Chapter 5: Part 7 - Twelve Ships

Heading into a war wasn't how Jean had imagined his day would end. The honeyed daylight of Draconis Mons was fading, leaving only the eerie glow from the heart of the volcano. It was enough to illuminate the packs of fighters moving across the landscape, both Whispers agents in black and mismatched groups of mercenaries. There were so many of them that Jean was starting to wish he'd left Vasha to her own devices. Because he knew he'd let her win, if it came to a choice.

Vasha was right: she needed this far more than he did. Even now, he wanted to see her happy; she truly believed winning would bring her that.

A figure loomed out of the darkness on his right. Jean swung his sceptre without hesitation, catching the mercenary in the stomach with a shard of ice. The norn grunted and fell backwards, knocked out a moment later by a stunning blast from Vasha's pistol.

"Thanks," she murmured, as they went on again. "I didn't see that one sneaking up on us."

"You're welcome," Jean replied. It was all he could say, given the circumstances. He knew he wasn't responsible for Vasha's safety. He knew, too, that she was very different from the girl he'd met all those years ago in Divinity's Reach. Time and this game had changed her, almost beyond recognition.

She'd been right, too, about one other thing: he'd tried to change her first. Whether it was dinner parties with his family, or trying to direct her actions within this game, he'd spent too long wishing she would conform neatly to his ideals. Vasha wasn't some doll to be dressed and posed, though. She'd always lived life by her own rules, whether he agreed with the outcomes or not.

And yet... He couldn't walk away. He no longer even wanted to save her. All Jean could see in Vasha's face was hard ruthlessness and a determination to win at any cost. Out of friendship – he hoped they had that left, if nothing else – he wouldn't let her do something she'd regret.

"There," Vasha hissed. There were, indeed, more mercenaries ahead. The group of four were outlined in the light of the volcano, where they crouched atop an outcrop of rock.

"We need to take them out quietly," Jean said softly. "Until we find our teams, we don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

Did Vasha's jaw tighten at the mention of teams? Jean wondered if she had designs on winning the game alone, discarding the rest of the Marauders – or maybe it was more than that. He hadn't yet dared to ask.

"Fine," she said, perhaps through gritted teeth. "You take out the two on the right–"

She got no further. There was a high-pitched whine overhead, followed by a thrumming almost like heavy rain. Vasha threw herself to the ground and Jean did the same, even as he struggled to understand what was happening. The mercenaries ahead of them fell, cut down like trees to the axe. The thrumming sound stopped.

Gunfire. It had been gunfire, from some kind of weapon high overhead. The clouds around the volcano were thick and concealing, but a dark, bulbous shape suddenly burst through. It was an airship, but of no design Jean had ever seen before. It looked barely large enough to hold two people.

There were more of them. The mist inside Draconis Mons refused to part, but there was a sudden flare of light from the volcano itself. It illuminated more rounded shapes, drifting past on all sides. Now that Jean knew they were there, he could hear the low rumble of their engines.

"Eleven," Vasha said, her eyes on the same ships. "No, twelve. Where did they come from?"

Jean's heart sank. Twelve airships, especially such small ones, neatly corresponded to... "Yinn's clients," he said, "the ones who've been watching us from the beginning. The Order of Whispers told us there were twelve."

"Looks like they got bored of being spectators," Vasha said grimly. Distantly, there was another burst of gunfire, followed by a handful of screams. "How did Yinn even get them in here?"

It was a good question. Either they'd been flown in from above, down a chute too small for their arrival airship to enter by – or Yinn had brought them in piece by piece, assembling them inside Draconis Mons. For all his failings, he truly was a master of organisation.

Vasha scrambled out of the gully they were hiding in, though she stayed on her hands and knees. "They're only targeting the mercenaries. We should be safe."

"They're targeting the mercenaries because they're the only ones they can find," Jean pointed out. "There are so few original teams left."

As if to punctuate his words, there was a sudden engine roar overhead, followed by the whine of a gun. Vasha yelped, but Jean had already raised his sceptre. The bullets pattered harmlessly off his dome of Air.

Jean scrambled closer to Vasha, contracting the shield around them. "You were saying?"

"Fine." Vasha glared at him. "We're not safe. Help me search the bodies."

Jean mentally recoiled, but it was too late. Vasha had already left the shield and darted across to the fallen mercenaries. Jean followed. Seeing her turning over the limp bodies with her foot, then riffling through their pockets, made him feel faintly sick. He contented himself with maintaining the shield of Air, whilst searching a backpack that had fallen some distance away.

"What are we looking for?" he asked, tipping the contents onto the rock.

"This." There was triumph in Vasha's voice as she held up a key. Three separate pieces had been slotted together to make three-quarters of a circle. One more and it would be complete.

"Do you have the Marauders' piece?" Jean asked.

Vasha looked momentarily bitter. "Roan has it," she replied. "But I bet we'll find more before we reach the top."

Given the way the airships were buzzing back and forth overhead, firing indiscriminately, Jean had to agree.

"Do you know if there's any cover towards the centre of the volcano?" he asked.

If Vasha replied, he didn't hear it. There was a sudden buzzing in his ears, loud enough to disrupt his balance. Jean fell to one knee as the world tilted – and then he heard Marissa's voice.

If he hadn't been used to her tricks, he would have said she stood only feet away. Marissa had made a habit of practising her magic on him when they were younger, though. He'd endured her frequent mental messages, usually telling him to get her something to eat.

"He can hear me," Marissa said, as though talking to someone else. "He must be alive."

Jean groaned. Marissa's mesmer magic could be subtle when she wanted it to be. When she was in a hurry, though, it was more like being hit by a hammer.

"Jean," Marissa said, her voice clearer as she spoke directly to him. "I've found the twins. We're heading for the heart of the volcano. Meet us–"

Her voice cut out, the mental connection severed as Jean lurched to his feet. An engine was screaming towards them out of the sky; it sounded like it was straining to stay aloft.

"Down!" Vasha shouted, which was all the impetus Jean needed to dive for cover.

A shadow passed overhead, followed by a boom that shook the earth. Jean felt debris clattering down around him, and when he lifted his head, he dislodged a fine layer of dust.

"Was that an airship?" he asked, still bleary from Marissa's message.

"One of those little ones," Vasha confirmed. "There are fires to the east. I think at least one more came down over there."

"The mercenaries?"

"I doubt it. They haven't the firepower." Vasha scrambled upright.

Jean felt her moment of hesitation. He was still lying on the ground, filthy and disorientated. If she really wanted to win this game, she'd be better leaving him behind.

But her hand reached towards him. When he took it, she pulled him up with surprising strength. "Can you walk?" she asked. "You were mumbling something about your sister before. I almost thought you'd passed out."

"I'm fine," Jean said. His head was ringing and he dearly wanted to sit down, but it wouldn't do either of them any good if Vasha abandoned him now. "Marissa's on her way. Her and the twins."

Vasha's lips thinned, but she nodded. "Good. Let's go."