Chapter 2: Part 9 - The Sharpest Blade

A wave of heat rolled over Oska’s back, hot enough to scorch the hair at the nape of his neck. Beneath him, Auri twitched, making cool air flood over them. When he raised his head, a bubble of her magic surrounded them, frost nipping at the tops of his ears.

The flame was gone as quickly as it had arrived. Oska could hear someone cackling, which could only be Ruby. There were several shouts, hammering footsteps, and finally the clatter of weapons. He rolled sideways, pushed himself up ‒ and almost got an elbow in the face.

The elbow belonged to Caolinn, who crouched beside him with her daggers drawn. She shot him a single look ‒ of warning, Oska thought ‒ before plunging into the fight.

What a fight it was. Artair had his entire guild with him, but Ruby was definitely holding her own. She seemed to have a supply of some kind of bomb, which she threw to the ground at every opportunity. Clouds ‒ of smoke, gas, and flame ‒ enveloped the fight one after another, until even Oska’s sharp eyes could hardly track what was happening.

But this was his chance. In all the chaos, he might be able to get close to Artair ‒ and end him, once and for all.

Oska pushed upright, pulling Auri up with him. “I want you to make as much sound and fury as possible.”

Auri gave him a curious look, but her hands were already tightening on her staff. “Like at the manor?”

It took Oska a moment to understand her meaning: Blackthorn Manor, but not the last time they’d been there. No, Auri meant when they were children, when she’d created blistering displays of Fire magic in the garden to give him a chance to raid the kitchen for currant buns.

“Just like that,” he said, grinning. “But as big as you can make it.”

Only as he drew his daggers and prepared to shadowstep away did Oska realise he might regret saying that.

Auri had always been powerful, but she wasn’t a child any more. He’d barely taken two steps before she raised her staff and the air began to heat. Oska leapt forward rather than be fried by it, but the waves of magic that flashed over his head still rivalled Ruby’s bombs. There were bolts of lightning, too, and a shower of gleaming ice shards. Auri might be most adept with Fire, but all the elements came as naturally to her as breathing.

Oska rolled forwards, coming up into a crouch with some kind of wolf snarling in his face. He dodged the beast, which in turn dodged a slash from his dagger, and jumped back into the shadows.

He came out again beside the norn, Gullveig. She stood a short distance from the fight, loosing arrow after arrow into the melee. Oska sliced for the back of her thigh, but she was wearing leathers that turned his blade. Gullveig cursed and leapt back, reaching for a sword. Oska flashed her a smile and darted away.

He found himself at Vasha’s side. She was backing away from Ruby, an explosive of her own in one hand. It would be oh-so-easy to stick a dagger in her neck… But Jean would never forgive him. Oska wasn’t entirely sure that was a good reason to spare Vasha’s life, but it was a reason ‒ and she’d never been the real target.

Speaking of which… Oska cloaked himself in shadows and scanned the battlefield. Ruby was causing enough havoc for ten combatants and Caolinn was a deadly silhouette behind her… But where was Artair?

A flash lit up the sky, momentarily blinding everyone nearby. It was followed by a concussive crack that felled those closest to it and forced Oska to retreat. Auri, he realised, could put an end to the entire fight in a matter of moments ‒ but unless she was ordered to, she wouldn’t see the need. Magic alone was enough to fascinate her; what she was using it for never made much difference.

A sudden hum made Oska fall back again. A whirling mass of blades spun towards him, followed by the white wolf he’d seen before. Oska shadowstepped away, even as Haki’s whirling axes forced the rest of the fight apart. In the lull that followed, Oska heard Ruby’s manic laughter ‒ and then, finally, he saw Artair.

The sylvari had a way of blending into the background when he wanted to. He wasn’t even fighting; Oska only saw him because light glinted off the massive sword he leant on.

A sword Oska was going to force him to use.

He darted past the fight, dodging swinging axes and zipping arrows. Smoke curled around him and then dissipated again ‒ and Artair was gone.

Oska froze. The damned Archon had been right there ‒ hadn’t he? There wasn’t even a patch of flattened grass where he’d stood. Some kind of mesmer illusion, a trick…

Or perhaps Artair was just sneaky enough to rival a thief.

“Hello, Oska.” Artair’s warm voice was right behind him. “I had a feeling we might soon meet in person.”

Oska turned, feeling as though he’d been frozen in one of Auri’s ice walls. Artair stood close enough to take Oska’s head off with a single swing. His sword remained balanced on his shoulder, though, and Artair was smiling.

Attack ‒ or flee. Oska wasn’t sure which instinct was screaming the loudest. He pushed both back down. “I’m surprised you even know who I am.”

“Are you?” Artair looked amused. “You don’t strike me as the modest type. I paid very close attention to Yinn’s game, you know. Some of the participants put on less of a show than others, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t of interest.”

Oska’s eyes narrowed. “Trying to recruit me, are you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” There was a hard edge to Artair’s smile now. “You Valparis are terrible at following orders. How is Jean, by the way?”

Jean. His cousin’s name struck Oska with a jolt of apprehension. He hadn’t seen Jean since Ruby’s first detonation and now Auri was throwing magic in all directions. Jean had looked so dazed, too. If he was hit by even the smallest concussion…

Oska realised his mistake a split-second after he’d made it. He’d given the battlefield only a single glance in the hope of spotting Jean ‒ but even a heartbeat of distraction was dangerous when talking to the Archon.

Oska didn’t see Artair move; the sylvari was damned fast. One minute his sword was balanced on his shoulder and the next it was poking Oska between the ribs. There wasn’t enough force behind it even to slice through fabric, but there didn’t need to be. Artair had made his point.

“Are you here to search for your cousin, thief?” Artair asked, his voice dropping to a silken whisper. “Or are you here for me?”

There was no time to reply. Artair’s attack was whip-fast, his sword swinging for the juncture between neck and shoulder. Oska leapt back, cloaking himself in shadows, but Artair came on. It was as though the sylvari knew every move Oska was going to make before he knew it himself. Every slash of his daggers was met with a shield of magic; at every dodge, that colossal sword was waiting. Oska retreated once, then again, but Artair kept coming, wielding his greatsword with horrifying finesse.

Quite suddenly, as he tried to roll aside and found Artair already there, Oska felt his confidence vanish. He had gone looking for the Archon, thinking to vanquish the sylvari with ease ‒ and instead, he found himself on the verge of defeat.

Oska darted aside, his daggers crossed. He realised he was panting. “You won’t… kill me… that easily.”

“Who said I was going to kill you?” Artair was infuriatingly calm. “I might have relinquished your cousin ‒ both of them, in fact ‒ but I could use another Valpari. You could know greatness, Oska, at my side.”

Oska realised his teeth were bared. “I’ll never serve you.”

“But you’ll follow that bumbling norn?” Artair was suddenly closer, as though the ground had carried him forwards. “Look at yourself, Oska. You’re the sharpest blade in the whole of Light’s Memory ‒ but I’m offering you true glory.”

“So this is a recruitment,” Oska began, but the words died in his throat. They stood some distance from the rest of the battle, but Artair’s gaze had slipped sideways.

To Auri.

She looked as unconcerned as usual, except there were sparks crackling in her hair and the staff in her hands was smoking. Oska knew exactly what she was thinking: she wanted to know whether her sound and fury had been enough, and what she should do now.

But Artair was watching her with alarming intensity. Oska felt a cold stab of fear. He knew, quite suddenly, that Artair’s ‘recruitment’ had been a ruse. The thought was clear in Oska’s head: it’s not me he wants.

Oska attacked without thinking. Everything became muddled when Auri was threatened; all he could do was lash out. Every one of his jabs was pinpoint accurate and filled with fury, but Artair blocked them all. From the corner of his eye, Oska could see Auri raising her staff, but he couldn’t let her attack. He had to keep Artair’s attention on himself.

He jumped, aiming for the back of the Archon’s neck with both daggers. As though the world had slowed, Artair seemed to pause, to lift his head to watch the attack ‒ and then his sword was between them, throwing Oska aside to crash painfully to the ground.

Oska didn’t even make it back to his feet before Artair returned the attack. His greatsword sliced towards Oska’s throat ‒ and stopped there, quivering.

For the first time, Artair looked almost flustered. “You are trying my patience, boy.”

“I haven’t even started.” Oska rolled back to his feet, but exhaustion clawed at his thoughts. He had to draw Artair away, back towards the fight. He had to keep Auri safe…

But Auri was preparing a spell, Artair was watching her with narrowed eyes, and Oska was swaying on his feet. He tried to step forwards, but the ground no longer seemed steady under his feet. When he struck again, Artair countered him easily. Their blades locked and Oska could see the sylvari was smiling.

“Persistent, aren’t you?” Artair leaned forward almost casually, driving Oska back a step. “One last chance, Oska. You can come willingly, along with your sister ‒ or I can leave you bleeding out in the mud.”

Oska didn’t have the strength to reply. He gritted his teeth and pushed against Artair’s greatsword ‒ and then, as if in a dream, he heard the pounding of feet.

He and Artair both looked up, towards a figure silhouetted on the ridge above. Oska would have said he was hallucinating, except he couldn’t imagine dreaming about his guild leader in any but his worst nightmare.

Which meant Erin was actually there and the figures crowding the hilltop beside her were real ‒ and Light’s Memory finally had the upper hand.

“One last chance, Artair.” Oska realised he was snarling the words and didn’t care. The look on Artair’s face was worth every guttural syllable. “Surrender now ‒ or answer to us.”