The Calling

17

The fact that Duncan was able to find their weapons was a stroke of luck.

After some quick healing spells from Fiona, the lad had quietly pulled open the stone door to their cell and poked his head outside to ensure the coast was clear. According to the Grey Wardens’ senses, the immediate area around their cell was mostly devoid of the creatures. No guards, no patrols, no locked doors—Duncan opined that even if the darkspawn were now taking prisoners, it clearly wasn’t something with which they had much experience.

Maric was inclined to agree. Perhaps their captors couldn’t imagine the possibility that they could slip their chains. Or perhaps they couldn’t imagine that they might want to. More likely they knew that there was nowhere for them to go but out into a horde of darkspawn.

Duncan had returned with their weapons bundled in his arms not a minute later. They had been stored in another cell next to theirs, along with their packs and the magical brooches that hid the Grey Wardens from darkspawn detection. Presumably all of it had been kept there for the eventuality in which they agreed to Genevieve’s plan. Still, not even having a guard to watch over the weapons seemed foolish.

But perhaps these creatures didn’t have guards. The Architect had implied that it didn’t have full control over its own fellows. It had needed to swoop in and snatch Maric and the others from the jaws of the darkspawn who were attacking them, rather than ordering the attack to stop. It was an outsider, and thus its supply of minions to do such things as guard prison cells was limited or non-existent. Maric wasn’t about to complain.

It felt good to have the dragonbone longsword back in his hands, even covered in the ogre’s black ichor as it was. He had to wonder how they had even managed to touch it and bring it back here, but he wasn’t about to question that bit of luck, either.

Fiona’s staff was there, as was Kell’s flail. The only weapons missing were Duncan’s twin silverite daggers. The lad dug another weapon out of his pack, however: an obsidian dagger with an odd-looking carved handle. The lad tested the dagger’s weight, making several slashes at the air with it. He seemed satisfied, and Maric had to admit it certainly looked deadly enough. The black blade reminded him a little of the Grey Wardens’ brooches, though it was far fancier and almost glasslike.

“Well, at least you have a weapon you’re familiar with,” Maric commented.

“I stole it from the Circle of Magi when we were in the tower,” Duncan said lightly. “I’d almost forgotten it was even in my pack.”

Fiona had her staff back, and that allowed her the ability to light their way without relying solely on the bright glowstone hanging in their cell.

What followed wasn’t luck, but Duncan proving how Genevieve had found him useful for more than his skill with a pair of daggers. The lad slowly led them through the halls of the ruin, occasionally sneaking ahead to scout a proper path but successfully keeping them from encounters with roaming darkspawn. Not that there were many of those—for what ever reason, the ruin seemed to have only a few of the creatures in it, passing through on their way to doing what ever it was that darkspawn did. Maric truly had no idea.

The ruin itself seemed to be some kind of abandoned dwarven fortress, from what Maric could tell. It was crumbling, the walls filled with cracks and gaping holes where the masonry had collapsed, the stones layered with a blackened skin spread by the taint. The entire structure smelled of dust and foulness. Was this in the Deep Roads? Or were they still below it? More important, how long would it be before Genevieve and her new allies discovered that they were gone?

The third time that Duncan came back from one of his brief scouting missions, he was scowling. Maric noticed fresh ichor dripping from his dagger. “It will only be a matter of time now,” he groused.

“Did it see you?” Kell asked him.

“Of course not. You think they won’t notice anyhow?”

The hunter frowned thoughtfully. “Let’s hurry, then.”

They picked up the pace, darting into side rooms to hide whenever they sensed darkspawn coming near. Hafter growled deep in his throat as they waited in the darkness, but not loudly enough for the creatures to hear. Kell glared reproachfully at his hound, who at least had the good grace to look apologetic. The brooches still hid the Grey Wardens’ presence, apparently. Either that or the darkspawn sensed them simply as others of their kind and didn’t care.

After an hour of creeping their way through the dark and deserted hallways, Duncan eventually led them to a wide staircase that led down into darkness. Instead of continuing, however, he stopped and held up his hand behind him. He bit his lip as he stared ahead into the darkness.

“That’s a lot of darkspawn,” Fiona murmured.

“It sure is.”

The Grey Wardens all looked concerned. Even Hafter flattened his ears back as he glared down the stairs, baring his teeth in a quiet growl. “How many are we talking?” Maric asked them.

“A hundred,” Kell responded. “Maybe more.”

“Is there another way out of here?”

“I was searching for one,” Duncan sighed. “There was a larger passage that led out, I think, but it had a lot more darkspawn at the end of it. Thousands, maybe, I don’t know. I didn’t want to try that way.”

“Good idea.”

They stood at the top of the stairs, indecisive. This was why Genevieve and the others were unconcerned, after all. Even if they got out of their cell, what then? The only way out of the ruin led into a small army of darkspawn. They couldn’t hope to battle their way past.

Duncan crept down the stairs into the shadows, waving at them to remain behind. Kell stared after the lad anxiously, but there was nothing they could do. It was either proceed now or turn back, and behind them lay only trouble. Genevieve would insist on taking them prisoner again, or trying to. And if she succeeded, she and her brother wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. The darkspawn emissary might not know much about keeping prisoners, but they had no such shortcoming.

So they waited. Kell sat down on one of the steps, ruffling Hafter’s furry head as the hound whined nervously. Fiona peered after Duncan, worry etched onto her face. Maric leaned against the stone wall and found himself staring at her. He watched her dark eyes and the curve of her neck. Odd that he should be fixated on such things as they stood there in that heavy silence, but he couldn’t help himself. The thought of their night together kept spinning in his head.

“How will he even see out there?” he finally asked.

“Not well.” Fiona said, and for a moment their eyes met. The mage averted her gaze instantly, but not before he saw something there. She was thinking of it, too.

“Fiona … ,” he said, but his voice trailed off. What was he supposed to say to her? This was hardly the time or the place, but he might not get another chance.

She didn’t look at him. “Maric, you don’t have to say anything.”

“I feel like I do.”

She looked like she was about to say something else, but her attention was drawn to Duncan’s return. The lad appeared out of the shadows, stealthily creeping back up the stairs in a crouch. He stopped several feet from them, rubbing his chin. “Well,” he muttered, “I won’t lie to you. It’s pretty bad.”

Kell nodded slowly. The hunter’s eyes were closed, and he looked pained. Patting Hafter’s head one last time, he put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. “Tell us. What did you find?”

“The stairway breaks off at the end, and opens up into a natural cavern. A big one. The darkspawn are all out there. Digging, I think.”

“Digging?”

“From what I could hear. I crawled around some, but I couldn’t go far. As soon as you step out into the cavern, you’re in full view of the darkspawn. There’s nowhere to hide, and they won’t miss us.”

The hunter nodded again. “And? Is there a way out?”

“I couldn’t see,” Duncan sighed. “It seems like it sloped upward if we turn to the left, but there’s no point. We’ll never get past that horde. All we’d need is for a single one of them to look up from their digging and we’d be done.”

“Then we find another way out,” Maric stated firmly.

“No,” Kell said. He turned and peered down the dark passage behind them. “I believe they have already discovered our disappearance and are looking for us now. We are out of time.”

“Then we’re done.” Maric felt frustrated, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “Then we go back and surrender ourselves, and find another solution. We talk to Genevieve, or her brother. Make them see reason.”

Duncan snorted. “You’ve met Genevieve, right?”

Fiona shook her head. “Maric, I don’t think that’s going to help.”

“So, what? You want to run out there and get ourselves killed?” He strode toward her and took her shoulders in his hands, made her look at him. She seemed dispirited, almost on the verge of tears.

“Maric …” She shook her head sadly.

“No! I am not letting you die! And I’m not going to die, either. I came here … I think I wanted to die. I think I welcomed it. I felt like I had nothing to live for, but that’s changed!” He shook her shoulders emphatically, but it only made her look at him more pityingly.

“Maric, it’s too late.”

“I refuse to accept that. The Fiona I know, the one who stood up to that bastard who enslaved her, so would she.” He set his jaw and stared at her, demanding that she not surrender, as if he could force her by will alone. Instead of wilting under his gaze, she grudgingly straightened and nodded. He saw the determination return to her eyes.

“Have it your way.” She scowled.

“What ever way you have it,” Duncan chimed in, “we need to do something soon. The darkspawn are all connected to each other, and word is spreading fast. They’re going to be swarming all over us in a minute or two.”

“Then we go back and fight,” Fiona declared. She pulled herself out of Maric’s grasp, blue magical energies beginning to crackle around the head of her staff. “We fight this Architect, and if Genevieve and her brother and Utha want to try and stop us, then we fight them, too.”

“No.” Kell said the word with enough force that Fiona turned and stared at him with wide eyes. Maric wondered, too. The hunter looked down the stairs toward the cavern with all the darkspawn ahead of them, his face grim determination. His hand tightened on the grip of the flail on his belt until his knuckles turned white. “You need to get warning to the surface. The Grey Wardens need to know that something has changed among the darkspawn. They need to hear it from a witness, someone who can tell them about this Architect and its plans.”

Fiona looked confused. “But—”

The hunter reached into his vest and pulled out the bright glowstone from their cell, its orange radiance filling the hallway instantly. He put it around his neck. “I will draw the darkspawn away. My senses are good enough that I can tell where they are, and evade them at least for a time.” He turned and met Fiona’s gaze, his pale eyes hard. “Time enough for you.”

The elf looked alarmed now, and she looked to Maric and Duncan for support. Duncan looked similarly alarmed, but Maric knew the man’s tone. He had heard Loghain using exactly that voice, when he spoke of something terrible that needed to be done without question. Worse, Maric found he couldn’t argue.

“Kell, you can’t!” she protested.

“I should have fought harder to turn us around while we had the chance. I should have known better.” Kell crouched down in front of Hafter, rubbing the hound’s head gravely. Hafter stared back at him with wide, confused eyes. He knew something was amiss. “Take him with you,” the hunter said, his voice raw with sudden emotion. “He has survived a long journey and many battles. I would like him to have a chance.”

Patting the dog one last time, he stood and gruffly nodded to Duncan. “I am leaving it to you to lead King Maric out. Fiona will help you. I know you can do this.”

The lad could only nod, dumbfounded.

Kell turned to Maric and offered his hand. “I am sorry it came to this, Your Majesty. You are a fine warrior, for a lowlander king.” The last was offered with a wry grin, as if it were a personal joke.

Maric grinned sadly back at the man and shook his hand. “Maker watch over you, Kell.”

The hunter turned and began heading down the stairs without another word. He drew his flail from his belt, the short chain rattling as its spiked head unfurled at his side. Already Maric could hear the stirring of the creatures in the darkness beyond. There was a whisper in the air, a humming that was slowly building all around them. They knew. They knew and they were coming.

Fiona lunged to grab Hafter’s collar to restrain him, but the hound was too quick for her. It bounded down toward Kell, letting out an angry woof. The hunter turned around, regarding the hound with obvious dis plea sure. “No,” he commanded, pointing back toward Fiona and the others. “Hafter, go with them!”

The hound hung his head low, folding his ears back in confusion. Hafter was an intelligent dog, but he was still a dog. Kell glared down at the animal, growing more furious by the second. “I said go!” he shouted.

“Come here, Hafter!” Fiona urged him.

Mortified that he had done something to offend his master, Hafter prostrated himself at Kell’s feet, nuzzling his nose in at the hunter’s boots and whining plaintively. Kell angrily grabbed the dog’s collar and hauled him up, physically turning him around and shoving him back up the stairs. “Go! Now! You go with them!”

Still Hafter wouldn’t go to Fiona, and quickly darted back to Kell, whining in agitation. Kell reeled back, tormented, the large hound whining at his feet like a lost puppy. Without warning, Kell stepped forward and kicked the hound in the side with a loud shout. “Obey me!” he roared.

The kick was hard, and though Hafter had stood up to far worse—he was a warhound built of little more than fur and muscle, after all—still the hound collapsed with a terrified yelp that echoed throughout the passage. Fiona covered her mouth in horror and Maric was speechless. Kell looked toward them, anguished and pleading with his eyes for help. He stared down at the dog trembling in fear at his feet and burst into tears.

“Oh, Hafter, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking with grief. He knelt down and took the dog’s head into his arms, patting his fur vigorously. Hafter looked up at him with his large brown eyes and uncertainly wagged his tail. Kell attempted a reassuring smile through his tears. “I’m so sorry, my old friend,” he whispered. “Can you ever forgive me?” The hound’s ears slowly perked up and his tail thumped against the stairs. There was no need even to ask.

The sounds of the darkspawn were coming closer, and Maric could hear movement in the cavern at the foot of the stairs. Duncan exchanged a worried look with him. They were almost out of time.

Kell stood, his face wet with tears, and Hafter jumped to his feet with him. The man gazed down sadly at his hound and tightened his grip on his flail. “What do you say, my boy?” he asked. “Are you ready for one last battle? Just you and me?” The hound bounded in place, overjoyed that his master was taking him along after all, barking excitedly in anticipation.

The hunter glanced toward the others up the stairs and nodded solemnly. “Give me one minute,” he stated firmly. His pale eyes met with Maric’s and his meaning was clear: no more, no less.

Without further good-byes, he turned and sped toward the cavern, Hafter bounding after him. Spinning the flail’s head, he roared a war cry and burst into the shadows. Hafter joined him with a loud howl. The effect on the darkspawn there was instantaneous. Like fire touching water, Maric heard angry hissing and a massive commotion as the creatures moved to attack.

Kell was too fast for them, however. He and Hafter raced to the right, disappearing into darkness and leading the darkspawn off. The last that Maric saw of them was the rapidly dwindling orange glow of the amulet.

“He’s gone,” Duncan breathed in amazement.

Maric nodded. “Let’s not waste the chance he’s given us.”

They waited an excruciating minute as the sounds of pursuit in the passages behind them increased. Thankfully the chamber ahead grew quieter. Kell had clearly managed to lead them away, at least for the moment. Finally, when Maric could stand it no more, he drew his longsword and began running down the stairs. Fiona and Duncan didn’t hesitate, and were right on his heels.

Together they raced out of the dwarven ruins and back into the Deep Roads. Maric was unsure just how many hours the three of them spent fleeing. Duncan took the lead almost immediately once they got out of the cavern, racing ahead and urging them to greater exertions. The passages sped by almost without notice, blurry shadows lit by Fiona’s white staff. Duncan told them to hide when he sensed darkspawn coming too close, and three times they had been forced to attack small groups of passing darkspawn when it became obvious that the shadowy alcoves and crumbled statues just weren’t going to be enough to keep them out of sight.

Each time that happened, they were forced to respond to a renewed frenzy of darkspawn activity as the creatures zeroed in on their whereabouts. Each time they were able to narrowly lose their pursuers.

Eventually, the lad stopped them and looked up at the ceiling of the passage they were in. Maric looked up, too, but it didn’t look much different than the ceilings they had passed previously, all stone support beams—many of which had crumbled, leading him to wonder just how long it would be before the Deep Roads collapsed entirely. Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing if it happened.

“We’re closer to the surface. I think we’re going up,” Duncan muttered.

Fiona arched a brow at him. “How can you tell?”

“It’s a hunch.”

They paused for a time, sweat coursing down their faces as they panted in exhaustion. But eventually Duncan urged them onward. Fiona didn’t complain, and Maric could only assume that meant they could sense the darkspawn closing in again. So they ran some more. Maric started to wonder if they would eventually end up at Gwaren. He knew these tunnels led out to the eastern city eventually, and that would be amusing only because he’d had the Deep Roads entrance there permanently sealed years ago.

Well, maybe amusing wasn’t the right word. Unfortunate might be more appropriate.

They passed through a long, ruined hall filled with tall pillars and so much masonry fallen from the ceiling that they needed to clamber over the piles. The sounds of deep stalkers were loud there, enough to make Fiona look around in alarm when they got to the top of one of the piles.

“Are they going to come after us?” she asked nervously.

“There are only three of us now, so why not?” Maric had meant it as a joke, but his gasping for breath made that difficult. She eyed him accusingly in response but said nothing.

“If we keep moving, they won’t have time to eat us,” Duncan admonished them. The lad appeared to have limitless amounts of energy, and he seemed only mildly fatigued, while Fiona and Maric were stumbling along after him and almost ready to fall over. Still, they had managed to survive so far. That could quickly change, so they continued to run.

After an indeterminable amount of time spent trudging through the passages, Maric felt ready to collapse. He wasn’t even paying attention to the intersections they were reaching any longer. Duncan had earlier claimed that they weren’t going in circles, but Maric had no idea what his method for choosing a direction was. For all he knew, the lad could be leading them back toward the ruin. Perhaps Duncan was simply choosing what ever direction led him away from the darkspawn he sensed? That seemed logical, even if it still might not get them anywhere.

What would Genevieve be doing now, he wondered? Would she be searching for them separately, or did the Architect have more command over the darkspawn than he claimed? He tried to imagine a Grey Warden directing a horde of darkspawn in a systematic search of the caverns, but his mind balked at the image. It was too bizarre. Thankfully, while Genevieve could likely guess their heading, she couldn’t know which route they were taking since they didn’t know themselves.

Perhaps she wouldn’t care. Perhaps she and her brother and Utha would simply proceed with the Architect’s plan, chalking up their escape to an unfortunate loss. She claimed they had intended to do it without any help, after all. Somehow Maric found that hard to believe.

They were passing what looked to be the ruined remains of a dwarven outpost when Maric noticed the tarnished statue standing in the middle of it. He halted, staring wide-eyed at it. It was half covered in corruption, but the image of a great dwarven king with his warhammer raised was unmistakable. He walked to the edge of the small cavern the outpost was within, studying the rubble and the collapsed tunnels and the strange debris everywhere. Could it be … ?

Fiona stopped ahead, and Duncan turned around as well. “What is it, Maric?” she called back. “What did you find?”

“I’ve been here.” He slowly walked up to the statue, the stones under his boots crunching loudly and echoing in the cavern. He was suddenly aware of just how much his legs ached. Fiona and Duncan edged cautiously into the cavern behind him, looking around as if worrying that subterranean creatures might jump out of the shadows. “This is Endrin Stonehammer,” he breathed. “The first of the dwarven kings.”

“That’s nice,” Duncan muttered. “Why are we stopping?”

“The Legion of the Dead brought us here. This was their outpost.” He pointed to an area near the statue now covered in debris. “And that is where they buried some of the legionnaires who died fighting the darkspawn when we first encountered them.”

“Do you think there’s anything left?” Fiona asked.

“There might be. I remember they couldn’t take all their supplies along.”

Duncan peered at some of the side caves that had collapsed. Something had been through here, something with an eye toward destroying most of what the Legion had left behind. Perhaps the darkspawn? The Legion was one of their most hated enemies, after all, along with the Grey Wardens. Perhaps they came and defaced the area as soon as the dwarves left.

“Anything in there was probably crushed,” the lad remarked. “Or spoiled.”

“Would it hurt to look?”

Duncan gave Maric an annoyed glance, but Fiona held her hand up. “You know as well as I do that the darkspawn are well behind us. I can’t even sense them right now.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Duncan glanced toward the cavern entrance, suddenly troubled. “It’s just that I keep expecting Genevieve to appear out of every shadow, all blighted like she is now. I feel like she’s right on our heels.”

Fiona snorted. “She’s only human, Duncan, as she proved quite well.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Still, Duncan looked far more sad than frightened, and with a final pensive glance at the entrance, he turned and nodded. “Let’s stay here and rest, then. There’s only the one entrance to the cavern, and even with all the rubble it’s still pretty defensible. This is as good a place as any.”

They spent some time searching through the ruins, but other than finding a few stone crates just inside one of the smaller caves, there wasn’t as much as Maric had hoped. Cooking utensils, pots and pans, a few worn blankets and some dusty clothing. Thankfully the dwarves had a knack for building sturdy crates that kept the insides protected. Maric was able to find a pair of boots that fit, and Duncan located a grey leather vest that replaced his torn jerkin quite well.

Fiona located a crate with some food supplies that were mostly useless, no doubt left behind for good reason, but at least a few of the stores therein looked edible and they chewed on them in silence. Balls of jerky, though of what meat Maric couldn’t really imagine. Perhaps it wasn’t meat at all. He seemed to recall that Nalthur, the leader of the Legion, had complained about their lack of decent food. Justifiably, it turned out.

The elf was much more pleased when she located a dusty, cracked basin underneath a pile of rocks. It had a magical dweomer, she exclaimed, and when she ran her hands over it the basin began to fill with water. Maric had seen something similar during his time in Ortan thaig years before, and Fiona explained that it was a simple enough enchantment—one the dwarven Shapers specialized in.

This afforded them the opportunity to wash themselves at least a little, and they took turns at the basin. Maric didn’t realize just how filthy he was until he started wiping off some of the dust and dried ichor that had accumulated on him. He ran the water through his hair, watching with alarm as the basin quickly turned a brownish red. Then the water slowly cleared as if by magic.

Or exactly by magic, he corrected himself. We should get these at the palace.

He wiped his face once more with the makeshift washcloth, marveling at the feeling of the cool water on his skin. Throwing caution to the wind, he undid the straps on his breastplate and removed the top half of his armor. Then he removed his shirt and proceeded to wash up. The cave was cramped but it allowed a little bit of privacy, and for a brief minute he just enjoyed sitting there in the quiet, listening only to the occasional splashing of the water and feeling human again.

“I wish I’d thought of that,” Fiona mused, standing at the entrance to the cave.

He grinned at her. “Where’s Duncan?”

“Standing watch at the cavern entrance. He saw me looking over at the cave and rolled his eyes and told me that’s exactly where he would be until one of us came to get him.” She chuckled, but it trailed off quickly into silence. A shadow crossed behind her eyes and she frowned. “He still isn’t hearing the Calling.”

“But you are?”

“Yes. And it’s getting worse.” She walked toward him and knelt down next to him beside the basin, leaning her staff against the wall. She refused to meet Maric’s eyes, and he watched as she slowly removed her chain shirt. As soon as her back appeared, he noticed the tell-tale signs of corruption spreading. The stains were small, but noticeable, and he didn’t remember seeing anything when they lay together not a night before.

Fiona began to shake suddenly, covering her eyes with her hands and stifling an exhausted sob. “Do you see them?” she asked, her voice anguished.

“Yes.”

“Of course you do. How could you not?” She wiped at her eyes, and then shook her head angrily. “It’s on my hands, too. I’m going to end up like Kell. Or Utha.”

“You’re not.”

“Don’t say such things.” Fiona looked at him reproachfully. “Of course I am. There is no coming back from this, is there? Even if we make it to the surface, I’m … I’m dead. I don’t even feel elven any longer.”

He hushed her, and she closed her eyes and took a deep, ragged breath. Dunking his cloth into the basin again, he took it and began to wash her back gently. She jumped, surprised by the cold water, but then quickly acquiesced. For a time he ran the cloth over her skin, including the tainted areas, and she said nothing, continuing to stare ahead. Occasionally she shuddered when his fingers brushed against her. The quiet filled up the small cave, electric and yet somehow still not uncomfortable.

“Maric,” she finally asked, “do you think we will really get out of this?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why, exactly? Our chances are not good.”

“It’s like this—” He smiled. “I’ve been incredibly lucky most of my life. I barely escaped the night my mother was murdered, and I met Loghain by chance. He saved my life more times than I can count during the rebellion. In fact, he wasn’t the only one. I think I’m due for some more luck, now.”

“Perhaps you used up all your luck,” Fiona said. Her tone was more severe than she probably intended, and she bit her lower lip as soon as she said it. He didn’t mind. His grin widened as he wiped the back of her neck with the cold cloth and felt her shiver.

“I think my luck is returning, actually.”

The elf finally turned her head and peered at him curiously. Maric continued to wash the dried blood off her skin as she appraised him, the thoughts clearly running about in her head. He didn’t ask, and eventually she frowned and spoke her mind. “You know, you don’t have to live as you do.”

“Oh? How do I live?”

“Like a man who’s trapped.” Now it was his turn to avoid her piercing eyes. “As a king you have every freedom, Maric. Yet you act as if you were a slave. You act as if this gift the Maker has given you is some kind of burden.”

He sighed, taking a long minute to soak the cloth in the basin once again. The ichor bloomed in the water like a dark and deadly flower. “I don’t think I’m as free as you think I am.”

“Aren’t you? What’s imprisoning you, exactly?”

“I didn’t have a choice about becoming what I am. My country needed me. The way Rowan looked at me and the way Loghain looked at me, they expected me to take my place. To be a strong king. To be a good king. To rebuild Ferelden. And I’ve done that. But … all it feels like is that there’s this long, long road ahead of me, with no surprises and no reprieve, and I’m going to keep walking down it until one day I just fall down and die.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “I’m sure they’ll have a very large funeral, with many Fereldan women weeping over my grave that Maric the Savior is dead.”

Fiona’s eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. “And you never once wanted to be king? Not even just a little?”

“I wanted to avenge my mother. I wanted to kick the Orlesians out of Ferelden.”

“And nothing else?”

“Well …”

She turned herself around to face him completely, her skirt rustling loudly on the stone floor. She appeared to be completely oblivious to her bared chest, and firmly took his chin in her hand. “This elven woman you killed. What was her name?”

He felt himself blushing. He didn’t really want to talk about this, but the way she stared at him with those dark eyes, it was as if they were boring into his skull. “Katriel,” he answered quietly.

“Did you love her?”

“What kind of question is—?”

“Did you love her?” she insisted.

“Yes.” It was a painful admission. He would have looked away, had she not held his chin tightly. Fiona looked into his eyes and smiled warmly.

“So you punish yourself for what you did, for the rest of your life?” Her eyes teared up as she shook her head, baffled by him. “Maric, you said back on those stairs that you had changed, that you wanted to live. So live! You have every freedom that I never had. Use it! You want to repay this elven woman you wronged so badly? Make sure that nobody ends up like her ever again.” Fiona released his chin and blinked away her tears, frowning bashfully for crying in the first place. “There were all these stories about the wonderful Maric the Savior, and I thought for certain it was all just lies. That it was simply a genteel front like my master used to have, smiles on top of the sickness. But Ferelden got lucky and has a good man as its king.”

“I’m not such a good man.”

She snorted incredulously. “Only a good man would say that.” She took the wet cloth from him and studiously began to wipe his face with it. He let her, watching her quietly. Then she paused, looking at him with grave seriousness. “You need to forgive yourself, Maric. Or I’m going to have to punch you in the head, I swear it.”

It was almost the same thing that Katriel had said to him in the Fade. The thought sent a pang of regret through him, but still he laughed at Fiona’s expression, and it felt good to laugh. She cracked a smile at that. She went to wipe his face again, but he reached up and took her hand, and stopped laughing. “Come with me,” he said earnestly. “To Denerim.”

“We’re not even out of the Deep Roads yet… .”

“We could both die, I know that. Come with me anyway.”

Her smile was polite, but he could see the refusal even before she said it. “I am a Grey Warden,” she sighed. “And an elf. And a mage. And even if that were not enough, I am suffering from the taint. My time is limited.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“I do.” He saw that there would be no arguing with her. “And I care about you.”

He leaned in and kissed her. She was taken by surprise, just about to speak again, but quieted as she accepted his embrace. He leaned her down to the floor, his kisses growing more passionate, knocking over the dwarven basin so that the cold water ran along the stone and soaked into their clothing.

They barely noticed. Duncan seemed mostly bemused when he woke them up a while later, clearing his throat loudly just outside the entrance of the cave. When they finally exited, their clothing sopping wet and their armor hastily rearranged, he chuckled at them. “So I guess you’re not going to be complaining about each other anymore?”

Fiona’s face reddened and he grinned.

He hadn’t let them sleep longer, he said, because the darkspawn were closing in. That was when the amusement ended, and they picked up what few supplies they wanted to take with them and headed out quickly. Maric saw the dark circles under Duncan’s eyes and felt badly. The lad could have used some sleep, himself, and yet Fiona and he had selfishly used the time up for themselves.

Still, Duncan didn’t complain. He also seemed more determined, somehow. Maric wasn’t sure he could put his finger on it.

They spent half their time running, the dark corridors speeding past, and while Maric tried to remember the route the Legion of the Dead had taken to reach the outpost, he couldn’t piece it together. It wasn’t long before he realized he wasn’t recognizing the corridors at all.

They kept the punishing pace for several hours, pushing themselves hard. Duncan’s apprehensive expression told him that the darkspawn could not be far behind, although Maric couldn’t hear the telltale sounds of their approach. The Deep Roads were quiet. Only the sounds of their footsteps echoed, and as the time wore on, Maric noticed that the signs of the taint around them were lessening.

“Are we getting close to the surface?” he asked nobody in particular.

Fiona and Duncan glanced at him, but said nothing.

Another hour passed, the three of them sweating profusely as they trudged. They were definitely moving up a slope; the pain in Maric’s legs told him that much. While it slowed them down, they continued on. Up was where they wanted to go, after all.

At the top of the slope, the light from Fiona’s staff slowly revealed that the corridor came to a dead end. The roof here had collapsed long ago, leaving the end of the tunnel completely filled with rocks and debris and no way around. They ground to a halt, staring at all the dust with wide eyes.

“Well, so much for that,” Duncan grumbled, wiping his forehead. “We’ll need to turn back, and quickly, or we’ll meet the darkspawn halfway back to the last intersection.” He turned around to do just that, but even before he took his first step, Maric held up his hands.

“Wait. Do you smell that?” Maric had become so accustomed to the stench of corruption in the tunnels and the musty smell of the dust that he almost thought his nose had simply stopped working out of self-defense. But as he stood there not ten feet from the massive pile of rocks, he could have sworn he smelled …

“Fresh air,” Fiona breathed. Her eyes suddenly bright, she approached the rocks and clambered up the slope until she reached near the ceiling. She grinned and looked back at them. “I think this leads outside! I think the surface is past here!”

“Are you sure?” Duncan asked.

“I can’t see any light, but there’s definitely air coming over the rocks here at the top.” She reached up with her hand and pushed it past a number of the larger chunks, frowning in effort. “Yes, I can feel it.”

Maric scratched his chin, thinking. “Maybe this led to one of the doorways that sealed the Deep Roads off from the surface? One that’s not there anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Duncan sighed. “We’ll never be able to dig our way through all this in time to do us any good. The darkspawn will be on us long before then.” He glanced back down the passageway into the darkness below. “At least it will be easier going down then coming up.”

“No,” Fiona stated. She climbed back down the rocks toward them, clutching her staff in her hand firmly. She had a dangerous look that made Maric nervous. “We are getting out of here. Now.”

Duncan stared at her, his mouth agape. “You don’t mean … ?”

She stopped in front of them, frowning severely. “Stand back. Well back.”

They did as they were told. Even as Maric and Duncan ran back a ways down the passage, already Fiona was concentrating. Swirls of magical fire were gathering around her hands and working their way up her staff, the flames suddenly growing hotter and more pronounced.

She didn’t unleash the energy, however. She held the staff above her head and closed her eyes, her mouth moving in a silent chant. The fire grew. White energy began to course around her body, lighting up the entire tunnel like it was daylight. The staff shook, and it became obvious that the magic was difficult for Fiona to control. She gritted her teeth and clutched the staff tightly, and a halo of flames slowly surrounded her.

“She’s mad!” Duncan exclaimed. “She’ll bring the roof down upon us.”

Maric was not so sure. “Maybe we should move back a bit farther… .”

The fireball, when it was unleashed, shook the entire tunnel. There was a massive flash of light and a roar of sound that deafened them, the backlash of force from the blast throwing them both back several feet. Several large chunks of rock fell nearby, followed by a swarm of thick dust and smoke that choked him. He gagged and coughed, thinking for a moment that Duncan might be right, but then he felt something else.

The dust began to move. It swirled as a light breeze moved through the tunnel.

Maric sat up, waving at the dust and coughing some more. Duncan seemed fine, but he couldn’t see Fiona through the cloud. He scrambled to his feet and was relieved to find her lying on her back not far away. The mage had been blown back by the fireball, and was now choking and pale but otherwise seemed intact.

The pile of debris that had blocked the tunnel was gone. The walls and ceiling were scorched, and much of the upper portion of the pile had been blown out, somewhere beyond. It was pitch black, but fresh air was coming in. Lots of it. Nothing had ever smelled so sweet to Maric in his entire life.

“Fiona!” he laughed. “You did it!”

“Wonderful,” she groaned weakly. Maric reached down and helped her slowly to her feet. She was trembling. He suspected she had used up her entire store of mana on that blast. Good thing it had actually blown the rocks out and not, say, simply blown them in. Or reflected the fire back at them. Or …

He glanced up and saw severe cracks forming on the old masonry along the ceiling, none of which had been in particularly good shape to begin with. More dust and chunks were already falling.

“We need to get out of here,” Duncan muttered, limping toward them.

Maric waved him on up the pile. He wasn’t as small as Fiona was, but she was exhausted enough that she would need help through. The lad didn’t need to be told twice and scrambled up the rocks quickly. The space that had opened up at the top of the pile was not large, and he needed to slowly crawl his way through, digging his way past obstacles.

Maric and Fiona stood next to each other, watching nervously as rock after rock slowly tumbled down the pile behind Duncan. They could still see his legs; he wasn’t through. Meanwhile, more dust and debris shook down from the ceiling. He could see massive cracks forming along the walls, too. This passage was not going to hold itself together.

“My,” Fiona remarked, her exhaustion so complete she seemed more bored than frightened. “This could end very poorly.”

“You don’t say?” Maric grinned at her. Then he turned and shouted up the pile. “Duncan! Time is of the essence!”

He heard a muffled reply from beyond the legs, something that could have been an affirmative or an expletive. Either way, with one final wriggle Duncan’s legs finally disappeared. A new shower of smaller rocks was kicked out, scattering down the side of the pile loudly. A moment later, the lad’s head appeared out of the hole. “There’s a cave beyond!” he exclaimed. “A real cave. And it leads outside.”

Maric sent Fiona up next, helping her up until Duncan grabbed hold of her. As soon as she was out of his hands, Maric quickly began removing his armor. If Duncan could barely fit through, he would have even less chance—and wearing his bulky suit of silverite armor, it would no doubt be impossible. The breastplate clattered to the ground, and he worked with frantic haste to rip the rest of it off. Shame to lose such a fine suit of armor, but it had to be done.

As the staff disappeared into the hole, so did his only source of light. The white radiance grew dimmer and dimmer until all he was left were shadows and the slowly growing sounds of crumbling. Something enormously heavy crashed to the ground behind him. Maric found himself rather glad he couldn’t see what it was.

A muffled shout came from beyond the pile that sounded like “She’s through,” and Maric didn’t wait. He ran up the pile and threw his sword and his pack on through the gap, then jumped in after them. He didn’t get far in before the sound of collapse in the tunnel behind him became deafening, and a rush of dust poured past him.

For a moment he thought he would choke to death in that tiny space. He could see faint light through the dust ahead, and frantically tried to crawl forward as he coughed and gasped. It was almost too much. The weight of the ceiling felt as if it was pressing down on him. He became light-headed and slowed. He heard more collapsing behind him, cracking sounds so alarmingly loud that it sounded like an entire mountain was coming down around his ears. He screamed, and his scream was lost in the thunder of noise.

Then hands grabbed him. He felt himself being hauled through the gap. It was slow, and he tried to kick and wriggle as much as he could, but he was almost too large. Rocks poked painfully through his shirt, and he heard ripping. He felt scraping on his skin, and a sharp pain as his flesh was torn.

And then suddenly he was through. He was being pulled out the other side, and he half rolled and half fell down a rocky slope until he was lying flat and staring up into dust and hazy white light. Duncan and Fiona were coughing, as well; he could hear them but only saw vague shadows through the dust. Maric felt dizzy and nauseated, like the world was spinning around him.

“Let’s get him out of here!” Fiona shouted.

Both their hands grabbed him again, attempting to haul him to his feet. This time Maric did his best to help them, trying to get up and mostly doing a poor job of it. He saw his longsword lying on the rocks and snatched it up, and then he was being pulled in another direction.

He stumbled along, all three of them hacking and coughing. He got a definite impression through the dust that the cave was filled with ruins of some kind. He saw the remains of one of the great metal doorways the dwarves used to seal the entrances half blocking the cave passage, but this one was so rusted it was barely even identifiable for what it was.

It occurred to him to wonder that there was even a cave to move through at all. Shouldn’t that pile of rocks have come from the tunnel collapsing? Unless someone had piled those rocks there to seal off the Deep Roads. He had to wonder if that was something done from the outside or from within.

A cool breeze struck him in the face before he realized they were out of the cave and in the open air, standing on a rocky slope covered in snow. It was nighttime, with a cloudless sky overhead filled with a million stars and the silvery moon almost full. In that moment, as the three of them stood there, stunned, Maric thought it was the most beautiful sight of his entire life.

Fiona let him go and leaned against the rocks, wiping the sweat off her brow. The snow here was deep, going halfway up their shins. The freezing chill he felt through his boots was wonderful, and he reached down to scoop up some of the snow and smear it on his face. They were all coated in a chalky grey dust that sat on the skin like grit.

Duncan chuckled, and then looked around while he wiped at his face with the back of his hand. What ever vista was out there was mostly hidden by the rocks around them, but Maric could see a hint of trees in the distance. “Where are we?” the lad said out loud.

“I’m not sure,” Maric answered. “We’ll need to get higher up to see.”

“Wait,” Fiona sighed. She pushed herself away from the rocks and put her hands on his shoulder. Maric realized then that his shirt was mostly in tatters, and smeared with blood. He had several deep gashes in his chest, covered in dirt, and they were bleeding profusely.

She closed her eyes, summoning more energy even though she was still pale and weak. He stopped her and shook his head. “No, we can do that later.” She didn’t argue, which indicated, if nothing else did, just how depleted she was.

They slowly walked up the gentlest nearby slope, Duncan taking the lead and helping them both up. When they reached the top, Maric found that the bright moonlight allowed them to easily see the surrounding snowy countryside. They were in the foothills of the Frostbacks, with trees dotting the rugged hillside as it swept down before them into the flatlands and a thick forest farther out.

“We’re in the northwest, I think,” he said. He pointed out into the distance. “I think the Circle of Magi’s tower is that way. If it was daylight we might even be able to see it from here.”

Fiona looked at him, perplexed. “How can you tell?”

“You think I was born in a palace? Remember, I spent half my life hiding in these mountains. I didn’t think I paid that much attention, but it seems I did. We’re not too far from Lake Calenhad.”

Duncan rubbed his arms vigorously, apparently already freezing, and this time without even a fur cloak to keep him warm. He glanced oddly at Maric, who was without his armor and now almost shirtless, and shook his head in amazement. “Let’s get going, then,” he suggested.

They began marching down the hillside. Fiona did her best to try to reassemble the bloody tatters of Maric’s shirt, but it wasn’t much help. He didn’t mind, as it felt good to feel the breeze and the cold air, but he imagined he would mind it very much before the night was over.

As they walked, however, it became apparent that three figures were approaching them from the bottom of the hill. They emerged from the shadows, at first barely discernible, and initially Maric thought they might be darkspawn. He raised his sword in alarm, and Duncan drew his black dagger, but Fiona pointed excitedly.

“It’s mages!” she exclaimed.

And she was correct. They halted their descent as the three mages walked up toward them, their robes now evident as well as their staffs. In fact, the man at the head of the group was none other than First Enchanter Remille himself, smiling amiably and holding up his hand to wave at them.

“The First Enchanter?” Duncan asked, confused.

Maric thought it was strangely convenient as well, but Fiona looked purely relieved. “First Enchanter!” she shouted to him. “Thank the Maker you found us!” She picked up her skirt and began running toward the First Enchanter as the mages drew closer.

Maric held his hand up to restrain her, suddenly alarmed, but she slipped just out of his grasp. “Fiona!” he shouted. Too late, he saw the First Enchanter stop smiling. The man raised his staff above his head, magical energy crackling along its length. The other two mages did the same thing, and suddenly Fiona skidded to a halt, her excitement turning into bewilderment.

Duncan gasped and raced forward. Maric was right behind him, raising his sword and shouting. The mages unleashed a wave of magical energy at them not a moment later, and he felt himself become instantly paralyzed. His sword was frozen in the air, and he couldn’t move. Duncan was in midstride in front of him, and Fiona stood, stunned, not three feet away. An aura of power surrounded the three of them, a spell that held them fast.

Remille lowered his staff and smiled again, although this time his expression was far more malicious. He walked over to Fiona, patting her cheek and chuckling as she stared at him in frozen horror. Maric struggled valiantly to try to break free of the spell, wanting nothing more than to cleave the Orlesian mage in two, but he couldn’t.

“Well,” the man said in amusement, rubbing his pointed beard as he turned from Fiona to Duncan and then to Maric. “The Architect suggested that you might try to come out this way. I didn’t think it would be possible, yet here you are.”

He gestured to the two mages behind him and they moved forward, producing a sack from which they removed several long chains. Remille grinned at Maric.

“Lucky me.” He smiled.