I'm diverging from canon here: Malyck. I was disappointed not to see him again. But if he does come back in future story updates, I can always edit!

You gotta love Faren. No matter the situation, that man will find a way to show up without pants. I love it.

35: What a Lark This Is!

It took them a week to find the wreck of the Mellaggan's Valour where the engineers had gone down, to find that they had managed to survive and stick together. They were actually doing quite well, and the quaggan Shashoo of all people had taken command. Caoilfhionn was proud of her, they had met years ago when he was still a sprout, still a junior Explorer with the Priory. He'd helped her then defend her village from Icebrood, and she had grown as much as he had in the intervening time.

Rhyoll was very happy to see them. "Annhilda! Damara! ...Everybody! What've you been up to?"

Annhilda sighed. "Don't ask."

Rhyoll laughed jovially. "That bad, huh? Well, don't worry about us. I still wish the jungle was suitable for tanks, but we've been holding our own."

"Looks like it," Damara said, looking in amazement at the plethora of turrets, small cannons, and traps that protected the camp beneath the hull of the airship. "I knew you'd be all right! I'm glad. What are the pyres for?" She pointed at the two large burnt patches filled with ashes, wood, and tiny bits of remains.

Rhyoll snuffled regretfully. "The Mordrem have been collecting bodies. We don't know why, but it can't be good, so we burn 'em. Like we did with the Risen."

"I see," Annhilda said. "We're reassembling, slowly but surely, and we're going to take it on foot after all – we don't have a choice. We've got a big defensible camp to the south-east, and as soon as we've got everyone from this area, we're going to push west and follow the path of the Fleet. Are you ready to pack up?"

"Not yet," Rhyoll said. "I'll let Chief Officer Shashoo explain."

"There is a Blighting Tree to the north," Shashoo said in her sing-song quaggan voice. "Many Mordrem come from there. We must destroy it before we leave Mellaggan's Valour."

"We've salvaged a fair number of explosives from the wreckage," Beigarth the Norn smith said. "We're going to pack as many as we can into the Blighting Tree's trunk, set the detonators, and then run." Occam, the Sylvari smith, shook his head and muttered something about madness.

"A sound strategy," Annhilda said, and Occam sighed. "When were you planning to launch?"

"When you came," Shashoo said. "We were going to go tomorrow if you did not. But you are here now, so we can move out immediately!"

"Excellent," Annhilda said. "Let's go blow up a tree!"

Caoilfhionn was not prepared for this tree. It was nothing like the Pale Tree; smaller, first off, with unnaturally dark bark, ghastly, jagged, twisted, like it had grown up sick, and it was festooned with sickly bright green pods full of green fluid that oozed down into the depths of the jungle. But it had the same purpose. Every one of those pods was filled with developing Mordrem Guard, and they emerged full-grown just like a Sylvari.

The raid was brutal and vicious, for the Mordrem Guard fought like demons to protect their base and the Pact had to fight just as fiercely to break through, giving cover to the engineers as they charged to the main pillars of the tree, armed with piles of explosives.

Caoilfhionn, of course, was in the forefront of the fighting, his task to seek out snipers and flank the heavy hitters. He was on the left side, weaving between tree stems, pursuing one Mordrem Guard who dodged before him with equal agility, when he froze, staring.

Malyck did not hesitate, his pistol aimed, firing, and Caoilfhionn reeled as he felt a blow in his right shoulder. "Malyck! Malyck, it's me, Caoilfhionn! Stay your-" But Malyck's eyes were a burning crimson, glaring with unchanging malevolence, and he spun, aiming to fire again. Caoilfhionn ducked, pressing his left dagger against his wound to channel his Glyph of Harmony, and felt power surge into him with the healing. "Rhyoll! Rhyoll, I need your help!" If anyone could help him now, it was Rhyoll.

"What'ya need?" Rhyoll said, bounding in his direction, rifle at the ready. "This guy giving you problems?"

"Help me capture him! Please!" Malyck spun again, shooting more aggressively now that Caoilfhionn had gone on the defensive. Rhyoll ducked with a grunt.

"What? Why?"

"He was my friend!" He conjured an Earth shield and held it before both of them.

Rhyoll grunted again, crouching to try to fit behind the shield. "He isn't anymore."

"Please, I have to try."

"Of course you do. All right. Give me a clear shot."

And the rest of the battle was still going on, all noise and confusion among the pillars of the tree, the shadows and the green ooze still falling around them... Caoilfhionn felt anxious that he was being so selfish, perhaps endangering his friends, but – but it was Malyck! Even if he had fallen to the Dragon, even if his eyes were red and he showed no sign of recognizing or caring about Caoilfhionn...

He threw fire at a Mordrem thrasher trying to get in his way, and charged towards Malyck recklessly; Malyck dodged away. He was no less nimble than Caoilfhionn was, threading his way between roots and branches, leading him on a chase through the corner of the tree that had become their personal battleground. Gunshots and Earth warred with each other, neither fast enough to seriously injure each other, although Caoilfhionn still could not use his right arm well for the pain in his shoulder.

"I can tell you do not wish to fight," Malyck said, pausing in his assault for the barest moment. "Why resist, then? Join the Dragon and your struggle will be over."

"I will not! Malyck, fight him! It is not futile!"

Malyck laughed with a flash of teeth. "You're as foolish as you were when we met! There is no resisting the Dragon."

So he did remember, but the Dragon made him not care. Caoiflhionn snarled and spun Earth energy about Malyck, twining vines about him that grabbed at his arms and legs. Malyck sheathed his pistols and drew his sword, slashing away the vines viciously and throwing himself at Caoilfhionn. Sword clashed on dagger, magical sparks flying. Now he could sense just how Malyck had changed physically; he could feel his weight and height had grown as Malyck leaned into him, pressing him back.

"This is the opposite of a clean shot, Caoilfhionn!" Rhyoll cried, trying to aim his netting grenade launcher.

"Sorry!"

But weight and height wouldn't help Malyck here, as Caoilfhionn abruptly gave before the attacks like water, sliding backwards on the rough ground. That sword, flickering scarlet like autumn maple leaves, had reach on him, but he turned aside each strike, or simply wasn't there. "Malyck... come back. Please. Please try."

Malyck shook his head and laughed.

"We've done it!" Shashoo's voice echoed through the inner tree in triumph. "Everyone, run! Run now!"

For an instant, he locked eyes with Malyck's crimson glare. Would he be all right? "Come with us!"

Malyck laughed, looked at the fleeing Pact soldiers, and ran to the edge of the tree, jumping into the abyss beyond. Caoilfhionn cried out, but Rhyoll stomped up to him and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. "Come on, twig! We've gotta get out of here before everything explodes! Your ex-friend is fine. You can fight him later or whatever."

He traveled with the others back to the Central Pact Encampment, with a high head and dry eyes, but he still could not smile; his cares yet lay too thickly upon him. But he was heartened by Rhyoll's return; they were looking to have a pretty decent chance at not dying just yet. Rhyoll was thrilled by the challenge of designing gliders for Norn and other Charr, and was knocking out prototypes already on the first evening back. "What do you think of these features?"

"It's great, but I don't need features," Annhilda said. "I need it to fly."

"Oh, it'll do that. But you need fine draft control, and brakes, and a bombing harness-"

"No bombing harness," Annhilda said. "Not yet. Just flight."

"Oh, fine. Then it's almost done."

And when he saw Annhilda first leap into an abyss with Rhyoll's first custom-designed glider, whooping and laughing, Caoilfhionn found his face lightening involuntarily. She could actually enjoy the sensation of flight, of the wind rushing past her, of the adrenaline of leaping across lethal heights effortlessly. Damara joined her, sharing in her delight with her own glider, her hawk soaring beside her, and he couldn't help but reflect some of it back, despite everything.

There was still hope, after all.

Damara stared blankly at the camp that she found before her. There, on a flat, sunny plateau under a tall rock spire, were gaudy, brightly coloured tents everywhere, interspersed with small café tables and polished chairs, grandfather clocks, chests of drawers, brass candelabras – candelabrae? She wasn't educated or fancy enough to know the right plural. What was all this? The gentle sound of pleasant music wafted through the air, filtering through cultured conversation and polite laughter. Human nobles, elegantly dressed in robes and gowns, sat about, eating tiny sandwiches and sipping wine and tea as servants waited on them and played for them. It had been nigh two weeks since the disaster, and the Pact had been moving further west, scouting out their next camp – but no one had expected this. Well... now that Damara saw it, she was hardly surprised, but really? Really?

She could feel Annhilda's blood pressure rising beside her. "What the hells are these idiots doing here!?" the Norn growled under her breath, and then stomped forward into the middle of camp. "What the hells are you doing here!?" she repeated, her voice booming over everything else.

Everyone froze for a moment, some of the nobles glaring at the uncouth Norn who had the audacity to yell in the middle of their civilized party – or that was how Damara read it. The music trailed off stuttering into silence. A human with an eyepatch strode forward. "Good to see you, Commander," he said, with a long-suffering tone. "I will explain everything."

"Please do, Master Bongo," Annhilda said, with very clipped words.

"These... nobles, and sundry, decided to follow the Pact Fleet to... ahem, 'cheer us on'. They managed to seek us out at our crash site to the south, and I decided to relocate here since they at least have a more defensible position than we landed in. We've had the great fortune not to be attacked by anything worse than wyverns and treefrogs since we arrived."

"You're incredibly lucky," Annhilda said. "We've been facing Mordrem attacks daily. How are we going to get these idiots out of here?"

"We have a few Charr copters left, and the quicker they're out, the better," Damara said, soothing her hawk on her shoulder. "It would take them at least four days on foot, and they'd need an escort..."

"But we need the copters, too, and we're short enough on them as it is," Annhilda said, and sighed irritably, staring around at all the trying-to-look-innocent Human faces surrounding her. They swarmed about her, hopefully, but she towered head and shoulders over them; she would not be persuaded by anything they had to offer or say, and they knew it.

One noblewoman, whom Damara vaguely knew as Baroness Jasmina, stepped forward towards Annhilda. "I won't deny we acted foolishly, Commander, and we have no wish to inconvenience you more than necessary. But I'm afraid we must inconvenience you a little bit, as we cannot escape this jungle on our own – even with Faren's help."

"I knew he'd be here," Annhilda muttered.

"Oh, yes, he's been marvelous!" gushed another woman, Minister Merula. "He's slain many wyverns to protect us!"

"It was also his bloody brilliant idea to come here with this lot," growled Bongo.

"Did someone mention my name?" said a boisterous voice, and Faren strode into view. Unlike all the other nobles, he was not wearing court finery – in fact, he was wearing nothing but a loincloth, made of leather that looked artificially distressed. His rapier was sheathed through it, clashing immensely in style.

"Oh by Lyssa's face, Faren," Damara sighed under her breath in exasperation, but she couldn't help staring. She had heard Annhilda complimenting his physique after seeing him at Southsun, but she hadn't seen him then herself so this was her first exposure to... those abs. He really did work out when he wasn't philandering, didn't he? And a little bit of chest hair, too, nice.

She shook her head violently, saw Caoilfhionn glance at her in confusion. She despised him! He was a dumbass! A sweet, goodnatured... handsome dumbass...

Annhilda glared at him, and he shrank slightly, like a bug on a plate. "I'm sorry?"

"Sorry's not good enough," Annhilda said shortly. "Fine, Damara. We'll bring up the copters. Get them all out of here and hope we don't lose any more soldiers and equipment to vines and snipers."

"Vines and snipers?" asked Merula anxiously.

"It's either risk that, and be out of here in an afternoon, or go on foot, tying up even more Pact personnel, and even more vines and snipers, for four days," Jasmina said to her. The minister blanched.

"I'm glad you have half a head on your shoulders," Annhilda said. "Damara?"

"We're under attack!" Canach cried from the bridge they had come from. "Mordrem Guard!"

"Mordrem Guard?" Annhilda snapped. "To arms! If you can't fight, stay the hell back and out of sight! Everybody else, to me! Let's put some of this trash to good use!"

"Wh-what do you mean?" wavered Merula, looking nervously at one of the piles of completely useless frippery, probably the one belonging to her. Jasmina grabbed her arm and dragged her back behind the cliff.

"I'll fight with you!" Faren cried, drawing his rapier and stepping up beside the Pact soldiers as they took defensive positions around the end of the bridge.

"Just keep him away from me," Bongo said, drawing his own sword.

"Put on some damn pants!" Damara took the opportunity to yell at him, while it could be excused as 'heat of the moment'. She was scanning the undergrowth for snipers behind the Mordrem emerging from the jungle. She didn't see any yet, and nocked an arrow, aiming at the lead Mordrem.

"Fear not, my lady! I learned the ways of the jungle in this attire! Conquered its dangers! And it's quite refreshing. I think it'll be the new thing in ol' DR once I get back."

"Shut your mouth and fight!" Annhilda cried, hurling a glass café table top like a discus into the oncoming Mordrem Guard. One of them caught it in the middle and fell back, not dead, but at least too injured to fight.

The nobles' voices rose in a twittering outcry like a flock of frightened birds. "What are you doing? That's valuable!"

Annhilda hucked the closest grandfather clock at a mounted Mordrem Guard, the clock shattering in a crash of thin wood and glass, a sproing of springs and the cry of a disgruntled artificial cuckoo. The Mordrem was buffeted to the edge of the bridge, where Caoilfhionn engulfed it in a blast of fire, knocking it into the abyss beneath. Damara was loosing arrow after arrow into the oncoming Mordrem, silently cursing their thick natural armour. It was like trying to shoot trees if you didn't hit them in the head. Her hawk Lina was doing her best, making them cover their eyes from her beak, but that was more interfering with her arrows than helping. Her spider Murlie was more helpful, climbing off her back to throw poison into their midst, and they were not immune to that. Annhilda was still picking up pieces of noble paraphernalia and using them as improvised missiles, now grabbing large sturdy suitcases and hurling them forwards. She was so strong, Damara marveled; she could throw all this heavy stuff so far. Canach was joining in, sticking to lighter things like candelabras and chairs.

"No, my shoes!" wailed Minister Merula as one suitcase tumbled off the edge of the cliff.

"Damn your shoes!" Annhilda yelled. "How many shoes does one person need?"

"That was twenty-seven pairs! All gone..."

"It's a good thing madam has another eighty-five pairs at home," said Merula's maid calmly.

"You're not taking any of this garbage back with you, so it may as well go to use right here!" Annhilda said. "No complaining! You were the ones who decided to bring... clocks to a warzone!"

Bongo was chuckling dryly. Caoilfhionn was silent, but that was the new, depressing normal. Canach snorted and kept helping.

Bongo had spoken truly about the defensibility of their position, and while the Pact held the high ground and the only two approaches, the Mordrem were unable to dislodge them and pulled back. "Huzzah!" cried Faren, who had somehow made it through everything unscathed – though not for lack of trying. "We are victorious once again!" He turned to the cowering nobles. "It is safe, my dears! Fear not, I shall never fail to defend you!"

"Oh, thank the Six," Merula fluttered. "You were truly heroic, Lord Faren!"

"Okay, Damara, you have a pigeon for me?" Annhilda said. "We need to call in those copters asap."

Damara rummaged in her Backpack of Holding for the emergency pigeon cage. "All set."

Annhilda took the cage, tucking it under one arm, and began scratching with some charcoal on a scrap of paper while the pigeon cooed anxiously. Faren, having received the accolades – or at least acknowledgements – of his female friends, came over to her. "Lady Damara! How nice to see you again. I should have expected to see you here. Did you like my fighting?"

"Lord Faren," Damara said, and sighed. "Yes, you were fine."

"I do wish you wouldn't sigh like that," Faren said. "It makes me feel awfully low when you look at me that way."

"Look, my lord," Damara said. "I know you want to help. You're a good man – flightiness aside. But you really have to stop getting so excited and jumping in feet-first."

"I'm sorry!" he said again. "I didn't think there would be any harm in it. We weren't in the front line. We just wanted to watch. I didn't think we'd get attacked, and not in the way we did." He brightened. "At least I've gotten a chance to complete my training as a swordmaster under dear Bongo!"

"Yes, you did seem quite confident," Damara said, and couldn't help a smile. "I bet I could beat you, though." She wasn't nearly as good with a sword as she was with her bow, but even though she didn't have Faren's grace, she could be effective with it when she needed to be. She was still alive, after all.

He beamed at her. "Is that a challenge, m'lady?"

"No, no. That's a distraction I don't need." Especially with him not wearing... anything. "You should grab some clothes before the copters come."

"I will not," Faren said. "I like it like this."

Damara resisted the urge to facepalm. "Well, it's a bit chilly in Divinity's Reach, this time of year..." Halloween had passed a couple weeks ago, and normally she'd be thinking about what to get her family for Wintersday already. This year her gift would have to be a dead dragon.

"Ah... Well... I suppose. Is there anything I can do for you when I get back?"

Kind of him to offer, even though it was a rather useless gesture... "Will you let Andrew and Petra at Salma's Mug tavern know that I'm all right?"

"Oh, yes, of course! It would be a pleasure to reassure them. Well... er... best of luck to you! Wish I could stay, but someone must protect Jasmina and Merula!"

"Mmhmm," Damara said. "Safe trip." She watched him scurry away to find his actual clothes, even though she really shouldn't have. But he did have a nice butt, too. She really wanted to slap it – but that wouldn't be allowed even if she wasn't a commoner.

Annhilda, having sent off the pigeon, whistled and gestured. "Everyone going back east, gather on the plateau! You may take one object that fits on your person and leaves both hands free! Master Bongo, the rest of the Pact forces will be arriving in two hours, strike these tents and dispose of the furniture!"

"Yes, ma'am! Over the edge it goes." A couple nobles wailed, but they didn't dare approach Annhilda with her face set and eyes flashing, and a splash of dark Mordrem blood drying on her face.

"Wait wait wait," Damara said. "Maybe some of the others would like to see it. It's funny, you know? Good for morale!" At last, Caoilfhionn reacted, some of the tension around his eyes easing. She wished she could do more for him.

"At least move it where it won't be in the way," Annhilda said. "We still have eight hundred soldiers coming in."

Master Bongo shook his head. "Eight hundred... when we began this advance with two-and-a-half thousand."

"I know. But we're not out of this fight yet, and by Raven, we're still going to win it!"