Chapter 5: Part 9 - Tempered Steel

Vasha wasn't sure which was louder: the rumble of the ground in the centre of Draconis Mons, or the beat of her own heart. She was dimly aware of conversation around her ‒ of Amber issuing orders and of Jean telling her... something. Her mind was so focused, now, that she'd lost the ability to listen to his words. They no longer seemed to matter.

The final stretch of rock and sand passed in a blur. The air vibrated to the sound of airships and the ground thundered beneath approaching feet.

Many, many feet. Those were going to be a problem.

They were almost to the centre of the volcano when the steam finally parted. Even Vasha's determination faltered at what lay ahead. The ground rose smoothly towards an outcrop almost like a ramp, jutting over the roiling cauldron of magma below. Vasha could feel the heat of it against her skin, a far more oppressive wall than the dust and steam. And between her and the outcrop? A battle.

The Order of Whispers controlled much of the field, fighting against scattered knots of mercenaries. If that had been the whole of it, Vasha would have said Yinn hadn't anticipated starting a war ‒ except his newly arrived golems had formed a line to the south, just waiting to be deployed. Even as Vasha watched, the Whispers agents drew back, disengaging from the mercenaries and heading for a defensive position to the north.

"There's still time to negotiate ‒ isn't there?" Jean's voice was loud in the stillness. It was surprising, in fact, just how quiet it was. Both sides seemed to be holding their breaths, if golems could do any such thing.

"Yinn isn't going to negotiate," Amber said. She shaded her eyes with one hand, looking towards the south. "That golem in the middle, with the flat head. That's his, isn't it?"

It was, though Yinn himself was nowhere to be seen.

Vasha scanned the horizon again, this time catching a flicker of movement she hadn't noticed before. The mercenaries were retreating; some headed towards the line of golems, whilst others looked ready to flee Draconis Mons at the first opportunity. They left behind an empty vista of churned dust and disturbed rock – and the Marauders were in the middle of it.

Vasha moved before she could stop herself. Her feet took her into a jog, then a sprint, pounding so loud that she almost missed Jean's shout of surprise. She didn't miss the sudden cacophony from the golems, a thrum and clatter as they lurched into motion. On her other side, there was a rustle from the Order of Whispers. Vasha cursed under her breath ‒ then cursed louder when a figure caught up to her. Jean, of course. No-one else would be foolish enough to follow her.

"What... are... you... doing?" His question was panted, but that didn't hide his exasperation.

Vasha didn't reply. The ground bucked beneath her, a hundred golems taking a step at the same time. She stumbled and Jean's hand found her arm, but not to drag her away. To pull her on.

"Come on," he hissed. "We're going to be squashed flat if we don't move."

It was too late. On one side, the Whispers agents rushed in with a noise like the tide; on the other, the golems broke into a jerky run. 'Squashed flat' was starting to sound optimistic. There was going to be nothing left of them but a greasy smear on the rock.

She darted forwards, making for a gap between two approaching bands of Whispers agents. Somehow, Jean was there before her with a rush of Air magic and a crack of lightning. Vasha skidded to a stop beside him, then ducked as he flung out both arms, daggers glinting. There was nothing for them to connect with, but Vasha knew that hadn't been his intention. A glimmering pink shield formed around them both, deflecting a hail of bullets like nothing more than drops of rain.

The shield dropped away as quickly as it had come. A sylvari in black waved at them apologetically, before disappearing into the dust after his colleagues.

"Gods' teeth," Jean swore. "We're supposed to be on their side."

Were they? The Order of Whispers were here to stop Yinn. As far as Vasha could tell, the remaining competitors were nothing but an inconvenience.

But someone could still win. She'd make sure of that.

It seemed Yinn had reached the same conclusion. Vasha managed only a dozen more steps before a golem loomed up on her left, arms outstretched. Jean yelped and threw himself forwards, in what seemed a pointless display of heroics ‒ but the golem didn't move. There was another one beyond it and a third beyond that. They'd formed a wall, blocking much of the battle from view.

Vasha didn't need to ask what they were doing. The wall of golems was a shield, stretching towards her destination.

A destination the Marauders had already reached.

Vasha sucked in a breath, instantly regretting it as sand coated her tongue. She recognised those three dark shapes climbing the ramp at the heart of the volcano. They were little more than silhouettes against a searing column of white light, one that definitely hadn't been there before. No wonder Yinn's golems were helping her: he wanted to see what she'd do when she got to her team, if there'd be one last fight before the end. Right now, Vasha thought that could go either way.

There was a sudden buzz of sound overhead. Vasha didn't need to look up to know an airship was close by. She whirled, pistol in hand, scanning the sky.

The airship emerged from the dust as slowly and ominously as a storm-cloud ‒ and it was close enough for Vasha to see it was armed.

She threw herself to the ground as the ship opened fire. One of the golems swung towards her, bullets pinging off its outstretched arm. The airship dropped lower, though, swinging its guns until they were angled below the golem's protection. Vasha scrambled sideways, trying to wedge herself behind the golem's leg, but the airship followed. Bullets sprayed the ground around her, close enough to spatter her legs with fragments of rock. She'd lost sight of Jean and the Marauders. She couldn't even tell which way she was facing.

"Perhaps you could use some assistance." The voice was impossibly close. Even under fire, Vasha swung round in amazement.

Marissa was still several metres away, almost invisible behind a purple shield of mesmer magic. Two more shapes crouched beside her, which Vasha guessed were the rest of Jean's family. And Jean himself...

He rolled past the golem with surprising agility, coming to a stop beside Vasha. "About time," he muttered, barely audible over the scrape of metal overhead.

Marissa had moved a few steps closer, bringing her shield with her. Her voice was still as clear as though she spoke in Vasha's ear. "Jean, a little cooperation, if you please."

Jean pushed himself upright, a look of determination on his face. He raised one hand, his dagger replaced with a sceptre. Magic prickled against the back of Vasha's neck and pressure built inside her head, as though the very air was growing heavier.

After that, the Valparis were a blur. Jean's magic quickly built to a whirlwind that tugged at Vasha's hair. Behind Marissa, one of the dark shapes swung a staff as tall as she was; the other vanished and reappeared some distance away, pistols raised. Marissa herself seemed to shimmer and multiply, the many versions of her weaving a dance that Vasha's eye couldn't track.

It was over within seconds. The airship's pilot must have realised they were under attack as the craft bucked under the strain. It began to rise, the engines whining ‒ until Marissa gave a shout and all four Valparis acted as one. With a scream of metal, the airship jerked sideways, then plummeted to the ground.

The shockwave of dust made Vasha fling her arms over her head. It seemed quiet in the wake of the crash, the cries of Whispers agents and groan of battling golems all very far away. Vasha eased herself upright, watching as the Valparis moved into a knot. They barely even spoke, but their kinship was plain. She'd never seen them look more like a family.

Something in her stomach twisted. A family indeed, with the ease of long familiarity and the arrogance of a noble upbringing. Vasha remembered sitting at their table, feeling small and cowed. She'd thought she'd always be inferior to them ‒ and if she wasn't, it would only be because Jean had warped her into something she'd never meant to be. He'd wanted her to be part of that world, without ever realising what it would cost her.

Well, Yinn's game had changed her plenty, without Jean's help. She was still nothing like the Valparis, but she'd become someone harder, stronger, like tempered steel. Someone who wouldn't feel guilty about using them to survive and casting them off when it suited her.

The line of golems still stretched up the slope away from them. The column of light shone at their end. The Marauders had vanished behind it, or perhaps into it.

"We need to move," Marissa said, startling Vasha with how much the words echoed her own thoughts.

Vasha glanced at Jean, who for once was looking at his sister instead of her, then nodded. Marissa was right. It was time to finish this.