Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows

For my friend and sidekick Emily, whose courage inspires me to inspire others

You don’t know a storm ’til you ride the wind

Beneath cold and blackened skies, O

’Til you’re sailing through a thunderhead

With the lightning in your eyes

Death, he laughs in the sails and the jags

And the bloody sun won’t rise, O.

—“Weather the Storm”

A
sharp breeze swept through Lion’s Arch, the curious offspring of cold ocean currents and warm southern winds drifting inland. It wove through the streets of the city, whispering in doorways and slipping down alleys. The cold season had been a long one, and ice still glinted on puddles of melt between stones in the uneven streets. Yet even in Kryta, winter must eventually yield to spring.

The wind broke into a gust, and the ships at harbor shook and quavered in their moorings, pitching uneasily against the salt-soaked boards of the docks. Spray leapt up from a whitecap, foam trickling around sharp barnacles that freckled the mighty galleon’s hull. Sailors clapped their hands to their hats, and merchants grabbed their goods, keeping them close. On one of the larger vessels, a youth jumped down the ship’s gangplank, leaning into the wind and propelling himself forward with long, uneven strides.

“Thanks for the extra work, Vost!” the young man yelled over his shoulder with a wave. He loped forward on the edge of balance, hardly caring about the wind that shoved against him. Torn, too-short pant legs flapped about his calves, and his shoes clung to the salty
boards despite their cracked leather soles and worn stitching.

Aboard the massive galleon, an older man waved down from the railing. With a leathery grin on his face, he called out, “Are you sure you don’t want to sail with us this time, Coby? We’ve plenty of berth and could use a good spotter out at sea!”

“Sorry, Bosun Vost, but I can’t go!” Cobiah waved back. “There’s a pretty girl waiting in the city, and I can’t let her down!”

“A girl? Ha! Good for you, lad.” The older man laughed. “See you on the horizon, then.”

“Aye, aye, Vost. Take care!” The youth leapt over a crate at the bottom of the ship’s ramp, darting among slow-moving fishermen in the hustle and bustle of the crowd as he headed back toward shore. Whistling, he bounded over fishermen’s buckets and dodged through nets hung to dry, squeezing through the sailors at work without so much as an apology.

He was a skinny youth, only just out of boyhood, legs ungainly and arms akimbo. Taller than most, Cobiah had not yet grown into his height, and he ran like an awkward colt still finding its balance. He was pale, with white-blond hair flopping about his forehead. Sharp blue eyes glinted in a lightly tanned face. The gawkiness of adolescence did not diminish a handsome face. It was perhaps a bit too long in the jaw, but it had a firmness and intelligence stamped on every feature.

Cobiah skidded around the end of the dock, ducking under a thick wooden board being laid as a gangplank. He leapt up onto one of the wooden pillars of the dock to make the long jump to a second towering above the sandy beach. Thirty feet over the rocky shore, he balanced for a moment to enjoy the view.

The Lion’s Arch docks stretched out like fingers from the sandy shore, reaching out to touch the ocean. Beyond that, a great stone city rose from the coastline, its ancient buildings shining white and yellow in the gentle morning sun. A soft whisper of green tinged the rocky cliffs around it, and mountains rose toward the clouds inland, beyond the city’s sculptured outline. Lion’s Arch had stood since the days when humans first colonized the nation of Kryta, like a foundation stone of the kingdom, and of civilization itself.

Cobiah grinned and felt the wind shifting all about him. He smelled the bitter tang of the sea and the faint hint of sweetness from the spring’s first growth in city gardens and in distant plains. With a smile, he threw himself forward toward the streets of the city. Recklessly leaping onto the high crates of a loading area, Cobiah climbed down a stiff wooden piling until he reached the hard-packed ground below. Once there, he strode down small, wandering streets where scattered beach sand gave way to cobblestones and city dirt. Cobiah hurried as if Grenth, the god of death, were on his heels, and he didn’t stop running until he plowed face-first into the proverbial immovable object.

Standing in the doorway of the Iron Tankard, a burly man threw his hand across the opening and held his ground. A hat hung low over his heavy-lidded dark eyes, protecting them from the sun and giving the man a perpetual scowl. “Well, well.” A lousy, lopsided sneer spread beneath the hat. “Cobiah. Late again.” The tavern keeper shoved the youth backward. “Yer not welcome here no more.”

“Jacob!” Cobiah protested with a winning smile. “You know it’s not my fault. I was helping out at the docks, carrying crates to the
Indomitable
. She’s to set sail at dawn, and—”

“Din’t ya hear me?” the big man snarled, dark skin flushing with anger. “
Yer not welcome!”

“One of the crates broke,” the youth claimed quickly, ducking under the man’s muscular arm with eager abandon. Cobiah was quicker than the tavern owner, his skill at dodging honed by a childhood on the streets. “I had to get it all back together and in the hold before the stores got damp, and that’s why I’m late. It won’t happen again.”