Chapter 3: Part 5 - Instinct or Intuition

The Valparis, by Oska’s estimation, were the last team to reach the Silverwastes.

“Look at this,” he said, pointing to tracks in the soft ground of Brisban Wildlands. “The parties that have passed this way travelled in teams matching those in Yinn’s game. I can’t pick out every individual, but there’s been enough traffic to suggest all the other teams have gone before us.”

“The teams won’t be the only ones to pass this way,” Jean pointed out, but he didn’t really doubt Oska’s interpretation of the tracks. He only wanted to say something – anything – to make Marissa less likely to explode.

“No, but neither troops nor adventurers usually move in groups like this. Besides, the Maguuma Jungle isn’t as attractive to travellers as it once was. The last few years have opened new lands to us.”

And how Jean dearly wished they’d been led to one of those instead. There would be nothing comfortable about travelling through the jungle; the humidity would make their weapons rust and the shadows would hide all manner of dangers. He’d take a nice, open grassland or desert any day.

“Look at it this way,” Auri said, dreamily trailing fire in the air with one finger. “If there were any traps laid for us, the other teams will have set them off already.”

Marissa gave a dry laugh. “At least one of us is an optimist. Let’s move.”

There was an outpost on the eastern edge of the desert, filled with the sort of hardened soldiers and explorers who called such an inhospitable region home. Oska spoke with a handful of them, reporting that the Silverwastes was dotted with forts that could afford some respite to travellers.

“From the heat?” Jean asked, knowing it wouldn’t be that simple.

“From the Mordrem,” Oska corrected, sounding far too cheerful. “There hasn’t been much activity from them recently. The ranger I questioned said that meant the place would be infested with them soon. They come in cycles.”

“How soon?” Jean asked, but Oska only shrugged.

Marissa, as ever, seemed little concerned. She led them from the outpost as though she was a queen off to survey her lands.

Which, Jean supposed, made the rest of the family her subjects, bound to her comfort – and her will.

The Silverwastes, at least, were more palatable than the jungle ahead. Jean fell behind the rest of the family, pulling the compass from his bag again. He didn’t want to get sand in its workings, he told himself; he was just checking it was securely wrapped. Once he had it in his hands, though, he couldn’t help but tinker with the dials and watch the hands spin. He still couldn’t make sense of it, and yet…

Sometimes, usually when he wasn’t even thinking about the compass, he’d suddenly feel as though he was teetering on the edge of understanding – but it would be gone just as quickly. Perhaps instinct or intuition would solve it for him in the end. Oska would have said he didn’t possess the former, Marissa the latter, but neither of them wanted to lug the compass around day after day. If there were any insights to be had, he would have to be the one to provide them.

If they made it across the Silverwastes, anyway.

The road curved west through a narrow ravine, casting them all in shadow. Jean tucked the compass away again, and as they walked, focused all his attention on their surroundings. The earth felt unsettled beneath his feet, as though the very ground contested their presence.

Or maybe that was the Mordrem.

It wasn’t until they left the ravine that Jean realised he wasn’t the only one who could feel the ground rumbling. A blocky fort lay ahead, built into the rough hills – and it was under attack.

“That ravine must have stopped the sound reaching us,” Marissa said idly, as though commenting on nothing more than the weather. Jean half wondered if Marissa had purposefully blocked the sounds out, to stop any of them getting cold feet. He couldn’t believe they’d missed those hideous screams and piercing screeches, not all of them belonging to the Mordrem – but it was too late to back out now.

“We might be able to go round–” Oska began.

Marissa cut him off. “Our assistance could be valuable here. Ready yourselves for battle.”

Jean sucked in a breath. A fight against the Mordrem. Just what this day needed.

Marissa didn’t wait for them to complain. She was off and running, agile across the unstable ground; the twins quickly followed. Jean saw the flash of her magic like a rain of purple light, then a fiery curtain from Auri. Marissa wasn’t doing this for the sake of those defending the fort, Jean knew. She thought there might still be other teams in the vicinity – which meant she was here to show off.

He broke into a run behind the others, satchel bouncing uncomfortably against his back. By the time he reached the fight, Jean had his sceptre in one hand, his focus in the other. He almost feared to reach into the unquiet earth, but it responded readily to him, and he’d encased himself in rocky armour before he engaged the first Mordrem.

He’d heard the screeches of the creatures, but they were still more horrifying than he’d imagined. Twisted plant creatures, thorny vines erupted from the ground – these were the stuff of nightmares, as though the natural order of the world had been turned upside down. No wonder the sands of the Silverwastes were so disturbed.

Jean fought his way through with stone daggers and blasts of blinding sand, muscles aching with the effort. On the edge of the fort, he switched to blasts of water, and ice to soothe his fevered skin. The Mordrem seemed susceptible to every spell, though the ground hungrily sucked away the water, until there was no sign it had even been there.

And then there was Marissa, always on the edge of his vision. She was encased in purple light and there were six of her, then eight, then a dozen. Even Jean couldn’t be sure which was the real woman and which the many illusions. She was as sharp as a blade and as fierce as any whirlwind he could create; it was impossible not to be impressed.

It was calmer inside the fort, Pact members holding the gateway. Jean passed them in a flurry of ice, taking a moment to catch his breath before he climbed the steps to the battlements. He had little experience with the sort of staffs Auri liked, but they’d be more effective than his sceptre from up here. Perhaps he could requisition–

The thought dried away as quickly as his water magic in the sand. Marissa and Auri and Oska were still down there, though he had little concern for their welfare. They were engaged in fighting a creature almost as tall as the fort, with glistening, heaving tentacles, but there were other adventurers nearby, and the soldiers from the fort. This, it seemed, was a situation they were used to.

Marissa had been right, though, about one very important thing: they weren’t the only team here.

Jean spotted the sylvari first, three of them from the team he’d seen accompanying Yelazar in Caledon Forest. The fourth member was some distance away, hacking at a different Mordrem. Behind him was Yelazar himself, his raised dagger a piece of glinting glass in the sunlight–

A piece of glass that he buried in the sylvari’s back.

Jean gave a yelp that he could barely hear over the chaos. Yelazar was gone already, the sylvari crumpling to the ground. The giant Mordrem was crumpling, too, to ragged cheers from the fighters. There was so much destruction that no-one would ever know the unfortunate sylvari hadn’t been killed by a Mordrem. Just another casualty of the battle against the dragons, too many to be named or even counted…

Jean shook himself. Marissa was coming up the steps towards him, uncharacteristically sweaty and jubilant; she could never disguise how much she enjoyed a good fight. Auri was behind her, wincing a little with every step; Oska was nowhere to be seen.

“Did you see him?” Jean said. “Yelazar, I mean. He was down there, in the middle of the fight–”

“Was he.” Marissa cut him off, her good humour fading. “Did you see which way he went?”

“No, but–”

Marissa wasn’t listening. She swung to Auri and barked, “Go after Yelazar. Track him using whatever means necessary. I want to know what leads the other teams are following.”

Auri, two steps below Marissa, looked up with a startled expression. “Me?”

“Why not? Oska is helping to retrieve the dead; if Yelazar is already on the move, there isn’t time to fetch him. I need Jean here in case that damn compass actually turns out to be useful.”

“Auri’s injured,” Jean put in, startled by Marissa’s ruthlessness. “Let me go instead.”

“What did I just say about that compass?” Marissa didn’t even look at him, though her eyes narrowed on Auri. “What are you waiting for?”

Auri’s lips had pressed into a thin line, against pain or weariness or just out of ordinary Valpari stubbornness. “I’ll go,” she said, her soft voice hardening. “Where am I to meet you?”

“At the entrance to the jungle. You have until dusk. We can’t wait any longer.” Marissa paused a moment, then added, “Good hunting, Auri.”

Auri just nodded, then turned to hurry back down the steps. She was still limping, but she was doing a good job of hiding it.

“Are you sure about this?” Jean asked, once Auri was out of earshot.

Marissa tossed her sticky hair back over her shoulder. “You think too little of the girl, Jean. She’s not a child, however much she might act the innocent. She’s perfectly capable of scouting on her own.”

Jean didn’t doubt that, not for a moment. It was Marissa he was concerned about – Marissa, and the growing sense of disquiet deep in his own chest. The compass was a tool for them to use. Trouble was, he had a feeling Marissa thought the same about all of them, him and Oska and Auri, all three. Just tools at her disposal, to be kept as long as they were useful – and discarded when they weren’t.