Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (38 page)

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 passed through them. Each of the arches was ornamented in blue and gold, with massive 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 shining 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 Ship 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 Ships? We’ve handled those before. Nine assaults 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 ambassadors. 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. Hell, 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 assigned 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 massive. 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 shiny 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 balls! 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 shifted through sunset tones. “Where were the Krytan galleons when the Dead Ships came? Where were the Seraph when we needed soldiers to defend our docks? When the snows locked the mountain passes 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 ship 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 nincompoop—preening on a throne in the center of it all. “I am
not
okay with our projected course, Sykox. We have to shift 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 ship 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 ship? 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. Hell, 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 cocked his head and snorted. “Guess not. Damn. 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 massive archways. “Are you going to talk to her, Coby?”

Sighing, Cobiah avoided the question. “Maybe I’ll send Nodobe.”

“That old snake? Are you mad!” Sykox bellowed a laugh. “You want him negotiating with Prince Edair’s emissary? He’s more likely to slaughter them all and question their corpses.” The charr waved his hands about mockingly. “That’s no way to go about diplomacy!”

“He’s not that bad.”

“You’ve got to take this situation seriously, Coby. Isaye’s been working for King Baede, carrying his messages and shipping his most precious cargo. He trusted her enough to invite her to his court on multiple occasions.” Ignoring Cobiah’s scowl, the charr rumbled hopefully, “She might be able to help us handle Edair.”

“Just because Baede liked her doesn’t mean she can stop Edair.”

“Stop him? No,” the charr agreed, “but Isaye may know the prince well enough to arrange a fair deal. Can it hurt?” He rubbed his muzzle with the back of one hand and then said hesitantly, “I guess we could turn her away and send our own emissary to Divinity’s Reach.”

“We do that, and he’ll use the insult as reason to turn more people against Lion’s Arch,” Cobiah grumbled.

“Right. Now, do you hate that plan more or less than talking to Isaye?” Sykox held his hands out like scales, pretending to weigh each side of the decision. “Eh? Eh?” Cobiah shot the charr an evil glance, and Sykox ducked
mockingly. “Don’t punch the messenger, mouse. I’m just trying to figure our chances.”

Stomping down the bridge’s stairs and onto the cobblestones of the city street, Cobiah muttered, “They’re low, fuzz ball.

“Very,
very
low.”

T
he
Nomad II
rested in her lines at the Lion’s Arch pier, sails half-furled and the Krytan flag waving proudly from her highest mast. The Captain’s Council had placed a guard on the dock, supposedly to make sure the Krytans didn’t enter the city and cause trouble—but Cobiah knew the guard was more to protect the
Nomad II
’s crew than to keep the city safe. The news that Prince Edair was gathering a navy in Port Noble had spread, and Lion’s Arch was buzzing like a hornet’s nest.

It had taken them two days to decide where to meet, but Cobiah stuck to his guns and insisted that the Krytans come to the main pavilion rather than having the meeting aboard their ship. Isaye’d replied—through messengers—with a caveat: she’d come ashore and speak with the commodore only in the company of two other captains, Nodobe and Hedda, rather than at a full gathering of the council. Remembering the paperweight incident, Cobiah had given in to her demand.