's Forum bustled with shopkeeps, mercenaries seeking work, and traders bringing their wares from Kryta, the s.h.i.+verpeaks, 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 s.h.i.+ps 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 s.h.i.+p-buildings stood thatched human houses, rigid-looking charr metalworks, and asuran laboratories s.h.i.+ning with magical power, all surrounded by the lush tropical forests of the Tarnished Coast. Norn tents dotted the landscape on the sh.o.r.e, 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 s.h.i.+p-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 compa.s.s wheel, over a scimitar and an anchor crossed together. "Commander Sykox is looking for you, sir. The scout s.h.i.+p Gabrian's Comet has returned. The commander said you'd want to know right away." The boy saluted stiffly, his eyes s.h.i.+ning 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 ma.s.sive stone bridge. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked with a rolling step, considering the implications of Sykox's message. s.h.i.+ps 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.

Still, when Sykox talked about tides, it usually meant he needed to talk to Cobiah about something serious. Something he'd prefer to discuss at a more private location than the council chambers. The Gangplank Bridge was very near the manor house Cobiah had built on the northern edge of the inner harbor. It was quiet, used mostly during business hours, and empty most of the twilight and night. It was a meeting place they frequently used, and Cobiah enjoyed the walk there.

Cobiah made his way through the city as the evening cooled around him, looking about with a casual air. He paused to nod to Yomm, seated in a rocking chair on the porch of his shop. This time of day, most shops were closing, and everyone was going home for dinner. Sailors were taking their leave at inns and pubs across the city. He climbed the steep slope from the Grand Piazza toward the Gangplank Bridge, gazing up at three towering arches as he pa.s.sed through them. Each of the arches was ornamented in blue and gold, with ma.s.sive sea horses curling to either side. They'd been completed only a few seasons ago as monuments to the city's twentieth year.

The bridge was wide enough for large carts, with thick wooden flooring decorated with swirls of blue and high poles along either side from which brilliant blue flags waved. The wind here was fresh and chilled by the ocean, and the view was magnificent. Off the left side of the bridge was the inner harbor of the city: Deverol Island and the Eastern and Postern Wards. To his right, Cobiah looked out across Sanctum Harbor, toward the lighthouse known as Lion's Gate. That view included one of his favorite parts of the city: a tall marker stone placed on the beach just past the docks. It had been carved in the shape of a lighthouse, and on the northwest side, the pillar had been inscribed with Osh Moran's name in s.h.i.+ning gold. In the years to follow, more names had been added to the column, commemorating the brave men and women who had given their lives for Lion's Arch.

A familiar, rust-colored form limped heavily along the length of the Gangplank Bridge. Trotting toward it, Cobiah grinned when he saw his best friend but slowed when the smile was not returned. "What's wrong?" Cobiah put his hand on the engineer's shoulder, grasping Sykox's wrist with the other hand in the manner of the charr legions. "Is your leg bothering you?"

"No, no. Leg's fine. Hardly notice it at all these days." Sykox huffed, shaking his foot obstinately. It'd been injured years ago during one of the Dead s.h.i.+p attacks, but Sykox refused to acknowledge that the stiffness slowed him down. The burly charr had lost none of his impressive weight-though it had reshuffled itself from his arms and chest to his belly. His fur, too, was now a comfortable blend of rust and steel, the gray swirling in among the brightness like smoke in a forest fire. "Gabrian's Comet made harbor today, that's what's bothering me," he said. "Cobiah . . . trouble's coming."

"Dead s.h.i.+ps? We've handled those before. Nine a.s.saults on our city's harbor, and all nine rebuffed by our defenses. Don't worry, Sykox, we'll manage." The charr lowered his head, and Cobiah stared at his friend quizzically. "What is it, fuzz ball? Something worse?"

The old charr nodded. "The Comet was carrying a dispatch from Kryta." Rather than soften the blow, Sykox spoke plainly. "King Baede is dead."

Cobiah leaned against one of the bridge poles, folding his arms in contemplation. Baede, King of Kryta, once the king of Lion's Arch . . . before the Orrian wave destroyed the city. The aged dignitary was renowned throughout the continent. Cobiah'd even dealt with him once or twice, though only through intermediaries and amba.s.sadors. There was a tense peace between Kryta and Lion's Arch, broken on occasion by skirmishes or trade embargos, but generally respected. "We knew that was going to happen eventually. Baede'd been sick for years. h.e.l.l, the ministry's been ruling things while he degraded. Still . . . this could change the tenor of our treaty negotiations. He had four kids-who'd the old man of the mountain name as heir to the throne?"

Sykox's lip curled in disgust. "That's the problem. He named Edair."

Cobiah choked, the breath spilling out of him in surprise. After a few moments of raucous coughing, he spluttered, "Three fine sons and daughters to choose from, and Baede chooses Edair? That . . . that . . ." Words failed him.

"Young, spoiled, pompous fool." Sykox filled in where Cobiah couldn't find words. "Yeah. Edair's barely better than a mercenary. The Black Citadel was forging a peace with Ebonhawke until Edair was a.s.signed the captaincy there. Now the southern fields run with blood-both charr and human-just so a human boy can play with real soldiers instead of wooden ones." The engineer's disdain was palpable. "I suppose those 'victories on the field of battle' earned his father's approval . . . or made Baede believe that Edair would be able to defend Kryta. None of the others ever joined the service as far as I know."

"They're scholars. The oldest boy's an elementalist . . . What's the princess? The girl with the really curly hair?"

Sykox concentrated. "Emilane. She's a ranger. Trained by the Tyrian Explorer's Society. Spends most of her time in the northern forests, I think."

"Oh, yeah, now I remember her. She's the one with the big hound."

"Right, right." Sykox chuckled. "Gigantic dog. Really ma.s.sive. Still, she'd have made a fine heir to the Krytan throne."

Cobiah shook his head ruefully. "Baede was so ill at the end, he probably wasn't even reading the reports from the front. It's likely that all his advisers told him was that Edair was winning glorious victories in Ebonhawke. They probably didn't mention the cost in lives."

Sykox nodded. "Well, now Edair's planning to rule Kryta. News is that he's looking to increase the kingdom's holdings even before he's formally crowned. He's made no real headway in Ascalon, though. The charr are simply too much for his soldiers there." The engineer smiled proudly. "They're mostly Iron Legion, you know. Ascalon's ruled by our imperator, Singe Seigemourn. Heh heh heh. Forgive me while I indulge in a little bit of personal pride."

Rolling his eyes, Cobiah continued. "So the boy king will look to Lion's Arch, hoping to prove his worth by seizing a jewel for his s.h.i.+ny new crown."

"He'll have to justify an attack to his asuran and norn allies. He'll say that Lion's Arch was once part of Kryta. If he wins, the norn will respect that argument-and the asura won't care either way, as long as the trade routes stay open." As he talked, Sykox idly scratched his name into the wood with one sharp claw.

Cobiah swore out loud. "Balthazar's b.a.l.l.s! We haven't come this far-worked this hard-for Kryta to swoop in and claim everything we've built." He looked out over the water, watching as the horizon s.h.i.+fted through sunset tones. "Where were the Krytan galleons when the Dead s.h.i.+ps came? Where were the Seraph when we needed soldiers to defend our docks? When the snows locked the mountain pa.s.ses and grain rotted in our warehouses because we didn't have the manpower to shovel the roads? Kryta abandoned Lion's Arch after the flood, and we learned to survive and prosper without them." He clenched his hand on the stone. "How do we convince this boy king to stay out of our waters?"

"Prince Edair is a warmonger, Coby," the engineer sighed. "He's angry. Maybe he was born angry; maybe something happened to him when he was young. I've seen his type. If he'd been born charr, he'd have been taught how to control that anger. How to use it on the field and how to leave it there. The tribunes would have sent him to the front lines, where he'd have either learned to control his anger or been killed by the enemy."

"Maybe that's what Baede was doing when he sent Edair to Ebonhawke," Cobiah said.

"No. Your folk didn't put Edair on the front lines; they let him stand in the back and order other soldiers to die. That didn't temper his anger. It just made him disregard the cost." The gruff charr ran a hand through his mane, ruffling the silvery fur sprinkled among the rust. "A man like that will go to war, and he'll stay at war, and he won't turn back until his people's blood pools around his knees." Sykox shook his head, his mane rippling as his long ram-like horns caught the air.

"That's profound, old friend." Cobiah eyed him with respect. "Did you replace the worn-out cogs in your brain while I wasn't looking?"

"I'm not kidding, Cobiah. Once Edair gets started, he won't stop for anything. He won't care that we worked hard for this city, and he won't care that people are dying on both sides. He won't stop until he's either captured Lion's Arch or burned it to the ground."

Cobiah drew in a long breath of cool air. He struggled to imagine his city as it would be if it were ruled by Kryta under King Edair. All the charr would be imprisoned or displaced, the norn paid half as much for their work, the asura gates used to s.h.i.+p supplies and troops for the war against Ascalon. The human citizens of Lion's Arch would be drafted to serve in the border forts in the western badlands. Krytan flags on every mast, and Edair-that hotheaded nincomp.o.o.p-preening on a throne in the center of it all. "I am not okay with our projected course, Sykox. We have to s.h.i.+ft the rudder."

"Wait 'til you hear the next bit." Sykox leaned his head against the bridge pole and looked up at the newly emerging stars. "The Comet reported seeing a Krytan s.h.i.+p sailing for our port, flying the flag of the king's emissary."

"Oh, by Dwayna's pointy golden hat-"

"It's the Nomad II."

Cobiah's complaint froze in his throat. He stared down at Sykox, wide-eyed, a chill running through his veins. "The Nomad?"

"She'll be in the docks by morning." Cautiously, the charr asked, "Think you'll be up to greeting the s.h.i.+p? It's been years since . . ." His voice trailed away awkwardly.

"Since Isaye left?" With a snort, Cobiah finished the sentence. "You can say the words, Sykox; it's not a secret. h.e.l.l, everyone in the city knows. She all but fired her cannons at me on the way out."

"Well, yeah, but I'd hoped . . . you know, she might have mellowed." Cobiah glared at him. Sykox c.o.c.ked his head and snorted. "Guess not. d.a.m.n. That woman holds a grudge like a norn." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Though you did call her a 'mutinous, grog-snarfing murellow' during a full meeting of the Captain's Council."

"I was angry."

"I think the words 'dump you in a bucket of honey and roll you in moa feathers' may have been uttered. And then you threw a paperweight at her." Sykox twiddled his clawed thumbs.

Cobiah closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "I was an idiot, wasn't I?" Opening his eyes, he turned away from Sanctum Harbor and headed back toward the city. "Look, it was years ago. We had a fight. She got mad, she left, and it's done."

"Yeah, and now she's coming back, thus leading to my question." Sykox followed him down the slope toward the ma.s.sive archways. "Are you going to talk to her, Coby?"

Sighing, Cobiah avoided the question. "Maybe I'll send Nodobe."