The Calling

15

Genevieve moved alone through the underground tunnels.

She used a torch to light her way initially, but as she progressed farther into darkspawn territory she found that more and more of the tunnels were lit by the phosphorescent lichen that lined the walls like mold. For all she knew, it could even be mold. Perhaps the corruption that coated the stone like slick bile had its own growths, its own pro cess of decay. What ever the source, the sickly green light in the tunnels was eventually strong enough that she could extinguish the torch and move through the shadows without it. She could save it for later.

If later came at all.

This was likely to be a one-way trip. That truth had been staring her in the face for some time now, but she had refused to acknowledge it. Abandoning the others was the right thing to do. Bregan was her brother, and it was she who insisted that he was alive. This was her responsibility. The talents of the others had been useful, but it was better if she did the rest on her own.

Kell would wake up to find her gone, and rightfully judge that it was better to abandon the mission and return to the surface. It would be a difficult ascent for the others, but Genevieve was confident they could do it. She was less confident that she would succeed in reaching her own goal.

But she had to believe. She felt Bregan out there, felt him just the same as she felt the darkspawn. Every now and again she would turn a corner in the tunnels and would feel her brother’s presence on the edge of her senses, almost as if his scent had been carried to her somehow on an invisible wind. Why she felt him now when she had only dreamed of him before, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was because she was so close. It burned under her skin, the knowledge that he was near enough to touch.

Dizziness overcame Genevieve and she paused, leaning against the rough-hewn stone walls for support. The dark mucus there smeared on the shoulder of her armor, but she barely noticed. That infernal song! The more she concentrated on trying to feel where her brother was, the louder it became, the more it infused itself inside her very mind. It was maddening, and yet she steeled herself against it. She could not let it overcome her now.

She had begun to hear it weeks ago, before they even arrived in Ferelden. The faintest whispers at first, an odd humming that she assumed was a residue of the powerful dreams. And then she realized what it was. Her time had come, just as it had come for Bregan.

They had taken their Joining together, so she had known that it would not be long in coming, but somehow she had assumed she would have more time. The Grey Wardens had elevated her to her brother’s rank knowing that it was a temporary mea sure, something sure to last less than a year or two at best, yet still she had been determined to prove them wrong. All those years of living in her brother’s shadow and finally her time had come, and then the whispers had come and ended even that.

She hadn’t told anyone. The Grey Wardens had ignored her warnings about Bregan, at best suggesting that the order would need to prepare itself if what she said proved to be true. The possibility of preventing the calamity didn’t even enter into their minds. Such fools. If she had told them of the whispers, then they would have leaped upon it as an excuse to send her into the Deep Roads—alone, and to die.

Genevieve wiped the sweat from her brow. She stared at her steel gauntlet and watched it shake. She felt weaker than she had in ages, like there was a thick poison loose in her blood. It made her skin itch and she wanted nothing more than to strip off her armor and scratch until she stripped the flesh from her bones.

There was no stopping now, however.

Banishing the fear that curled like a serpent in the pit of her stomach, she pushed herself away from the wall and began to walk. Her balance wavered, but by pure force of concentration she made herself place one foot in front of the other. I have come this far, she thought. I will not be denied now. I will stop the Blight.

For what seemed like endless hours she trudged through corruption and the mire, the dim greenish light of the lichen sometimes becoming a glare that sickened her and at other times becoming so faint that she was tempted to relight her torch. She moved through the shadows, stopping at every junction of the tunnels to listen and see if the feeling of Bregan would return again. She pressed her mind outward, feeling for anything, and yet all she heard now was that alluring song off in the distance.

Where were the darkspawn? At one point the creatures had been hounding their every step, and her Grey Warden senses could tell they lay in every direction even when they weren’t actively on top of them. Then they lost them in the lower caverns and, what? They had simply vanished.

She found it difficult to believe. No matter how effective the brooches given to them by the First Enchanter were, that shouldn’t change how darkspawn behaved. As soon as the creatures got a hint of their intrusion, the activity should have built until the Deep Roads were buzzing like an angry beehive. Losing their prey should have only increased their exertions. The idea that the darkspawn might be looking in completely the wrong direction, and only there, was too bizarre.

Something was not as it should be. She felt frustration as she realized she was missing an important piece of the puzzle. What was making the darkspawn act so strangely? Assuming Bregan had indeed been taken captive, why do that now when they had never once done so in all the centuries the Grey Wardens had sent elder members of their order to the Calling?

Unless they had. Those who went to their Calling were never heard from again. What if they had been sent into the darkspawn’s arms, and not to their deaths at all? Yet the order claimed it knew, and she had to believe.

The rocky passage opened up slowly, and she noticed smoother walls now. Architecture. Dwarven handiwork. The tunnels had circled around to an older part of the Deep Roads, then. Here the statues seemed to be absent, the craftsmanship less precise, the lava flows missing. What was it, then? The Deeper Roads? She had never heard of such a thing.

Almost without warning, she received a sense of darkspawn approaching. She tightened her grip on her greatsword and waited. Why hadn’t she detected them sooner? Had they found some way to mask themselves from Grey Warden senses, just as the brooches masked the group from them? A sobering thought, to be certain.

As she inched forward, sweat beading down her forehead, and her eyes trying vainly to pierce the shadows as she watched for an attack, she realized that there was only a single creature coming. A lone stray, then? A forager, perhaps, unable to sense her through the brooch’s cloaking?

She had to kill it quickly. Slay it before it became aware of her and she might be able to avoid alerting the horde that inevitably lay in wait.

Genevieve moved to the side of the tunnel, pressing against the wall behind a stone support pillar. It was hardly large enough truly to hide her, but the darkness shrouded her here. These creatures could see far better in the dark than humans could, but they were not immune to it.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she waited. She peered around the pillar, waiting for the darkspawn to show itself. The minutes passed. Sweat dripped off her forehead and ran into her eyes, but she ignored it.

Soon her patience paid off. A figure appeared in the distance, just barely discernible against the green haze of the lichen. It shuffled toward her, its raspy breathing clear in the vast and empty silence. A hurlock, then, she noted from its size. She readied her sword. Even a hurlock could be killed in a single blow if she was quick.

She pressed as flat against the wall as she could, stifling her own breathing and listening for the faint sounds of the creature’s steps. It came closer … and closer. The crunch of a piece of nearby stone underneath its foot signaled the moment to attack. She stepped out from behind the pillar, preparing for the silent swing—

“Genevieve.”

It was Bregan. He stood there in front of her, and she knew it was him even though he wore a black suit of darkspawn armor and was so covered with diseased flesh he could very well have passed for one of the creatures. His white hair was gone, and his eyes had reddened until they were the color of blood, but it was him.

She stopped in midswing, howling in dismay. Andraste’s mercy, what had happened to him?

“Bregan?” she asked, disbelieving.

He nodded. He seemed calm, and those bloodred eyes flicked to her sword with interest. Genevieve lowered the blade and then dropped it to the ground. It landed with a dull clatter. Should she kill him? The knowledge he possessed needed to die with him, but what if he had already given it away? What if there was something he could tell her?

Looking at what he had become, part of her wondered if she should kill him even so. Her brother had sacrificed everything for her, even a semblance of a life. Could she do any less for him?

“We have kept the darkspawn away, for a time,” he said. “I knew you would come, and I wanted you to arrive safely.”

“Who is ‘we’? Bregan, what has happened to you?”

He stepped toward her and took her arms gently in his hands. Both enthralled and horrified by those eyes, she was unable to look away. Of all the things she had imagined upon reaching Bregan, the idea that he wasn’t some unwilling captive was not one of them. The idea that he might have turned into some … monster … was even worse.

“This is what we become,” he said. “If you wait long enough, the taint spreads within you and becomes this.”

“That’s horrible!”

“No, this is freedom!” Bregan shook her emphatically. “We have a chance, Genevieve. A chance to do what no Grey Warden has ever done. We can end the Blights forever!”

The words sank in only slowly, and as she realized what he was saying she looked at him in puzzlement. “End the Blights? How?”

“It requires a sacrifice. A large sacrifice. But we have to be willing to make it.” He seemed so resolute, his tone so certain. “Please, if you come with me, we can explain it to you.”

“Are there other Wardens here?”

“There is a darkspawn emissary.” He put up a finger to silence her as he felt her tense in response. “I know what you are thinking, and I thought the same, but he is not like any darkspawn I have ever seen. He is something different, an ally. Come, listen to him speak. That is all I ask.”

“Have you gone mad?”

Bregan seemed to consider the question. He released her arms, and Genevieve stepped back, her mind whirling with questions. Maybe she was the one who had gone mad. Of all the times for it to happen, the strange music off in the distance swelled and pressed in on her mind. She tensed and fought it off. She had to know what this was, what had happened to her brother.

“Perhaps,” he pondered. “I don’t know.”

She ran to him and took one of his hands in hers. His skin was cold and clammy, but she ignored it, looking pleadingly into his eyes. “Bregan, we have to get you away from here! Before something terrible happens!”

“And go where?” he asked. When she had no answer, he chuckled. It was a mirthless, cold sound. “Where could I go that I would not be killed instantly on sight by anyone who saw me? Where could you go?” He gently tugged on her gauntlets. She let him do it. They came off and revealed the stains of corruption below. “We are dead, Genevieve. Dead the moment we drank the blood in the Joining, in the name of stopping these Blights by any means necessary. That is the Grey Warden way, isn’t it? And here we have our chance.”

“But …”

“Did you actually come here to save me?” Bregan released her hands and she jerked them away, hiding them behind her back. “All this way, through darkspawn and who knows what else, to bring me home?”

“I came to stop you.” She frowned, her calm returning to her by inches. “I came to prevent a Blight from occurring.”

“Then prevent it.” He held out a tainted, withered hand to her. She stared at it dispassionately, wondering if that was truly the fate that awaited her. Had the ancient Grey Wardens known that? Had this happened before, she wondered, and this was why they created the Calling? Death seemed like it would almost be preferable.

But she had to know. The order had a noble cause, one that had saved countless lives and would save countless more. She had wanted to be a Grey Warden since long before the recruiter even came to her village—and what if there was something to what Bregan said? Stopping the Blights. Forever. That was worth a sacrifice, was it not?

Genevieve took Bregan’s hand. She was shaking like a leaf, and couldn’t force herself to stop. “What … what about the others?” she asked hesitantly.

“I can’t make promises about them.”

“Are you certain this can be done, Bregan?”

He grinned, displaying teeth that were stained and eerily sharper than she had ever remembered them being. Like darkspawn teeth. “I’m not certain about anything anymore,” he said.

And then he led her away, down the tunnel and into the darkness as the distant music swelled into a chorus that drowned out everything else. The group woke up only to discover that Genevieve had vanished during the night. It was not difficult to guess where she had gone. Kell cursed himself for a fool for even agreeing to her suggestion of standing watch, though Maric had other ideas on that front. She had left them asleep and unguarded. Anything could have come upon them in the night and slain them all—and for what? So she could follow her obsessive drive to locate her brother. He wasn’t even convinced that this was truly about stopping the Blight, not to her.

But the others still believed. Duncan in par tic u lar seemed most aggravated by Genevieve’s departure, storming about the campsite and ranting about how stupid she could be. It was an odd way to talk about one’s commanding officer, Maric had to admit, and he wondered just what had occurred between the two of them inside her dream.

Utha watched the lad pace, and then indicated that they needed to follow after Genevieve. The others said nothing at first, staring at each other awkwardly, and Maric realized what they were thinking. Chasing after their commander was a Grey Warden concern. Indeed, even if they still thought that stopping the coming Blight was a possibility, that, too, was their concern—but not his. Maric had already performed his task, and they couldn’t reasonably ask the King of Ferelden to follow them into what looked like certain death.

He looked at Fiona then, and found her studiously avoiding his gaze. He had woken up alone, and they hadn’t exchanged words since. In fact, she said very little. The elf didn’t seem angry, as far as he could tell. Perhaps she was simply trying to pretend it hadn’t happened, or that it had been a moment of solace and nothing more. Perhaps he had spoken too much of Katriel. He had lain with his former elven love, too, in these Deep Roads; it was impossible not to see the comparison.

He told the Wardens that he would go with them, of course. There was no turning back now, any more than there had been after slaying the dragon. They were past the point of no return. Whether or not he believed in the witch’s warning, he was committed to this path.

So they descended. Fiona led the way with her staff shining brilliantly in the greenish shadows, and they moved as swiftly as they could. The looks on the Wardens’ faces told him everything he needed to know: The darkspawn had returned. Even he could hear the faint sounds of their approach, the distant droning hum getting louder by the minute.

“How long do we have?” he asked Kell.

The hunter stared intently off into the shadows, his pale eyes glinting dangerously. He unslung his bow from his shoulders and drew an arrow. Hafter growled angrily at his feet, hackles raised. Duncan drew his silverite daggers, grimacing as he, too, watched for an unseen enemy.

“It won’t be long now,” the lad murmured to him.

“So quickly? Where did they all come from?”

“I don’t know. They’re ahead and behind us.”

“Is there a way to get around them?”

Duncan said nothing. Instead the group began to run. Fiona raised her staff and cast a spell of protection, a blue glow settling over each of them. Their urgent pace quickened as they reached an intersection of passages. Three directions availed themselves, each of them leading into more shadows and greenish haze.

Kell waved to them to stop, and keenly peered down each passage in turn. Maric’s hand tensed on his sword, his heart thrilled with fear. The others formed a defensive position almost immediately, turning their backs to Kell and facing outward, weapons at the ready. The alien hum of the darkspawn seemed to surround them.

“They are down every passage.” The hunter frowned ponderously. Hafter growled at the shadows, baring his fangs, and Kell absently reached down to soothe the hound with a gentle pat.

“So where do we go? Which way?” Duncan demanded.

Utha pointed directly ahead, and Kell nodded. “Yes. We cannot stay here. We need to find a more defensible position, for they are coming to us no matter which way we go.”

“How did Genevieve get past them?” Fiona asked, frustration mounting in her voice.

The hunter ran ahead, not answering the question, and the rest of them followed quickly on his heels. It was possible that Genevieve hadn’t gotten by them at all, Maric thought. She could be dead already, and they would never know. What he really wondered was how the darkspawn seemed to suddenly zero in on them so effectively when the Wardens were supposedly hidden by the onyx brooches they wore. Something was not right.

They raced ahead down the new passage, evidence of rubble appearing amid the darkspawn filth. Ancient statues lined the rocky walls here, most of them so crumbled and covered in blackness that they could barely be recognized as such. Had the dwarves existed even here beneath the Deep Roads? There was no time to stop and admire the scenery, however. They ran, breathing hard from exertion and panic. Maric stumbled on a patch of uneven rock and Utha darted in to steady him before he fell. He nodded his thanks to her and kept going.

The passage opened up into a cavern, and they immediately slowed. A structure fully filled half the chamber, a wide set of stairs flanked by tall statues leading up to a massive dais lined with tall pillars. The rocky wall behind the dais had been carved into a great, vaulted arch. Once this had been an impressive sight, perhaps a temple honoring some ancient dwarven deity, but now it was blackened with decay and corruption. So much of it lined the floor leading up to the stairs that it had gathered into black clusters, twisted sacs as large as a man. The clusters hung from the ceiling as well, slowly oozing filth down to the ground, where it collected in stagnant green pools.

Kell pointed to the dais. “We make our stand there.” They didn’t argue and began running up the flight of stairs. The filth was deep enough here that it enveloped Maric’s boots and made a wet, sucking sound each time he pulled them free. The rancid stench stirred up by their movements was overpowering.

There was some kind of altar at the top of the dais, simple and flat and only as high as Maric’s waist. At least he assumed it had been an altar. Now it was so covered by a bubbling, festering mass that he didn’t even want to get close to it.

The group spun on their heels immediately, forming a defensive line at the top of the stairs and looking down on the cavern below them. All Maric could hear was their ragged breathing and the droning hum of the approaching horde. There was a hunger to it, the sound rising and falling almost rhythmically. Fiona raised her staff up high and it began to glow with such a dazzling brilliance, the entire cavern was lit up. Maric almost thought he could detect the horrified cringing of the corrupted foulness down there. Indeed, a faint hissing noise erupted from the chamber, and some of the tainted clusters exploded in a display of dark green goo.

Hafter began to bark furiously, but quieted at a gesture from Kell. Utha exchanged a dubious glance with the hunter and he nodded to her with a hint of a sardonic smile. He reached out and stroked her cheek fondly, the hound looking up at the action and blinking in surprise. Utha clutched his hand and held it to her cheek for a moment, her eyes moist, and then she let it drop.

Fiona glanced at the pair and then turned back to face the cavern, her expression resolute. “We’re not done yet,” she vowed.

“Sure looks that way,” Duncan muttered.

Kell turned to him, studying the lad thoughtfully. “You need to leave us here, Duncan. Let us battle these creatures while you slip away.”

“Slip away?”

“You are adept at moving through the shadows. Alone, you could possibly evade the coming horde. You could find Genevieve, if she lives, or even her brother.”

“I think you overestimate my sneaking abilities,” he snorted.

“You should try,” Fiona said. “We don’t know how many of these creatures are coming. Someone has to finish our mission, if it can even be done.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” he insisted stubbornly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“And if I ordered you?” Kell asked.

“Then I guess I would have to disobey.”

The hunter grinned. “Then I suppose I won’t do that.”

They turned back toward the cavern and waited. The humming of the darkspawn grew louder and louder, and then the first ones spilled into the chamber. Several short genlocks bounded in, followed by a hurlock in massive black armor and carry ing a deadly looking spiked sword. It hissed up at the dais, and the genlocks joined in, stopping and hissing with dis plea sure upon sighting their quarry.

An arrow sped across the air and struck the hurlock between its eyes. It collapsed without a sound. The genlocks roared and charged. More arrows flew and the darkspawn stumbled to the ground, dead before they even reached the stairs.

“I am running out of arrows,” the hunter announced, drawing his bow again.

“I’m running out of clean smallclothes,” Duncan responded.

More darkspawn surged into the cavern now, coming from both entrances. It was a wave of them, their humming filling the entire chamber and drowning out every other sound. Kell carefully fired arrows into the mass, and though each strike sent a creature squealing to the ground, it was clearly not going to be enough.

Fiona pointed her staff at them, her brow furrowing in concentration as a fireball issued forth and hurtled to the bottom of the stairs beneath them. The flaming sphere detonated at the front of the darkspawn ranks, sending the creatures flying and filling the cavern with a flash of magical flame. The creatures let out ear-splitting squeals of anguish, many of them engulfed completely and flailing as they fell to the ground on fire. The flames spread to the oozing filth that covered the cavern floor, and suddenly the ground itself was burning, smoke rapidly filling the air.

Maric was impressed. “How many more of those do you have in you?” he asked her. No answer was forthcoming as the elf swooned and fell backwards. He rushed forward and caught her, his heart jumping as he noted how pale she already was, sweat pouring down her brow.

She blinked rapidly and pushed herself back to her feet. “A few more,” she gritted out. The darkspawn ignored their burning comrades, leaping over them and rushing through the flames even as they got seared. More arrows rapidly struck those at the front. Fiona let out a scream of effort and a second fireball launched itself into the darkspawn ranks, the blast sending a wave of heat and charred stench past Maric.

More were already pushing their way into the cavern, though it was getting difficult to see through the flames and the smoke. He coughed and blinked his eyes at the haze. It seemed the dwarven ventilation ducts were simply not as good here—or, more likely, they were gummed up with the same filth that covered everything else.

So be it. Better to suffocate than die at the hands of these monsters, if need be.

He darted forward as the first hurlock raced up the steps, its flesh scorched black and its translucent eyes filled with raw hatred. He knocked its blade aside with his own and then spun around, beheading the creature in one clean stroke. Ichor fountained from the stump, splattering over his armor, but he ignored it.

More darkspawn were already racing toward him. An arrow whizzed by his ear from behind him, striking one of the creatures and sending it tumbling down the stairs. He lifted his sword and charged. With the more heavily armored Grey Wardens either dead or gone, it fell to Maric to hold the front line as best he could. If only the stairs were narrower.

Another fireball passed over his head as he met the first darkspawn blade, parrying it with a shower of sparks. He didn’t see the blast of flame as the fireball hit its target in the distance, but the wave of sound and searing heat was almost enough to knock him back. Several of the darkspawn in front of him fell; he used the opportunity to plunge his sword into the back of one of their necks.

Thick smoke billowed into his face and he gagged, and then fell back as a genlock in spiked, tattered plate armor leaped at him and slammed into his chest. Maric grunted in pain as his head hit the stairs, and he watched with horror as the genlock gleefully reared up with its club and prepared to bring it down upon his head.

Utha tackled it, flying right over Maric. All he saw was a flash of brown robes and her long, coppery braid, and the creature was torn off of him. He jumped up just in time to see the dwarf striking down with her fist into the genlock’s face beneath her, crushing its snout and sending both ichor and fangs splattering in all directions. Without pausing, she spun and kicked a charging hurlock in its chest and sent it hurtling back down the stairs.

More arrows flew overhead. Maric quickly raised his sword to defend himself as a pale-skinned hurlock attacked out of nowhere. It brought its large blade down in an overhand strike that he was only barely able to parry. The force of the blow rang through his shoulders. Grunting with effort, he pushed the darkspawn’s blade up and off his own and then thrust the pommel into its forehead. Bone gave way with a sickening crunch and it squealed in pain, falling to the ground.

Duncan rushed at two hurlocks that attempted to race by Maric on the stairs, their swords raised as they hissed in rage. One of his silverite daggers slashed across the throat of one and it fell back, clutching at the gushing wound. The other hurlock swung its sword down, roaring, but he easily danced aside.

Dropping into a crouch, Duncan sliced the creature across its shins with his second dagger. The blade cut deep into its bones, and it stumbled to the ground with an angry squeal. Barely pausing, the young Grey Warden leaped up into the air and brought both his daggers to bear with a flourish. He landed on top of the darkspawn with a war cry, plunging both the daggers into the monster’s head. It spasmed once and then was still.

Then another wave of darkspawn was upon Maric and he couldn’t see anything other than the opponents directly in front of him. He swung his longsword in wide arcs in front of him, less concerned with artistry than in just forcing the creatures back down the steps. The blue runes on his blade were glowing more brilliantly than he had ever seen them before, and it seemed to make the darkspawn reel back the moment they came too near.

Acrid smoke got into his eyes. The foul stench of burned flesh threatened to overwhelm him. He sliced off the sword hand of a hurlock, sending its weapon flying, and then kicked it hard in its armored breastplate. Screaming, it fell back down the stairs, knocking several others down on its way and ending up impaled on the spear of one of its own comrades.

The stairs had become littered with darkspawn corpses, and enough of the creatures had reached the dais that it was becoming crowded and chaotic. Sweat poured down his face, his breathing labored from the thin air. He glanced over to see Kell not far away, his flail whipping around him in circles, its spiky head tearing out darkspawn throats. Hafter fought at his side, his fangs dripping black ichor and his fur matted with red blood that must have been his own.

Maric was wounded, as well. He felt the puncture in his thigh left by a spear that had managed to bypass his guard, and it was slowing him down. Even so, he couldn’t stop. He swung his sword hard at a genlock that attempted to race past him, cutting it down. Then he spun about and impaled another genlock that raced at him with black blade raised high.

Where was Fiona? He looked around frantically for a sign of the mage, but saw nothing but chaotic fighting. He caught a glimpse of Utha fighting nearby, grimacing with determination and splattered in black ichor, but there was too much smoke and chaos for him to see much farther. He should have stayed closer to Fiona. He should have guarded her instead of rushing ahead.

Maric paused as he heard a new sound over the din: a guttural roar, deeper and louder than anything he’d heard previously. He looked down the stairs and saw another creature appear. It was a massive, muscled thing with blue skin and twisted black horns, almost demonic looking. It spotted Maric and uttered a furious bellow, displaying razor-sharp fangs and emitting a spray of thick spittle.

“Ogre!” he heard Kell shout with alarm from nearby.

The creature raced up the stairs, overrunning its own darkspawn comrades and swinging its meaty fists to bash them out of its way. It had its milky-white eyes set on one target: Maric. Two hurlocks in front of him tried to get out of its way, but the ogre was impatient. It stepped on one, crushing it underfoot with a sickening crunching noise, and slapped the other aside so hard it went flying and slammed against the wall of the cavern.

Maric braced himself as the creature charged, leveling his blade in front of him and staring intensely. It roared another challenge and swung a massive fist down at him. He rolled to the side, barely avoiding the strike, and came up on his feet without taking his eyes off the creature. Chunks of stone flew from the stairs; a large crack was left behind. The ogre paused and turned its horned head toward him, glaring as if suddenly aware Maric would not be such an easy kill.

The creature ran at him and swiped repeatedly with its taloned hands. Any one of those strikes could tear his head off, he thought. He ducked under the first swipe and then rolled forward to avoid the second, slashing at the ogre’s legs as he passed. The blade cut easily through the creature’s thick blue hide, black ichor spitting from the wound.

The ogre twisted about to try to grab at Maric again. He only barely avoided its grasp, rolling to one side once more. More smoke drifted by his face and made his eyes water, but he kept the creature in sight.

Letting out an ear-splitting bellow, the creature reared up and then brought its fists down onto the steps below it with incredible force. The impact sent out a shockwave that shook the entire structure, and Maric was thrown onto his back. His ears rung from the sound alone, and as he shook his head he suddenly saw the blue giant on top of him.

It snatched him up in its meaty grip, easily hoisting him aloft. Maric still held on to his sword, but it was now locked at his side along with his arms. He struggled, but the creature only squeezed him until his armor dug into his flesh. The pain of his bones crushing together was unbearable and he screamed.

When he opened his eyes, he was eye to eye with the ogre. He saw every ridge on its twisted horns, every vein on its bluish hide. It grinned wickedly, the rotten carrion stench of its breath filling Maric’s nostrils.

It could rip my head off with those fangs, he thought. Or just crush me into a pulp. Not a bad way to die. Far better than, say, slipping on a puddle or eating a chicken leg the wrong way.

He clamped his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. Suddenly a peal of thunder rang throughout the cavern and a bolt of lightning struck the ogre directly in the chest. Maric felt the heat of it, felt himself deafened by the wave of force and sound, and flew out of the ogre’s hand as it was propelled backwards. It roared in pain as Maric tumbled to the stairs, falling awkwardly on one leg and wrenching it badly. Agony burned through him. He would have kept falling down the stairs had there not been a great number of darkspawn corpses already there to stop him.

Maric groaned, unable to move, and watched as the ogre slowly got back up to its feet. The scorch mark left by the lightning bolt covered much of its chest, still sizzling and smoking. It glared angrily toward the top of the stairs where Fiona stood, smoke still curling from the end of her staff. She looked like an elven goddess of vengeance, streaked with ichor and soot, her teeth bared in fury.

“That’s right!” she shouted. “Come and get me, you blue bastard!”

The ogre roared up at her in response, bringing both its fists down upon the steps beneath it. The ground shook from the blow, and at first Maric didn’t realize what it was doing. Then he saw: It was digging its talons into the stone. With a great wrenching groan, the ogre ripped up a large piece of masonry from the stairs, leaving an impressive gap. Stone chunks flew off, one large enough to crush Maric’s head bouncing on a step not a foot away.

With a bellow of effort the creature heaved the masonry boulder up at Fiona. She lifted her staff, shouting as she summoned another spell. A white flare burned around her staff as another lightning bolt lanced forth from it, striking the boulder in midflight. With a resounding crack that filled the cavern, the boulder shattered into a cloud of dust and a thousand shards that flew in every direction.

Fiona stumbled backwards, pale and weakened, and the ogre began a lumbering charge up the stairs toward her. Maric pulled himself up to his feet, his leg burning with agony. He ignored it and began to race up the steps after the creature, taking two or three at a time.

The ogre got to the top of the stairs, towering over the mage. Though she held up her staff and made a feeble attempt to summon a spell, there were only swirls of light around her and nothing more. The ogre roared in victory.

Maric reached the ogre from behind and, shouting a loud war cry, he raced up the creature’s large back, allowing his speed to carry him. He plunged the dragonbone longsword between its shoulder blades, the enchanted blade thrusting through thick hide and bone. He bore down on the hilt with his weight, pushing it even deeper until the sword shook from the effort.

A gush of cold ichor erupted from the wound, splattering on Maric’s face. The creature squealed in torment, arching its back and clutching at the air with its taloned fingers. It tried vainly to reach for the impaled sword, twisting about frantically. Maric tried to hold on, but the hilt was slick with ichor and he lost his grip. Tossed aside, he landed on the dais, his head cracking forcefully against the stone.

The ogre arched back even farther, screeching and trying to get at the source of its anguish. Maric could see the tip of his sword jutting from the front of its chest. Slowly it teetered back, and then toppled. It crashed heavily to the stairs and then began to tumble down to the bottom, picking up speed as it went.

A cloud of smoke surged across his vision, stinging his eyes. He could feel the heat of nearby flames, hear the sizzle and pop of the darkspawn corruption as it burned. He heard Hafter barking loudly somewhere off in the distance, and then Duncan shouted. He couldn’t see anything at all. There was a ringing sound, too, and Maric realized it was his head. It throbbed dully and he couldn’t move.

“Maric!”

It was Fiona’s voice. He discovered that he had closed his eyes. The sounds of battle suddenly seemed very distant, as if they were happening somewhere else and not quite relevant to him. A sense of weakness and peace descended over him. His eyes fluttered open to find the mage looking down at him. Her face was pale with exhaustion, her short black hair coated in ichor that dripped down across her forehead. She was holding him in her arms, and he felt blood oozing from his head. She looked so frightened, he thought.

He wanted to comfort her, but couldn’t. His hand felt leaden and not quite under his control, and while he tried to reach up to her, he missed her completely.

“Maric! You need to get up!” Fiona shouted frantically. Then her attention was drawn by something he couldn’t see. She stared off, dread filling her eyes as the darkspawn humming suddenly got much louder. It filled the entire cavern, and Maric could almost picture another wave of darkspawn piling in from both passages.

“That’s too bad,” he muttered. “I’d hoped we’d gotten them all.”

“There’s no end to them.” She looked weary, the fight all but gone out of her as she watched the darkspawn horde’s inevitable approach. Kell yelled somewhere far off, and Hafter howled in pain.

He stared up at her and smiled wanly. Somehow it didn’t seem so terrible. He felt bad for young Cailan, but he knew that Loghain would do right by the boy. Far better than he could ever have. He had felt a hollowness for so long, an emptiness that just grew worse with each passing year.

Yet here, lying in her arms, Maric felt strangely content. He looked up at Fiona’s face and thought only how beautiful she was. Those dark eyes had seen so much suffering. He wanted to tell her that there was no more need to be frightened, that everything would be all right now.

And then a wave of magic struck them, a power colder than anything Maric had felt before. His vision clouded into a pure white, and then he sank into darkness. The only thing he found himself regretting was that he was alone.