Scrambling along the base of the wall, Logan climbed to his feet and spun about, panting. "You're as slow as an ettin."
"You're as thick as one." Rytlock charged again.
Logan's hand painted an arc of blue energy in the air before him. He staggered back as Rytlock thudded into the magical shield.
Arcane energy sparked across the charr's front, but Sohothin cleaved through. It swept down at Logan.
Logan lunged to one side as the sword sliced past him. He whirled around and smashed his hammer into Rytlock's wrist.
"Ah!" the charr shouted.
The blow sent Sohothin flying through the air. It spun just over Caithe's head and embedded in one of the support beams for the upper boxes. Flames clambered up the wood.
As Logan's mystic shield dissipated, Rytlock charged through it, gripping his broken wrist. "You'll pay for that!"
Logan struggled to get his hammer between him and the charr, but Rytlock backhanded the weapon. It flew through the air, crashing through the back wall of the theater. Rytlock then grabbed Logan and hoisted him in the air, ramming his back against the bearbaiting post.
"You have some nerve!" Rytlock roared.
Logan grabbed the chains hanging from the post and hurled them at Rytlock's face. The charr winced back, and Logan wormed from his grip. Dropping to the ground, Logan scuttled free and ran for the burning pillar where Sohothin was embedded.
Rytlock followed, roaring.
The gathered crowd roared, too, delighted to see the man and the charr battle in the burning theater. It truly was burning: walls of flame sent smoke and sparks high into the air.
Logan reached the pillar and started to shimmy up.
"No, you don't," Rytlock growled. His good hand pried Logan off the beam, hurled him into nearby seats, and reached up to snag the sword.
"No, you don't," said another voice-a deep voice accompanied by a cutlass grip ramming into Rytlock's throat.
He looked to see his attacker-a norn with a tanned, dreadlocked, piratical face. "Who're you?"
"Magnus, one of the Captains of the Ship's Council of Lion's Arch, head of the Lionguard," the man said grandiloquently.
"That's a lot to remember," Rytlock replied.
"Then just remember my nickname-the Bloody Handed." Magnus nodded at the brute squad around him. "You, my destructive friend, are under arrest."
Rytlock's shoulders tensed, bracing for another fight.
"You have no weapon," Magnus pointed out with a steely voice, "your wrist looks broken, and you're more than surrounded."
Rytlock shot a look over his shoulder, where more of the brute squad were dragging Logan from the wreck of seats. Two other Lionguard flanked Caithe.
"It's off to jail for the three of you."
IN SEARCH OF WARRIORS
Eir stepped from the frigid solitude of Hoelbrak into the bustling heat of Lion's Arch. At her heels, Garm trotted through the asura gate, and Snaff and Zojja brought up the rear. The four who had nearly destroyed the Dragonspawn now stood as strangers in a new city.
"Ah, Lion's Arch," Snaff said, clapping his hands together. He drew a deep draft of the salt-sea air and pounded his chest. "The Pirate Paradise. The Shore of the World. The Well of Races. The Freest City in Tyria-"
"The Place Where We Are," Zojja said dispiritedly.
Snaff looked out at the folk that streamed down the avenue-every intelligent race in Kryta, all going peacefully about their business, coursing through a rankling maze of streets. Here sprawled a marketplace under blue canvas, there towered a keep fashioned of an upended ship. "Being in a city like this is like being alive."
"You are alive," Zojja pointed out.
"Then I feel doubly alive."
A group of human warriors marched past, their eyes raking suspiciously across the dire wolf.
Eir set her hand on Garm's muzzle and drew him to sit beside her. "Exhilarating, yes, but we have a mission. We're here to find warriors. And I know where we can start: Captain Magnus the Bloody Handed."
"Norn, I assume?" Snaff asked. "Can't imagine an asura named Bloody Handed."
"Unless he was bad with a hammer," Zojja remarked.
"Norn, yes, and a sea captain. If anyone here could help us fight the Dragonspawn, it'd be Magnus. If he will fight." Eir pointed to the harbor, where tall ships were moored. "Let's get to the docks."
Garm trotted down the lane toward the forest of masts, black against the flashing waves. Snaff and Zojja had to jog to keep pace.
"Tell us about this Magnus the Bloody Handed," Snaff said.
Eir shrugged. "He is a norn who once adventured and gained great fame for himself. Now he is leader of the Lionguard, the peacekeepers of this city."
"Impressive," Snaff said.
"He's also a privateer-"
"A pirate?"
Eir shot Snaff a dark look. "Forget that you know that word. A privateer is sanctioned by the state to attack enemy ships."
"A legal pirate."
"Magnus is called the Bloody Handed because of what he does to those who insult him," Eir said significantly. "But most often, those he fights are those who fight Lion's Arch. He's ruthless, but not for himself. For this city."
They strode out of a warren of maritime buildings onto the landings where ships unloaded. Lines of longshoremen carried crates to great skids, where they piled them high. All around the dock, taverns and flophouses crowded, eager to trade easy virtues for hard cash.
"That's real work," Snaff said, nodding at the gangs. "Backbreaking, soul-crushing, hand-blistering work. They need more golems."
"Your solution to everything," Zojja said.
Snaff shrugged. "Magic could set these good souls free."
"Free to starve," Eir replied. "I don't think these good souls would thank you to hand their jobs to constructs."
Passing among the laborers, the band approached a great black ship-Cormorant. It was moored at the dock and built on a norn scale. The beam was twice as wide as that of a human ship, the masts twice as tall, the decks twice as thick. It was a monster of the sea, with massive black ratlines and thousands of feet of sail.
Of course, the sailors on that ship were massive, too. Norn they were, but their skins were burned brown by a ceaseless sun and a flashing sea. Their clothes were not meant for holding in heat but for shedding it. Instead of bear fur and caribou pelt, these sailors wore tan homespun shirts and brown trousers tied off with old line. The higher-up seamen were garbed in leather vests over their homespun, and officers boasted greatcoats over linen.
Grandest of all, though, was Captain Magnus himself. Intense eyes stared out beneath the silken band that wrapped his head. The captain's neck was circled with a collar of walrus tusks, over which streamed his overlong brown hair and overlong mustache. His bare chest was crossed by a pair of leather bandoliers that sported wide-muzzled pistols. At his waist, the bandoliers became a belt, which held up a woolen kilt that draped to his knees. Leather boots were strapped from knee to toe.
The captain's eyes fixed on Eir.
As she approached the Cormorant, Captain Magnus strode to the rail and propped one foot on a cask and propped one elbow on a knee and stared with undisguised interest. "In all the days since I left my homeland, I have not stared upon so beautiful a woman as you, or one with skin so fair. Fair to the point of whiteness. Blinding. Where is your tan, woman?"
Eir planted her feet on the dock and looked fearlessly into his eyes. "I fight ice monsters in black caves, and this fool of a norn asks me where my tan is."
Magnus scowled, his blue irises ringed in white.
Garm's lip drew back in a snarl.
Snaff and Zojja clutched each other.
Then Magnus laughed-a deep, threatening laugh. "And where do you think I've been, winning this brown skin of mine?"
"Lazing," Eir replied without hesitation. "Perhaps in a hammock, after a night of rum."
The scowl returned. "You think I won this ship, gathered this crew, by-lazing?"