But Snaff would succeed-wouldn't he?-if only so that he could brag about it afterward: "Did I ever tell you about the time I single-handedly wrestled Kralkatorrik to the ground? Or I should say, single-mindedly?" How annoying would that be?
Yet Zojja hoped against hope that Snaff would live to tell that tale-and that she would live to hear it.
The fact was, Snaff really was a real genius. No one could build golems the way he could. No one understood mind auras the way he did. He could think circles around anyone. That was what was so annoying and inspiring about him.
If anyone could take hold of an Elder Dragon's mind and drive it to the ground, Snaff could.
But not if those giant devourers reached him.
Ahead, a line of massive, two-tailed scorpions scuttled through the eastern gate and swarmed among fallen hunks of ceiling.
They'd never come close to her master.
Big Zojja's left hand splayed, and fire roared from her fingertips and engulfed a group of devourers, sizzling their joints until they couldn't move. It baked their innards until they burst like popcorn.
Pure genius. Snaff had stocked the water reservoirs with oil.
Big Zojja's right hand crashed into another batch of devourers. The rock drills cracked through stony carapace and ground the meat within.
Big Zojja cleared the hall, baking half of the monsters and grinding through the other half. In mere moments, she had cleansed the whole colonnade and stood, shiny and spectacular, in the sanctum's eastern entrance.
Let the dragon minions come. None would get past her.
Snaff stared at his reflection in the compound eye of the beast-stared so long that he passed through the reflection and found himself on the other side…
Within the dragon's mind.
It was like standing in the eye of a cyclone. All around, a great storm raged, tearing down the heavens and churning up the sands and whirling all in primordial chaos. Tortured coils of cloud mixed with dissolving seas of silt. The winds scoured away rock and rill, tree and blade, flesh and bone-and tossed them all in a crystalline tempest.
All things were fuel to that storm.
Everything was a feast to Kralkatorrik.
How does one fight a hurricane?
Snaff suddenly knew. The insight came from an offhand conversation he had had with Master Klab, the icebox genius. He was speaking about temperature differentials-how the air in the icebox was cold and dense, and the air in Rata Sum was hot and light, how opening the door of an icebox created a vortex of frost, where the dense, cold air sought to spiral into the light, warm air "like water swirling down a drain!" Klab had proclaimed this idea in his grating way, and Snaff had curled his nose and said that he had "gotten it."
But only now did he understand.
The center of every vortex is a great emptiness-a hollow longing. The storm tries to fill the emptiness, but the more it hungers, the deeper the emptiness becomes.
And Kralkatorrik's hunger was insatiable.
To draw the dragon, Snaff had to become the eye of the storm-to be what Kralkatorrik was not.
Where the dragon was fury, Snaff had to become bliss.
Where the dragon was rage, Snaff had to be delight.
Where the dragon was ancient and bloodthirsty and voracious, Snaff had to be new and altruistic and quite content, thank you very much.
Snaff thought of mathematics, the infinite beauty of numbers.
The dragon's mind whirled tighter around the intruder.
Snaff thought of the smile on Zojja's face when she invented a new ankle joint for her Big.
Around Snaff, the fury of the storm redoubled. The eye squeezed around this still center.
Snaff remembered the look of shock and betrayal on Klab's face when he became the director of pest control.
Enraged, the dragon sought this delighted mind, this maddening contentment. The eye of the dragon shifted, fixing on the ruined sanctuary far below.
That was where it lurked.
But not for long.
The minions of Kralkatorrik would root out this intruder.
At the south gate of Glint's sanctuary, a thousand-ton snake reared up, searching for Snaff.
"To get to him, you'll have to get past us," Rytlock growled. He leaned his crystalline lance toward the looming beast, daring it to attack.
The snake's gigantic head swayed from side to side. Blinking eyes the size of bucklers, the snake lunged past the lance and snapped down on the charr-or tried to. Rytlock leaped aside as the fangs buried themselves in sand.
Caithe meanwhile vaulted onto the creature's back and jammed its scales up and rammed her white-bladed stiletto into its spine.
The giant snake arched to snap at the sylvari, but she clung just out of reach. Each jolt only drove her dagger deeper into the beast's neck. It flailed back and forth upon the sands, trying to hurl its attacker away, but Caithe held on. At last, the snake slumped to the ground and twitched to stillness.
"Nicely done," Rytlock remarked as Caithe vaulted from the serpent's back.
"Like old times," Caithe said.
"Not like old times," Rytlock growled. "Logan's not here."
An enormous Gila monster charged the entryway. The charr rammed the lance into its neck. The crystalline spear cleaved through one side of the creature's jowl, spilling stony darts to the ground. The blade delved deeper until it bit through the spine, sending the huge lizard to its belly.
"Doesn't seem we need Logan," Caithe said.
Rytlock shot her an amazed look. "It should be the three of us guarding this gate, just like Eir planned. What happens when I go to attack the dragon? Can you hold this gate alone?"
Caithe stared unblinking at him. "I'll have to."
"Yeah, you will."
Just then, a giant spider rushed the two. Rytlock drove the lance into its mandibles and deep into its throat. Impaled though it was, the spider swarmed over Rytlock, knocking him to the ground and clutching him with spiny legs. Its swollen abdomen twitched as a dripping stinger slid forth.
Caithe stung first, plunging her dagger into the narrow joint that connected the spider's abdomen to its body. The spider shrieked. Caithe twisted the blade, cutting the abdomen free. It fell to the ground, its stinger gushing. The creature convulsed, and its legs seized up around Rytlock.
"Damnit!" Rytlock growled. Sohothin flared free of its stone scabbard and blazed through the tangle of legs. Rytlock climbed through the smoldering mess and strode to the front of the monster. He yanked out the crystalline lance. "Can't kill a bug. How's it going to kill a dragon?"
"It will," Caithe assured. "You have the strength."
"Yeah," Rytlock said as a pack of crystalline coyotes loped toward them. "The question is, does Snaff have the strength?"
If its minions could not reach the intruder, the dragon could.
"There it is!" shouted Eir, lifting her bow skyward.
The clouds burst open, and Kralkatorrik dropped out of them. Its wings reached from horizon to horizon, and its blazing eyes poured ravening power on the ground below.
Eir loosed three blood-stone arrows. They climbed the sky and smashed into the belly of the beast and lit up bright green. Three more shafts rose as the dragon plunged. The arrows exploded on the dragon's shoulders and back, embedding more powerstones. Three more. Six. Each bolt gave Snaff that much more hold on the dragon's mind.
But Kralkatorrik soared down toward Eir, opening its cavernous mouth.
"Get under cover!" Eir yelled to Garm. She glanced back at the sanctum, torn open from end to end, and then forward at a giant Gila monster. A blow from her mallet brought it down, and she dived beneath it. Garm crowded in beside her.
Plasma roared down from the cloud, and crystals erupted across the army. The dragon's first breath had turned these creatures to living stone, but this second breath made them dead monuments.
In hatred for all mortal flesh, Kralkatorrik destroyed the monsters it had made.