Chapter 2: Part 2 - These Scholarly Halls

Vasha had never been comfortable in places of learning. Her engineering skills had been cobbled together from practice, a natural talent for the discipline, and relentlessly grilling anyone she ran into on the streets of Divinity’s Reach who might have even an ounce of knowledge. Over the years, she’d found that to be enough; by the time she joined the Marauders, she counted herself one of the better engineers in Lion’s Arch, even if her methods were sometimes… unconventional.

Any traditional school, though, be it an academy or a library, made her instantly nervous. It was the same sensation she’d always got when in the company of Jean’s family: one of being hopelessly out of place. And somewhere like the Durmand Priory, where she now found herself, thanks to Yinn’s teleportation device? She definitely didn’t belong.

If she was honest, Vasha had expected the rest of the Marauders to feel the same. Gull and Haki looked relaxed enough, though, even if they weren’t particularly interested in these scholarly halls. And Roan…

It was Roan’s reaction that really threw Vasha. From the moment they’d landed on Priory Bridge, Roan had seemed completely at home; he’d led the way up the hill towards the Priory itself without hesitation, and once inside, acted as though he owned the place. If Vasha hadn’t known better, she would have said he was a regular visitor.

As he’d strode off to speak to one of the scholars, Vasha’s curiosity finally got the better of her. “Does Roan come here often?” she asked Gull, but the norn just shrugged.

“What Roan gets up to is his own business,” she said.

Vasha was about to ask more when, behind her, Haki made a derisive noise. “What my foolish sister means is that she has no idea. Roan would never confide in her.”

Gull swung to her brother, Vasha completely forgotten. “Oh, because I’m sure you know all his secrets. You two are just the closest friends to ever–”

“Quiet, both of you.” Roan, with that stealthiness of his that always belied his size, was only a stride away. For once, though, he didn’t look annoyed. In fact, though Vasha wasn’t much of an expert on charr expressions, she almost thought the guardian was smiling. “There’s someone here we need to see. I was worried she might be out in the field, but we’ve struck lucky. Come on.”

Vasha found herself shaking her head in surprise, as she and the norn followed Roan down the long ramp into the heart of the Priory. He was definitely happy here; she didn’t think she’d heard him string so many words together in all the time she’d known him.

They arrived in the Priory’s central chamber, dimly lit and filled with echoes. Vasha felt her skin prickle at the strange aura of the place, magic she couldn’t put a name to and scholarly whispers running round the walls like water. She couldn’t imagine studying somewhere like this, so closed and quiet. Just being here for only a few minutes was suffocating.

As before, though, Roan seemed quite at ease. He led them down a flight of stairs, into a passage that curved away to either side. It was warmer down here, and though still quiet, thankfully not as oppressive.

Standing in the middle of the corridor, arms folded and apparently waiting for them, was a purple-hued sylvari.

Roan was definitely grinning now. The rumble coming from his chest made Vasha jump, until she realised he was laughing.

The sylvari shook her head, sharing his smile. “Well, isn’t this a surprise. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist my devastating charm for long.”

Roan reached out, nudging the sylvari delicately in the shoulder. “Yeah, so charming I haven’t been back for three years. It wasn’t my choice to come back this time, either.”

“You wound me, Roan.” The sylvari wiggled what Vasha took to be her eyebrows. “Here I was thinking you’d brought me that wedding gift you promised.”

Vasha didn’t think it was possible for charr to blush, but Roan’s ears twitched in what looked a lot like embarrassment.

Abruptly, the sylvari laughed, and winked at Roan. “As if your old, roving soul will ever settle down. Besides, if you really wanted to woo me, you’d bring me a rare book.”

Roan grunted. “If you’ve finished–”

“Yes, yes. You need my help. It was ever thus.” The sylvari set off down the corridor, speaking over her shoulder so that the rest of them had to hurry to keep up. “My name’s Maille, by the way. Scholar Maille, if you want to be particular. Roan might not believe in introductions, but some of us have more manners.”

The corridor curved round to the right, passing a selection of smaller rooms. Vasha caught glimpses of eating spaces and workshops, and the intimidating, tightly packed shelves of a central archive.

Maille led them, finally, to a small kitchen, with a fire burning brightly in the hearth. The sylvari peered round the room, then nodded as if in satisfaction. “I thought I saw the cooks upstairs. As long as they’re taking a break, this is a perfect place to talk.”

Roan got straight to the point, which was much more like him. “What do you know about white rabbits?”

It was their only clue, etched into the card Vasha had in her pocket. They’d made no attempt to search for any such creature yet; Roan had insisted their arrival right on the Priory’s doorstep was a sign they should – for once – ask for help.

Maille propped herself against a scrubbed wooden table, arms folded. “I’ll eschew the obvious, shall I? Lornar’s Pass is filled with actual rabbits. You’re presumably after something more symbolic.”

“We don’t know,” Vasha said. She’d warmed to this sharp-tongued sylvari immediately; it was about time she joined the conversation, even if that meant risking Roan’s displeasure. “It could be a real rabbit.”

“I can’t help you there.” Maille shrugged, her robes rustling. “I’m not much of a hunter. Here’s something that might pique your interest, though. You know how the grawl worship anything in the vicinity, from wild animals to rock formations?”

Maille wore an expectant look, as though she was waiting for Vasha to say something intelligent. Vasha could write everything she knew about grawl on the back of her hand, though, and still have room to sign her name.

“There used to be a tribe, somewhere in the vicinity of Mistriven Gorge, that worshipped a white rabbit,” Maille went on. “We believe they were wiped out by other tribes nearly fifty years ago. Details of their existence have only come to light quite recently, though; we’re working from fragmentary oral histories of the norn hunters who frequent this area. I can’t tell you much more. Could be worth investigating.”

Vasha could only stare at the sylvari, trying not to let her dubiousness show. Grawl? That sounded… unlikely.

She wasn’t the only one who thought so. “Grawl?” Roan snorted. “Come on, Maille. We haven’t got time for this.”

Maille just glared at him. “I’ve been following this game of yours, you know. The whole thing is ridiculous, but you never did have any sense. Don’t you think this is exactly the sort of obscure clue you should be following? Besides, if you’re not interested in the grawl, I don’t have anything else. Every other white rabbit in Lornar’s Pass is just a rabbit.”

The silence that followed was broken by Haki clearing his throat. “You’re writing them off too quickly, Roan,” he said, sounding almost apologetic.

Roan snorted again. “Which one – the grawl or Maille?”

“Both,” Gull put in, for once agreeing with her brother. “The grawl may be brutish and misguided, but you charr have never taken them seriously enough. They understand the Spirits of the Wild, though. They seek to revere those who give them strength. There’s value in that, if nothing else.”

Roan grumbled something under his breath, but didn’t argue. Maille, on the other hand, looked jubilant. “There, you see? Not everyone’s as closed-minded as you, Roan. If you want a trail that no other team knows about, this is your chance. Don’t worry – I won’t help any of the others. Well, I might, but they’ll have to bring me a really nice book first.”

Roan scratched the side of his head with a claw. Vasha hadn’t thought it was possible for him to look cowed, but he did now.

“Where can we look for this tribe?” Vasha asked, turning back to Maille. “You mentioned Mistriven Gorge.”

“That’s as specific as our information gets, I’m afraid.” Maille pushed herself away from the table, making for the door. “That’s where the tribe was last seen–”

“And where they died,” Haki put in. “You said they’d been wiped out by other grawl.”

Maille nodded appreciatively. “I’m glad someone’s paying attention. I did say that, but whoever set your clue knows something you don’t. Unless you want to spend a week chasing phantoms across the snows of Lornar’s Pass, I’d suggest this lead is the best you’re going to get.”

Roan’s ears pricked up. “What phantoms?”

Maille laughed, the sound ringing round the kitchen. “You’ll see when you head outside. It’s quite the sight. The Priory will be talking about this for months.”

She led them out of the room, and back up the stairs, into the central chamber of the Durmand Priory. They paused there, for Roan to say a surprisingly heartfelt thanks to the sylvari. As Vasha and the norn stepped away to give them a little privacy, Gull abruptly took Vasha’s arm.

“If you had any desire to visit the archives before we leave,” the norn said, under her breath, “now might be the time.”

Vasha looked up, startled. She didn’t have to ask what Gull was trying to warn her of: the Valpari family were walking down the ramp towards them. They were too far away to read the expressions on their faces, but the tension in Jean’s shoulders was unmistakable. It was too late to hide. He’d seen her.