Chapter 5: Part 10 - Mistakes

As she'd charged across the battlefield, Vasha had told herself the lines of this war were already drawn. The Order of Whispers against Yinn ‒ and herself against the rest of the Marauders. Somehow, it didn't matter that they'd come into this game together, that Roan had seen something in a fledgling engineer and chosen to take her on. Since arriving in Draconis Mons, she'd felt the chasm between them growing wider. Roan had changed since their encounter with Grey; the Nageling Marauders had changed with him. And Vasha herself...

She wasn't sure if she'd changed, or only uncovered something within herself that had always been there. Either way, she now knew that allying herself with the Marauders ‒ with anyone ‒ wasn't the way to win this.

Still, it was with Jean and his family on her heels that she sprinted up the hill. Light's Memory had turned back, more concerned with the battle than the end of the game. Up close, the column of white light was barely six feet across, yet the Marauders had to be inside. There was nowhere else they could have gone.

Vasha heard Jean say her name, a caution or a warning, but it was too late. She'd already crossed the threshold.

She skidded to a stop. Inside the light, or perhaps on the other side, there was... a room? Vasha blinked in surprise. The space was circular, ringed by marble pillars, and with a domed ceiling. White mist swirled between the pillars as though concealing windows onto distant lands. It had to be an illusion, but it was an extraordinarily convincing one.

Four figures stood inside. To Vasha's left, crouched and wary, were the Marauders. To her right...

"Archon Artair." The words spilled out of Vasha. Her heart seemed to be beating haphazardly, as though it couldn't keep up with her racing thoughts. What was Artair doing here ‒ and more importantly, had he been watching?

"Vasha." Artair looked pleased; at least, she thought he did. He was definitely smiling. "What a pleasure it is to see you again."

"I hope you don't expect the feeling to be mutual." Marissa's voice grated from behind Vasha's shoulder. "I'd much rather we greeted you with a bullet."

"Ah. Marissa Valpari." There was no hesitation in Artair's voice. If he truly hadn't remembered her aboard Death's Anthem, he did now. "I'm led to believe I owe you an apology."

Even Vasha winced at that. She'd never heard anyone sound so unapologetic whilst offering an apology.

Marissa stepped forwards, until Vasha could see her cold smile. "There is nothing you could give me that would be more satisfying than your blood on my blade ‒ but we'll save that, shall we? I believe we have a game to end."

Tension prickled across Vasha's shoulders. Yes, a game to end ‒ and there were two teams present.

Marissa didn't seem concerned by such trifles. "I believe six keys are required," she said. She waved a hand and six of her clones popped into existence around the room, one beside each pillar. Marissa was right. Now that Vasha looked more closely, there was indeed a keyhole in every pillar, roughly at an asura's eye level.

"What are you suggesting?" Roan asked.

"That we cooperate." Marissa folded her arms, looking smug. "We've done it before. Quite frankly, Yinn would be dead if we hadn't. Besides, he isn't here. I'm certain we have six keys between us ‒ and there's no-one to stop us using them together."

There was no-one to stop them fighting to the death, either. Vasha glanced around the room, waiting for an argument. None came. Not even Artair seemed inclined to intervene.

"Agreed," Roan said. Beside him, Haki and Gull both nodded. "Let's get this over with."

"That," Artair put in suddenly, "might be a mistake."

Vasha saw hands going to weapons all around the room. Roan tapped the handle of his mace. "No-one asked you."

Artair inclined his head. "No, but perhaps you should. I may not be here on Yinn's behalf, but I've been... involved in this game since the beginning."

"Why are you here, exactly?" Jean asked, sounding eerily like his sister.

Artair didn't even glance at Jean. He certainly didn't answer the question. "The prize at the end of this game is monetary. It always has been. Whilst I cannot deny the lure of such winnings, I would offer a note of caution."

Roan gave a low growl. "Get to the point."

Artair spread his hands. "The point, my furry friend, is that there is more to life than money. Cooperate, if you wish. Claim the prize. You may find, however, that winning is not the wisest option if you truly wish to forge a notable future for yourselves."

Vasha's heart beat loud in her ears. This was exactly what Artair had offered her before: a chance to prove herself worthy of joining his guild. Was he now offering the same to all of them?

"I hope nobody here," Marissa said, her tone dripping with venom, "would choose a future offered by you."

If he was insulted, Artair didn't show it. "Some participants in this game," he said agreeably, "may prove to be a better fit for my patronage than others. I have spent a considerable amount of time deciding who falls into that category."

"You've been watching us," Jean said, "but not as one of Yinn's clients."

"Just so." Artair nodded. How could he be so calm about this? Vasha's own heart felt like it was about to leap out of her chest. "Yinn's clients expected entertainment ‒ and you provided that admirably. I had other goals in mind."

Marissa made a disgusted noise. "Then you were involved in Yinn's manipulations? I should have guessed. There was a whiff of sadism about this game from the start."

"You wound me, Marissa." Something in Artair's tone, and in his smile, shifted. "But I would expect nothing less from you. I took a particular interest in the leaders of the twelve teams ‒ but you, of course, I knew would be unsuitable for my purposes."

Jean put a hand on his sister's arm, as though restraining her. She did indeed look like she was about to punch someone.

"And so I turned my attention elsewhere." Artair positively beamed at Roan, whose lip curled in response. "Whilst Yinn was concerned with the practicalities of running his game, I chose... a more personal touch. What else would you call an old friend?"

Roan growled again, his shoulders pulling back. "You're the one who dug Grey out of whatever hole he was hiding in."

Artair was still smiling. "And wasn't that an interesting encounter? However, your ultimate decision left something to be desired. True leadership requires a little more... ruthlessness."

So Artair had dismissed Roan because he'd spared Grey's life? Vasha barely had time to contemplate that ‒ because the Archon's gaze had turned to her.

She felt pinned beneath that stare, a butterfly with its wings trapped in a web. "Thankfully," Artair said, as though he spoke only to her, "there were three more members in every team, and some of them proved to be very interesting."

Roan's heavy tread interrupted her thoughts. It took only two long strides for him to reach Artair. "How," he said, almost too low to hear, "did you know about Grey?"

Artair didn't even flinch. "I have my sources," he said.

"Sources?" Roan loomed over the sylvari. "No-one in the Black Citadel would have talked to you."

"Oh, you'd be surprised." Artair's voice lowered too. "However, in this instance, you are correct. All the most interesting secrets about your past came from one Scholar Maille."

"What did you do to her?"

"Do to her?" Artair's eyes were wide as though in shock ‒ but his next words made Vasha's heart stop. "Killed her, of course. It shouldn't have been necessary, but she was singularly unwilling to talk."

The noise Roan made, halfway between a growl and a snarl, was one of genuine anguish. Before anyone could intervene, Roan drew his mace. There was a single moment of tense silence ‒ and then Roan's mace smashed into Artair's greatsword, which had come up to meet it. Roan's teeth were bared, all his weight pressing down on his weapon. Artair, beneath it, looked as casual as though out for a summer stroll.

They were going to kill one another ‒ Vasha could see that in a heartbeat. The only question was who'd go down first.

No, not the only question. All around the room, weapons were in hands. Vasha's fingers tightened around her own pistol. Roan and Artair. She could see her future caught between the two of them ‒ and worse, she wasn't sure which side to choose. Roan had trusted her this far, but he had nothing else to offer. Artair had killed Maille ‒ but he wasn't the only one guilty of terrible things. Without him, she had nothing.

"Should we do something?" Jean asked. He was half in a crouch, his sceptre held out before him.

Marissa folded her arms. "Do we really want to get between that?"

Roan and Artair were still locked together, oblivious to the rest of the world – but Marissa's disinterest made anger flare in Vasha's chest. She wouldn't let them slaughter one another over old grievances.

She'd raised her pistol almost before she knew what she was doing. Roan. Artair. Maybe all she needed to do was distract them ‒ or maybe she should end this, once and for all.

Vasha's hand was steady as she levelled her pistol, aimed, and fired.