Chapter 4: Part 11 - Bad Omens

Once the battle was over and Yinn had stopped shouting at everyone, there was work to be done. There were a handful of minor wounds to heal, fallen weapons and belongings to gather – and there was Yelazar.

As she looked down at his body, Vasha knew she should feel guilty. She'd been instrumental in his death, using her skills to expose him to Marissa's blade. Yelazar had once saved her life, too – except he'd only done it so he could make use of her as a minion, and he'd tried to kill all of them when he thought Yinn's capture was part of the game.

Marissa certainly hadn't shown any remorse. As the dust settled, she'd stared down at Yelazar's body. "Good riddance," she'd said, before stalking off without another word.

It hadn't made Vasha feel any better. They'd fought together, yes, but she wasn't sure she aspired to be anything like Marissa Valpari.

"Do you think we should move him?"

Vasha looked up to find Haki standing on the other side of Yelazar's body. "Move him where?"

"Out of Orr." Haki folded his arms. "So he can't come back."

Uneasily, Vasha stepped away. There weren't any new Risen since the fall of Zhaitan... Were there? Truthfully, she didn't know, but she certainly didn't want to see Yelazar rise from the dead. Perhaps there was someone in Tyria who'd mourn him; even if there wasn't, having to kill him twice seemed like an indignity too much.

"We could cover him in ice," she suggested. "Maybe Yinn's people have a way of taking him back to Rata Sum."

"For ice, we'd need an elementalist." Haki looked over her head, studying the hollow. "Where is that little runt, anyway?"

He was talking about Jean, Vasha realised. Jean, who was nowhere to be seen.

"He was alive at the end of the fight," Haki went on, oblivious to Vasha's rising panic. "He was over by those asura. That battle-axe of a sister must have sent him back to the nearest outpost."

Maybe – except Vasha hadn't seen Marissa speak to anyone else. Light's Memory, Roan and Yinn were conferring beside the statue. The younger Valpari twins were helping clear the site, alongside Gull and Yinn's staff. Marissa was on the edge of the hollow, staring at the horizon.

There was no sign of Jean.

As Haki turned away to speak to Gull, Vasha sidled past. She hurried to the fallen asura, noting the piece of Jean's clothing that covered their bodies. He'd certainly been here – but what could have made him leave without a word to anyone?

The game. It had to be. There were footprints leading away from the statue to the west, following the line of the cliffs beneath the strange light of the beacons. It was possible Jean had received secret instructions from Marissa, but Vasha didn't think it likely. Marissa was too absorbed by her own concerns; she looked like she'd lost all interest in the game. But Jean... Could he care so deeply about winning?

He might, Vasha thought. He'd joined this game for the challenge, not the reward. He might still be determined to win.

There was no time to speak to anyone. Vasha checked all her weapons, glanced back once at her companions, then set off after the footprints.

They went south for some distance, following the rolling, dusty landscape. South and a little east, Vasha realised, as she checked her compass. Jean was heading back towards the water they'd crossed before.

At the riverbank, she paused. She'd swum across the river to reach Graven Cay and it had been extraordinarily unpleasant. Jean's footprints went straight into the water, though, and there were even drag marks in the sand where his robes had caught. He'd definitely gone across.

Vasha glanced back. Night was drawing closer, the hazy landscape falling into dusk. She was starting to regret leaving without telling anyone where she was going; unless Frostpaw could track her, the Marauders would struggle to find her in the dark. She wasn't going to just surrender the prize to Jean, though, even now. She hadn't come all this way to lose.

She struggled across the water as quickly as she could, dragging her rucksack behind her. That was waterproof, at least, though her clothes were quickly sodden. She was forced to angle southward, to where the riverbank angled down towards a sandy shore. A shadow fell over her as she reached it: not a hill, as she'd thought at first, but a colossal statue of Grenth.

Vasha shuddered with more than the cold as she hauled herself out of the water. The statue seemed like a bad omen – but there were Jean's footprints again, heading south along the shore towards a ship.

For the first time, Vasha hesitated. She'd sailed with pirates – she knew about ships. Pirates were a superstitious lot, though, and they'd taught her to be wary of the terrors of the sea. Ghost ships featured in many of their stories, instilling a dread in Vasha that she'd never shaken off.

This wasn't a ghost ship, not really. It was a wreck, barnacle-encrusted and creaking with every shift in the wind, but it was very much solid. That wasn't enough to dispel the ominous aura around it, though. This wasn't the sort of place you went into alone.

But Jean had. She could see his footprints again, crossing a patch of sand before vanishing over an outcrop of rock. Maybe he wasn't superstitious, or maybe he was too determined to care, but he'd almost certainly been looking for a way inside.

Swearing under her breath, Vasha followed. The far side of the ship was covered by shadows; the sun would set entirely within minutes. There was just enough light left for Vasha to see a smaller vessel resting across the ship's side, forming a precarious bridge to the upper deck. If Jean had gone that way, though... She couldn't see any Risen, but she could hear them. Skeletal feet dragging against the ground, a sharp tapping like bony fingers against wood. They could be on her in seconds.

It didn't matter. She could deal with Risen – probably. Vasha clambered up the deck of the smaller boat, ducking through a low doorway into the ship at the top. The wreck's upper deck was covered by a rotting roof, the last dregs of sunlight filling the interior with wan orange light. And there were Risen.

They came at Vasha in a rush, three of them with grotesquely dangling arms and crooked heads. Vasha stepped backwards, but there was nowhere to flee except back down the smaller boat – and before she could even draw her weapons, the first Risen was down. The sword that had burst through its chest withdrew, slicing through the other two in a single swing. There was a moment when the Risen didn't seem to know they'd been destroyed, before they slowly crumpled to the floor.

Leaving Vasha with her hands on her unused pistols, facing a sylvari with a greatsword almost as big as he was. She hadn't seen him arrive or even enter the fight, but he'd dispatched those Risen in a heartbeat.

Involuntarily, Vasha took a step back. "Archon Artair."

The sylvari's smile was filled with mockery, but it seemed directed at himself. "My reputation precedes me. I'm afraid the title of 'archon' isn't strictly accurate any more, but these things have a habit of persisting."

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought that was obvious. I'm here for you."

"Me?" Vasha knew she sounded like an idiot, but she couldn't seem to make her brain catch up with events. She was still staring at the remains of the Risen, watching them disintegrate. The sylvari had dispatched them as easily as blinking.

"Yes, you." Artair flicked dust and sinew off his greatsword, returning it to its sheath as though it weighed no more than a dagger. "I've been watching you from the start, Vasha. Of all the participants in this little charade, your bravery, determination and quick-thinking have impressed me the most."

This 'charade'? "I thought the game was your idea."

Artair sighed. "Yinn has certainly done nothing to disabuse you of that notion, has he? But no, this contest has always been his. He has a number of clients with too much money and not enough to do. Yinn's purpose in life is to entertain them and thus line his own pockets. However, I have been watching. I provided Yinn with the funds to begin this little enterprise – on the condition that I would have first pick of the contestants once it was over."

"First pick for what?"

"For my guild, of course." Artair folded his hands behind his back. "Well, my guild-to-be, I should say. I'm looking to establish a group of the most dedicated, skilled adventurers I can find, to advance a number of significant research projects. I have, in fact, made an attempt to establish such a group in the past, but previous candidates have been somewhat... lacking."

"You're talking about Marissa."

It seemed to take Artair a moment to place the name. "Marissa Valpari," he said finally. "I've seen her name in Yinn's documents, of course, but... The Priory. She was... one of ours?"

Vasha wasn't sure what to make of the Archon's uncertainty; if it was a ruse, it was a damned good one. "She nearly died in a training exercise, here in Cursed Shore."

"Ah." Artair's face fell. "Yes. I see. Those events were a long time ago, but they remain one of the greatest regrets of my life. There were organisational issues and failings within the upper echelons of the Priory, but... I should have retained better oversight of the operation. The lives of those recruits will remain forever on my conscience."

Artair shook his head. "I can assure you, Vasha, that I have learnt from those failings. The Priory was the wrong place to expect ground-breaking discoveries and it was certainly the wrong place to search for my candidates. I have moved on."

Around them, the rotting ship groaned. Vasha couldn't seem to peel her fingers from the handle of her pistol, but it was no longer Artair she was worried about. His every thought and feeling was written so clearly on his expressive face. She'd see an attack coming in a heartbeat.

"Speaking of moving on: this is no place to barter. I deemed it wisest to make this offer privately, but now I must take my leave. My offer is simple, Vasha. Meaningful, challenging work for as long as you want it, under the auspices of my guild – with appropriate payment, of course. I believe you would find fulfilment for both your purse and that clever mind of yours.

"But there is no need to make a decision now. These circumstances do not lend themselves to reasoned thought." Artair paused, head on one side. "And I believe your friend may be in trouble below."

Jean. Vasha jolted as though waking from a terrible dream. She'd scrambled across Cursed Shore to follow Jean to this round's prize – and promptly forgotten all about him. Suddenly, with Artair's offer before her, winning the game seemed far less important. For all their disagreements, though, she wasn't going to leave Jean to be torn apart by Risen.

Artair spread one hand. "Go. Save your friend. I regret that we had so little time to talk, but I will be in contact again when the time is right."

Vasha nodded, drawing her pistols. She whirled towards the stairwell. She could hear the muffled sounds of fighting, now she knew to expect it – thumps and shouts, and the sizzle of spells. Jean really was in trouble.

That didn't make descending further into the ship less terrifying... But Artair thought she was clever, and brave, and determined. No-one had ever spoken about her like that – not as a child in Divinity's Reach, not as a sailor, and not as a Marauder. She was going to prove him right.