The Calling

7

It was impossible to tell the time in the Deep Roads, but Maric suspected that they couldn’t possibly have rested more than a handful of hours. He had only slept in fits and starts, himself, and whenever he did awake he was aware of the Grey Warden’s commander pacing outside.

It wasn’t long afterwards when Genevieve finally stirred them from their tents, her tone insistent. No doubt she had waited until she simply couldn’t take it anymore. Young Duncan grumbled, but a deadly look from her silenced the lad. Maric would have laughed had he not been certain he would have received a similar reaction.

The Grey Wardens began to efficiently pack up the tents. A hush had descended over them. Whereas the previous day had been filled with Duncan’s amiable chatter, among other talk, now there was only tense silence.

They insisted on packing up Maric’s tent for him. He’d started to do it himself, but Utha interjected herself between him and the tent. He’d spluttered in protest, but the dwarf had simply ignored him. And how did one argue with a mute, anyhow? So reluctantly he’d given in, and it was probably just as well. The others had the pro cess down to a science.

Kell ventured ahead, the large hound bounding after him. Maric had wondered how wise it was to bring an animal down into the Deep Roads, but it was increasingly obvious that Hafter was no ordinary creature. He and the quiet hunter appeared to share a bond that went beyond that of master and servant. Kell rarely needed to give the dog commands. Hafter never went too fast or got too excited, either. He was as cautious and suspicious as the hunter, keeping an eye on every shadow. It was quite easy, in fact, to stop thinking of Hafter as merely a dog.

The only person other than Maric who appeared to have nothing currently to do was Fiona. She stood nearby, pointedly ignoring him, the beacon of white light from her staff providing the only illumination in the ruin now that the campfire was extinguished. Its flickering glow cast shadows on the ruin’s walls, a virtual puppet’s play cavorting high above them. Since she was holding the staff, the shadow behind Fiona was the largest, looming high over her as if about to pounce. How fitting that the fiery elf should cast the most dominant shadow, he thought.

Fiona bristled under his scrutiny. She made as if to ignore him, but finally she could take it no longer. “What is it?” she demanded.

“I’m wondering why you aren’t doing anything.”

“I am doing something.”

“Making it glow? Wouldn’t a torch suffice?”

She glanced toward her staff, doing her best to suppress a smirk. “No, not that,” she said. “That barely takes any effort. I’m keeping an eye on the darkspawn. Someone has to.”

“An eye?”

“So to speak. They’ve been getting closer. The brooches that Remille gave us seem to be working so far … it doesn’t look like they know we’re here. But we can’t take any chances. As soon as they spot us, they’re going to tell the rest of the darkspawn.”

“Couldn’t you kill them before they do that?”

The mage’s amusement grew, and she arched a brow at him. “They’re connected to the rest of the darkspawn through the taint. What ever one knows, they all know.”

“How inconvenient.”

“The brooches will keep them from tracking us, but if they become aware of intruders they will begin to swarm. It will be better if we can keep them unaware of our presence for as long as possible. Kell’s gone to see how many there are.”

“Won’t they see him?”

She chuckled. “No. They won’t see him.”

A few more minutes and the tents had vanished into the Grey Wardens’ backpacks, and the rest of the camp along with it. The smoldering campfire and the disturbance to the layers of grime and dust that covered the ground were all that provided evidence of their passing. Genevieve passed out torches to Duncan and Utha, and as soon as those were lit, Fiona allowed her staff to stop shining.

A good thing, Maric figured, as its brilliance would have alerted the darkspawn from miles away. He had to wonder just how many torches they had stored. He remembered there being phosphorescent lichen to offer light in some places, but that was irregular and difficult to count on. The idea of being stuck in smothering darkness down here in the depths was discomfiting, to say the least.

Genevieve wasn’t interested in discussing the state of their supplies, however, and with an intense look she waved to everyone to follow. The speed of her gait made it obvious that she wanted to make up for lost time, and knew exactly where she was going.

The hours that followed were exhausting. Time crawled by slowly, and it was all Maric could do to keep up with the torches ahead. They were two points of warm light, slowly bobbing in passages so thick with shadows it felt almost as if they were swimming in them.

It wasn’t anywhere near as cold as it had been up on the surface, but there was still a chill in the air that worked its way past Maric’s armor and made him shiver. Duncan was too distracted to complain about it, at least. The lad kept his eyes peeled nervously, as did the others, with one hand on his daggers. Maric supposed that if the darkspawn were closer, those daggers would very likely be in his hands rather than in their sheaths.

The stillness was as maddening as he remembered. Nothing moved in the darkness except them, and despite the fact that they tread quickly on hard stone they made very little sound. It was like walking on a field of snow; every whisper was absorbed and every step was hushed. The fact that no one spoke now made it worse.

Sweat poured down his forehead and his legs ached, but he didn’t fall behind. Genevieve pushed them through the long tunnels mercilessly, one hour blending into the next. On the few occasions when they reached a fork in the Deep Roads, she would irritably call for Maric to be brought forth and he would look around and try to remember which way they had come the first time.

He would have thought that after eight years it would be harder, that he would struggle to recall the path. Things had changed here, after all. The spread of the darkspawn corruption was worse, for instance. It didn’t matter. He had no trouble at all remembering the way. He might as well have been here last year, or perhaps a few months ago.

Fiona caught his eyes once. She noticed his grim expression, perhaps, or the way he looked off into the distance. She said nothing, though she appeared curious. He ignored her and turned away.

Eventually Kell returned, the hunter and his hound emerging from the deep shadows of a side passage so suddenly that Maric jumped.

“What did you find?” Genevieve asked, waving at the others behind her to halt.

The man’s unnaturally pale eyes almost seemed to glow from under his hood. He shouldered his bow and then gestured toward his leather jerkin. Maric noticed black blood there for the first time, splashed violently across much of the front. “I was forced to kill a few,” he muttered, obviously displeased with himself, “and the others I led away. None saw me, but they know something is here that should not be.” He turned his head and stared off down the passage, his eyes piercing deep beyond the shadows. “There are more coming, now.”

The Commander frowned, but did not seem upset. “That was inevitable.”

“It is worse. There is a large group directly ahead.”

“Then we will need to detour.”

Maric raised his hand. “Err … this is the route we went last time. If we get off of it, I don’t know that I’ll be able to bring us back.”

Genevieve scowled, staring off in the direction of the approaching darkspawn. She appeared to be weighing the options carefully, the torchlight making her face glow. Finally she gave a sharp nod. “We don’t have any choice, for now. Kell, we’re going to rely on your direction sense to find us a way around.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Oh, Maker’s breath,” Duncan swore softly. Genevieve pointed a finger at the lad without even looking his way and he clamped his mouth shut, looking sour as he did so.

They turned down the side passage, the hunter leading them now. All their weapons were out, and so Maric decided to follow suit. He drew his longsword, its blade pale dragonbone and etched with runes that glowed a bright sapphire. It drew the immediate attention of the others and they ground to a sudden halt, staring at him in surprise.

Utha stepped forward, eyes wide, gesturing sharply.

Julien frowned nearby. “She wants to know where you got that,” he explained.

“I found it here in the Deep Roads,” he admitted, “in the hands of a long-dead dwarf. I offered to give it back to the dwarves, but King Endrin refused.”

Utha nodded, and made another hand gesture that didn’t need to be interpreted. She was impressed. The others nodded approvingly, and turned to keep moving. Duncan hesitated, however. “Does it always glow like that?” he asked.

“No. It’s reacting to the darkspawn, I think.” He held it out toward the wall, something he’d done when he first found the blade, and watched the reaction of the Grey Wardens as the corruption covering the wall recoiled away from the blade like a living thing. The stone beneath was now bared, sapphire light shining over it.

“Sounds handy,” Duncan muttered.

“I used to be lucky that way. Magical swords lying around, people racing in to rescue me at the last moment, bumping into dwarven legions in the middle of the Deep Roads, that sort of thing.”

The lad stared at him, apparently assuming he was joking. “Well, let’s hope your luck continues, then.”

“Let’s hope.”

They pressed on, almost running now. The clinking sound of their metal armor was added to the thump of their packs and the tread of their boots on the rock … and off in the distance Maric could hear a humming. It was a deep sound that reverberated throughout the passage, a dread whisper that seemed to come from all directions at once.

He remembered it only too well. Darkspawn.

Without speaking, they broke into a full run. Twice Kell urgently gestured to the rest of them to switch directions into a side passage, the last time bringing them through a hole in the wall into a natural cavern. Maric felt uneasy about leaving the Deep Roads. The floor was uneven and slick, and the cavern led downward sharply. Would they even be able to find their way back?

There was little time to think about that, however. They sped through the dark caverns, and when they eventually reached a fork in the path, Genevieve called for a halt. As they waited, panting for breath, she waved for the torches to be doused. That was a bad sign, Maric thought to himself. Duncan and Utha quickly smothered the flames, which had already burned very low.

Fiona raised her staff, and with a whisper it began to glow once again. She kept the light dim, however, so it barely shone farther than their immediate area. Moving in these caverns would be difficult this way, with all the loose stones and debris lying about. That seemed less important than the rapidly approaching drone of the humming.

It made Maric’s skin crawl. Next to him, he could see Duncan nervously fingering the hilt of one of his daggers. The lad’s dark skin glistened with sweat, and his eyes flickered back and forth in agitation as if watching for something to jump out of the shadows.

Why they had stopped running, he didn’t know. The entire group seemed frozen in place, holding their breath as they waited. The tension was almost unbearable. “What are we waiting for?” he finally demanded.

Nicolas jumped, startled, and frowned at him angrily.

Genevieve held up a hand to Maric, but didn’t look back at him. Her intense gaze was elsewhere, as was Kell’s and several of the others. They were all staring off into the darkness at something he couldn’t detect. “We are waiting to see if those ahead will pass,” she explained, her voice low.

“We are caught between two groups,” Kell whispered.

Julien fingered the hilt of his greatsword nervously. Maric could see the sweat running down his brow. “Maker, my enemies are abundant,” the man intoned, “but my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion.”

“There may be a way … ,” Genevieve began uncertainly, but then paused. She glanced at the hunter and he nodded. Gesturing for his hound to follow, Kell immediately spun and began sprinting back the way they had come. She ran after him. “Quickly,” she ordered.

They raced back through the caverns. Maric wanted to ask why they were heading back, but they were going too fast. He could only assume that what ever they had sensed ahead was worse than what was behind them.

“Maric, when the battle begins, stay back with the mage!” Genevieve shouted back to him as she ran. “Guard her! Duncan, stay with him!”

He barely had a moment to let the command sink in when the fight began. With a great war cry, the white-haired woman surged ahead, sword lifted high. Nicolas and Julien flanked her, the former with spiked mace and shield and the latter with two-handed blade. The three of them fell upon a line of darkspawn who appeared in the staff’s white light almost as if from nowhere.

The tall hurlocks hissed in outrage, bringing to bear their own jagged-looking and primitive weapons as they suddenly recognized their ancient foe. They were too late, however, and the heavy warriors carved a path of carnage through their ranks. The humming sound grew loud and angry all around them. Darkspawn ichor fountained from gaping wounds as steel sliced easily through corrupted flesh.

Maric backed up, his runed longsword held warily before him. Duncan stayed close by, crouched low to the ground with both his daggers out. It was a feral pose, Maric thought, one that spoke of a quick and dirty fighting style.

Fiona stepped forward beside him, the glow of her staff intensifying until it was brilliant enough to light up the entire passage. “No point in hiding it now,” she growled. She put out a hand against Maric’s chest. “Stand back.”

Holding up the staff, she spoke a few soft words under her breath. Her eyes closed and the aura of magic intensified around her. He stepped back as ordered, and as he did so a ring of power surged forth from the mage. The air wavered slightly, filling with an unnatural sheen, and as the ring rushed down the passage and passed through the darkspawn ranks they appeared to slow slightly. Their weapons moved as if the air itself had become thick and sluggish. The Grey Wardens, however, were not impaired.

Genevieve and the other warriors pressed forward, grunting with effort as they hacked with their heavy weapons. All three of them were veterans. Their blows were careful yet powerful, and they wasted no more time on a single opponent than was absolutely necessary, kicking back a mortally wounded darkspawn with a boot if need be to make room. Neither Genevieve nor Julien seemed hindered by the lack of room for their large blades. They switched effortlessly between parries and jabs, even striking with the hilt when need be. Nicolas used his shield not only to protect himself, but to block attacks aimed at the other two whenever he could. His mace struck rapidly, its blunt head crunching jaws and breaking hands so that his opponents dropped their weapons.

Each of the three stayed aware of the other two, keeping their distance even and ensuring that none of the darkspawn passed their line. Their attacks were effective. The darkspawn reeled back, the alien humming taking on an angry and growling tone now. The warriors pressed forward, black ichor staining their armor and their faces, and for a moment it looked as if the trio might actually hold the narrow cavern on their own.

It was not to last.

Nicolas shouted in rage as a large hurlock crashed forcefully into his shield, sending him skittering back several feet on the uneven stone. He tripped and fell backwards, the creature frantically leaping on top of him and biting at his face with its great fangs. Julien spun around, eyes wide with alarm, and hacked the creature almost in half with one swing of his enormous sword. But the damage was already done.

Several short genlocks surged past the prone warrior, snarling with delight as they raced toward Maric and the others in the back. They were slowed by Fiona’s spell, but not enough. Genevieve moved to try to quickly close the gap left by Nicolas’s fall, but she couldn’t. Julien was too busy trying to keep the darkspawn from overwhelming him and Nicolas, swinging his blade in wide arcs around him, and she simply couldn’t hold the line on her own. More darkspawn rushed past them. Their line was broken.

The first genlocks made to throw their spears, but several arrows thunked loudly into their heads before they could attack. They went down, squealing in pain and clawing madly at their faces. Kell stepped forward, frowning as he nocked more arrows and fired them as quickly as he could into the oncoming force.

Utha dropped her pack and prepared to run to meet the darkspawn herself. Maric wondered what the dwarf planned on fighting with, since all she wore were her brown robes and leather gauntlets. He’d never seen her carry a weapon. Did she fight with fists? Is that what the Silent Sisters did?

“Utha, wait!” Fiona called out.

The dwarf quickly jumped to one side as the elven mage stepped forward, holding her hands out in front of her. With a look of concentration and a whisper of magic, a corona of flame surrounded her hands and then rushed out in a jet to burn the approaching darkspawn.

For a moment the cavern was lit up bright as day. The front darkspawn roared and writhed in agony as the fire engulfed them. The magical flames spread along the ground, sending up a cloud of black smoke that threatened to choke the passage. The darkspawn behind those in front were similarly burned, and hissed in rage, but continued to run forward despite their injuries. They leaped over their burning comrades, eager to reach Fiona before she could cast another spell at them.

Utha launched forward as soon as the path cleared. Her face remained serene as she met the first genlock that rushed at her. Planting one foot, she did a spinning kick that caught the short creature full in the face. Bones crunched under her leather boots and it staggered back.

Not pausing a second, the dwarf raced toward it. She grabbed the genlock’s crude metal pauldrons and vaulted over its head, not letting go, and when she landed on the other side she used the inertia to throw the creature over her and into three more not several feet away. The entire group went down in a tangled mess.

A tall, heavily armored hurlock hissed in fury and raised its blackened sword high to strike down at the dwarf. She dodged aside, the blade striking sparks on the stone, and then she sank low and swept her foot in a wide arc under the creature’s feet. It toppled easily. Calmly she leaped on top of it and struck with a rigidly straight hand—not a fist, Maric noted—at its throat. Her fingers dug deep into its withered neck with a sickening crunch, and it flailed uselessly and tried to knock Utha off.

She was already gone, leapfrogging from him onto the back of another. Before that one could even react, she had her arms locked around its head and with a great heave and a twist snapped its neck.

More darkspawn were rushing toward her now, and Maric watched in amazement as the dwarf dropped to the ground and began striking out with her feet and her hands. Each kick was precise and measured, each strike of her elbow or her palm was aimed for maximum impact, and yet she moved almost too quickly for Maric to follow. He’d never seen anyone fight like that, ever.

Finally, a hurlock successfully grabbed Utha’s robe from behind and hauled her back. She gritted her teeth and prepared to twist out of its grasp, but before she could do so, the grey warhound leaped on it from behind. Hafter growled angrily as he bit into the hurlock’s neck with his powerful jaws, pulling it off the dwarf completely. Black ichor flowed as the hound tossed the creature to the side.

A genlock ran at Hafter with a spear, but two arrows streaked from the shadows and sunk into its chest, sending it flying back. Kell appeared, pale eyes glaring angrily at the creature that had dared attack his hound. The hunter’s hood had fallen back, revealing a clean-shaven head decorated with elaborate black tattoos that Maric thought looked much like those worn by the Avvarian hill folk.

Kell quickly shouldered his bow and drew a flail from his belt. It was a mean-looking weapon, a spiked metal ball attached to a chain, and the man immediately began attacking several darkspawn that ran toward him. His strikes were careful, each swing flinging the spiked ball into a new opponent, where it landed with spectacular effect. Then the ball would be yanked out of the reeling creature and sent hurtling into a new one.

Hafter immediately leaped to Kell’s back, spinning in tandem with his master’s movements and snapping at any creature that got too close. One large hurlock tried to stab at him with a spear and the hound locked onto the creature’s arm and dragged it to the ground. He growled loudly and flung the hurlock about in his jaws, almost as if it were a rag doll.

“Maric!”

The shout from Duncan jarred his attention. More darkspawn had surged past Genevieve and the others, though the amount of carnage he could see from that direction told him that the warriors were doing their utmost to fight back toward them. Fiona pointed with her staff and sent blasts of magical energy firing into the surge of approaching darkspawn, but it barely slowed them down.

Duncan leaped at them. As the first hissing genlock charged with a battle-axe raised high, the young Grey Warden stabbed at its chest with his pair of daggers. The silverite blades slid through the corrupted black metal of the creature’s chest plate as if it were made of little more than soft fabric. Duncan’s body crashed into the genlock and knocked it down, with him still on top of it.

Another darkspawn spun around, its dead eyes focusing on Duncan as it sliced down with its axe. The lad jumped up agilely, avoiding the strike and letting it land instead on the head of the hapless genlock below. In the air, Duncan lashed out with the daggers at the new attacker, cutting a clean gash across its throat and sending ichor spraying.

Even as the young man landed again he was already spinning about low and cutting into the legs of creatures nearby. Maric noticed he went for the critical spots with those short blades, though whether it was his training or simply instinct he couldn’t tell. The daggers plunged into gaps in the darkspawn’s crude armor, slashing tendons and severing ankles. He stabbed at any back that was turned, barely pausing to see the creature go down as he turned to face the next.

“Fun, isn’t it?” Duncan laughed madly toward Maric as he scrambled over a tall hurlock and thrust a dagger deep into its eye. The creature roared in agony and teetered back into another crowd of darkspawn, taking the thief out of sight.

Maric had his own problems now as a pair of hurlocks charged him with spears. Their flesh on their bald heads looked almost rotted, he thought, withered and covered in suppurating sores. The large eyes were milky pale, filled with hate. The last time he had journeyed through the Deep Roads eight years before, he and Loghain and the others had almost died at the hands of darkspawn. They were surrounded and overwhelmed until a unit of deep-delving dwarves known as the Legion of the Dead had appeared. Would he be so lucky again this time? Somehow he doubted it.

Fiona gestured with one hand and a white blast of powerful energy lanced out from it. When it struck one of the charging hurlocks, it froze it to the spot, covering it with thick ice and frost. With a cry of effort she thrust out her other hand and a fist-sized, sparkling rock flashed into existence. It sped toward the frozen creature and shattered it into a thousand chunks of frozen gore.

The second attacker didn’t notice the loss of its companion, or even slow. It hissed, low and deadly, and kept coming at Maric. Swiftly he jumped to the side and cut its spear almost in half, his enchanted blade easily slicing through the weapon’s shaft.

Undaunted, the darkspawn threw the pieces of its weapon down and turned to leap on Maric, fanged mouth gaping wide. He was prepared, however, and was already spinning around to slash the creature across its chest. Its armor offered no protection to the dragonbone, and ichor sprayed from its wound as it squealed in pain. He didn’t let it suffer for long as he hacked it down.

The time it took to do so was almost too long, as a pair of genlocks leaped on him from the side. Their weight bore him down to the ground and one of them bit deep into a shoulder. Maric gritted his teeth at the sudden agony, and even in the urgency of the situation he could sense the corruption spreading out from his injury like some burning acid soiling his blood. Hopefully the First Enchanter’s potions worked as promised.

He struggled to throw the creatures off, but they were too quick and surprisingly strong for their short height. He brought his sword hilt up sharply and bashed one in the jaw, the bone crunching and fangs flying out of its mouth. The creature grunted in pain and loosened its grip, and he was finally able to throw it off.

The other genlock reared up and flashed its bloody fangs, ready to sink them into Maric a second time, but before it could do so a bolt of energy hit it square in the chest. The flash of light dazed Maric for a moment, and he covered his eyes. Stars swam before him, and while he heard the sounds of combat going on around him, it all seemed to pass in slow motion.

Then he shook his head as his vision cleared. The genlock was gone. He jumped back to his feet, bringing his longsword to bear, and saw that several hurlocks were swarming Fiona. Duncan was successfully keeping the attention of several others on himself, but the mage was about to be borne down by sheer numbers.

Before he could move, however, he heard Fiona cry out a word of power. A thunderous wave of magic rolled out from her, brilliant enough to cause the darkspawn to squeal in pain and cover their eyes, and the entire cavern shook violently from an earthquake. Maric and the darkspawn, and many of the others around him, tumbled to the ground. Rocks shook loose from the ceiling, several larger pieces barely missing his head.

As the dust settled, he looked up. The short elf stood there in her glittering chain armor, shoulders back and seemingly ten feet tall in her victory. Sweat poured from her brow, and her spiky black hair was plastered to her face. Her grin was one of excitement, however, and she was flushed. Her eyes caught Maric’s and she winked at him impishly. He found himself chuckling in response, almost despite himself.

Fiona lifted up her staff high over her head, the white light emanating from it suddenly intensifying as the mage gathered her concentration to deal with the darkspawn around her, who were just now beginning to recover their feet.

The staff’s light flickered suddenly as a pair of arrows sprouted from the mage’s chest. Her eyes went wide as she looked down at them, a bright red bloodstain quickly spreading on the chain mail.

Her face twisted into outrage. “Bloody bastards!” she swore.

Another arrow flew at her and only barely missed her head. She stumbled to the side, clutching gingerly at the arrows stuck in her chest with her free hand. Maric spun around and spotted the culprit: a pale-skinned genlock not ten feet away from him, standing on top of a large outcropping of rock and using a crude-looking, blackened shortbow.

Springing into action, Maric charged toward the creature. He swung his longsword in wide arcs around him, forcing a path through the melee. He saw Duncan, fighting expertly with his daggers, wounded with several severe-looking gashes. Red blood mixed with black on the lad’s dark leathers, yet he didn’t slow. Instead Duncan snarled, baring his teeth and assuming a savage countenance that Maric found surprising as he charged into yet more opponents.

He had no time to stop and help, however. A new darkspawn, this one a tall hurlock with heavy golden armor, lurched into his path. He parried a blow from its massive sword with his own, sparks flying as the blades met, and then began a series of exchanges with it. The creature was no true swordsman, however, and it wasn’t long before Maric outmaneuvered it and cut it down.

He moved on quickly. The pale genlock archer had unleashed several more arrows, and now noticed that Maric was running toward it with his glowing longsword raised. The first arrow it shot at him missed, and the second he deflected with his blade—accidentally, really, though he imagined it looked otherwise.

Watch as King Maric cuts shooting arrows out of the air! Nothing can stop him!

The third arrow caught him in the abdomen, landing with staggering force. So much for not being stopped.

Gathering his strength, he made a final rush toward the archer, leaping up onto the rock where it stood. The creature hissed at him defiantly, and he ran it through without a second thought. Gushes of ichor flowed down his sword blade and the front of his armor. The creature twitched, dropping its bow and emitting a harsh rattle from deep in its throat as it died.

As the genlock slid from his blade and fell from the rock, Maric turned and slipped on its blood. Rather ungracefully he bounced off the side of the rock and landed on the stony ground, a leg twisting painfully underneath him. He managed to hold on to his longsword, but even then he only barely kept it from cutting his own head off. More stars flashed before his eyes, and agony burned throughout his entire body.

Watch as King Maric tumbles to the ground like a fool! See him bounce!

A shadow reared in front of him, and he opened his eyes only to see a hurlock standing over him, ready to bring a battle-axe down upon his head. He tried to lift his blade to fend off the attack, but he was propped up against the rock and in completely the wrong position. He had no leverage.

Kell appeared out of nowhere behind the hurlock. With a shout the hunter brought his flail down directly on the creature’s head, half crushing it and sending a splatter of bone splinters and gore showering out over Maric and the stone behind him.

He felt stunned. He barely noticed the creature slump to the ground, and didn’t respond immediately when the hunter stepped forward to offer his hand.

“Your Majesty?” Kell asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Maric belatedly allowed himself to be helped to his feet, his leg threatening to buckle painfully under his weight. Looking around, he realized that the last few darkspawn were being dealt with. Both Utha and Duncan had come to Fiona’s assistance, although the mage was quite wounded and covered in blood. She seemed less weakened, however, than she was thoroughly angered by her predicament. Nicolas was nearby, being supported by an anxious Julien, though it was difficult to tell which of them was more wounded since they were both coated in black ichor.

Genevieve moved around to the few darkspawn on the ground still struggling, determinedly plunging her blade into their hearts and finishing them off. “We need to get moving,” she growled loudly. “The other group of them is coming this way.” After stabbing another darkspawn, the creature gurgling in pain and then collapsing into silence, she turned and caught Fiona’s attention. “Healing. Do as much as you can, and quickly.”

The elf nodded tersely, her face sweaty and pale. Duncan and Utha both helped her sit down on a rock, careful not to touch the two black arrows that still stuck out of her chest. The dwarf knelt down in front of her, concern evident on her face as she made several hand gestures.

Fiona took a shaky breath. “Do it.”

Utha put one hand on her shoulder, and with the other she grabbed the end of one of the arrows firmly. Fiona flinched and shut her eyes, but did not shy away. Duncan stood next to her, holding her shoulders to keep her steady even if he looked like he was about to be sick.

With a firm jerk, the arrow came free, its wickedly barbed head appearing along with a spurt of dark blood. Fiona cried out in anguish, a throaty and animalistic sound that made Maric shudder. She doubled over, only to be pulled back up by Duncan to keep her from bending the other arrow. She seemed even paler, if that was possible, and the red stain on the front of her chain armor was rapidly expanding.

Maric made to go over to help her, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was Kell, his hood restored and his flail back in its sheath. The hunter looked pained as he gestured to Nicolas. “Come, he will need our help.”

Hafter limped alongside them, filthy and with ichor literally dripping from his muzzle, but mostly unharmed. Lucky dog. Nicolas had collapsed back down to the ground, clutching futilely at his blood-soaked chest plate, and it seemed that Julien was too injured to properly get him up on his own.

“How bad is it?” Kell asked him.

Julien appeared frantic. He was kneeling down, trying desperately to get Nicolas onto his feet with only one arm, the other clearly broken. Nicolas, meanwhile, appeared dazed and barely aware of what was going on around him. “I don’t know!” the dark-haired warrior responded, looking up at Kell with panicked eyes. “We need to get him to the mage! He’ll bleed out!”

Pulling on Nicolas as he was, the man almost seemed to be doing more harm than good. Kell glanced at Maric, and Maric understood immediately what the hunter wanted. Crouching next to Julien, he spoke reassuringly and slowly removed the man’s hands from his friend. The words didn’t matter so much as their tone seemed to work, slowing down the warrior’s panicked breaths and urging him to collect himself as Kell dragged Nicolas away.

“I don’t … she needs to help him!”

“She will.”

Maric’s words were punctuated by another blood-curdling scream from Fiona as the last arrow was yanked from her stomach. This time the mage did fold, clutching at her chest and shaking with exhaustion. Utha could do little more than look on in sympathy. Fiona gasped and spasmed as she attempted to control her agony enough to stand. Duncan stood back as she finally did so.

“I’m fine,” she gritted weakly through her teeth. With a wave of a hand, a warm blue glow suddenly suffused her entire body. She gasped out loud as the pain was lifted from her, arching her back as the magic worked its way through her body. Maric watched, impressed, as several of the smaller cuts along her arms slowly closed and healed. When the spell was finished, the glow disappeared and Fiona collapsed limply. Duncan rushed forward to catch her before she hit the ground, and with a grin he tapped her on the cheek.

“Hey there,” he said with a chuckle. “No passing out just yet.”

“I know,” she groaned.

Utha passed the lad a potion in a white bottle, which he immediately pressed to Fiona’s lips. The mage made a sour face but drank as bidden, and then coughed severely as what ever had been inside jolted her upright. She shuddered convulsively once. Then she opened her eyes and looked around, still splattered in blood and pale as a sheet, but the weakness seemed to have been driven from her.

“See?” Maric patted Julien on the back. “She’s fine. Nicolas will be fine as well, once she gets to him. I’ve been injured like that a few times, myself. Nothing handier than having a mage around to patch you up.”

The warrior looked embarrassed and allowed himself to be helped back up to his feet. “I apologize, King Maric. I must look like a foolish old woman to you.”

“It’s just Maric … and don’t be ridiculous. You two are obviously friends. I happen to know what that’s like, believe it or not.”

Julien paused, giving him a look that he wasn’t quite sure how to read. Perhaps he thought Maric was being disingenuous? Eventually the man smiled a bit sheepishly, reassured. Without saying anything further, he ran to help Kell with his friend.

Genevieve watched Maric carefully from across the passage. She wiped the gore from her face with a length of cloth, but her eyes remained fixed on him. Her look was tense, he thought, and perhaps dangerous. The others hovered near Fiona, helping the mage gather her strength for healing spells, and only their commander stood apart. It was just a matter of a few feet, but it may as well have been miles. Maric had to wonder if it had always been that way for the Commander.

Healing was doled out quickly, even as they listened to the sounds of the alien humming growing louder and louder in the tunnels. The other darkspawn were getting closer, and from the growing tension in Genevieve’s pacing, Maric assumed that there must be more on the way from other directions now, as well.

The magic that Fiona provided had its limitations. It could mend flesh and restore a degree of health, but severe wounds were beyond her ability to heal. Julien’s broken arm remained broken, and while Nicolas could walk, it seemed certain he had internal injuries that would continue to plague him. Fiona herself clearly was not fully recovered. Utha hovered around her, wringing her hands nervously the more the mage pushed her limits.

When the time came for Maric’s turn, Fiona was already shaking and coated in a fresh sheen of sweat. This was sapping what little reserves of mana the mage had left, he could tell. When she raised her hand to touch his forehead, he stopped her.

“I’m not badly injured. I’ll be fine.”

She arched an eyebrow curiously. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“It’s supposed to save your strength, actually.”

The elf appeared taken aback. She hesitated, her dark eyes meeting his for a moment, before touching his forehead despite his protest. “Let me worry about my strength.” Her tone was gruff but her fingers were gentle, brushing his skin lightly as the tingle of her magic began to wash through him. He tried not to stare at her, and instead concentrated on the aura of sapphire light that surrounded him.

His twisted leg felt better immediately, if not completely repaired. The puncture wound in his gut left by the arrow similarly stopped bleeding. While not whole, the spell left him feeling a thousand times better. He smiled his appreciation at the mage, and she shot him a dubious look and said nothing in return before moving on.

Genevieve had them traveling again within minutes. They moved almost as quickly as before, or tried to, as the various injuries served to slow them down considerably. They were also exhausted, Fiona most of all. Still, the Commander spent her time constantly urging them to move faster and faster. Despite the wounds she herself must have suffered, she seemed unimpaired and drove herself by sheer force of will alone.

Fear worked to speed them, as well. Maric didn’t need supernatural senses to tell that the darkspawn were closing in on them no matter how fast they moved. The humming was constant now, and he almost expected to spot a horde of darkspawn waiting around every turn.

They reentered the Deep Roads proper, dropping back into the dwarven passages through a great crack in the walls that could very well have been caused by some natural tremor. It looked to Maric like any other part of the Deep Roads did: dark and forbidding, with broken statues of the dwarven Paragons and the darkspawn corruption spreading over it all. How would they find their way back to the proper route now?

He didn’t have time to think about it, as it soon turned into a chase. Genevieve’s cries became frantic and they broke into a full run. Exhaustion burned his muscles as they pushed and pushed, taking one turn after the other. He began to hear more than the humming off in the shadows: Now he heard the hisses and clanging of metal, the shouts of true pursuit.

They left the Deep Roads again, though this time there was little choice. The passage simply seemed to sever—not neatly, either, but like a broken limb with the jagged edges of bone still protruding from the flesh. Beyond the broken stone lay only a wide natural cavern, the floor a sizable drop down. Whether the passage picked up ahead at some point again was impossible to discern through the darkness. Perhaps the entire thing had caved in here, but why?

They couldn’t turn back. Going down was the only option. With the sounds of the darkspawn still approaching, Genevieve led the way by making the leap into the cavern. She landed and remained crouched for a moment, her sword held at the ready as she scanned the shadows for any sign of life. Nothing moved.

The rest of them followed immediately after. Maric landed hard on his sore leg and hissed in pain. The others ignored him, remaining still as they scanned the shadows. The only thing that the light on the mage’s staff revealed around them was great chunks of rubble.

There was also the acrid smell of brimstone. Maric found it almost overpowering. Was there some kind of natural spring nearby?

“What is that?” Duncan complained.

“Quiet!” Genevieve snapped. Her sword remained out, her eyes at once so wary and so exhausted that they looked positively murderous. She obviously was convinced they were not alone. Duncan’s jaw closed with an audible click.

Her caution was infectious, and while they moved forward into the unknown darkness of the cavern, they did so only slowly. Fiona held up her staff and made it shine brightly enough to show where they were more clearly. This was definitely some kind of natural fissure, and they could see the jutting bones of other passages up above at several junctures. This great cavern lay between the Deep Roads, or around it. It was difficult to tell.

The sound of something odd crunching under his boot heel caught Maric’s attention. He looked down, and noticed bones.

The others saw them just as he did. Fiona breathlessly lifted her staff up again, and it illuminated many piles of bones. Not human bones, Maric was relieved to see. Nor darkspawn bones, either. These were animal bones, most of them old and covered in dust.

There was a pack animal called a bronto that roamed the Deep Roads, formerly tame beasts that the dwarven Shapers had engineered long ago and that had gone wild when the darkspawn had destroyed the dwarven kingdoms during the First Blight. Maric had never seen one himself, but there were supposed to be herds of them still roaming underground. These were bronto bones, he suspected. Piles and piles of them. A whole cavern so full that it blanketed the stone.

“Is this some kind of graveyard?” Fiona asked, her voice small.

Kell shook his head. He crouched down and picked up one of the larger fragments. The fact that it was jaggedly split was obvious. Something had torn it apart. Many of the bones had suffered similarly. Without comment he tossed the piece aside and nocked an arrow on his bow. His pale eyes looked around intently.

They were all quiet, waiting.

“Do you hear that?” Duncan finally asked.

Each of them cocked their head, listening. There were only silence and shadows. It had also grown warm, Maric found. He had assumed that the warmth he felt was a result of all the running and sweating, but now that they were still and he was calmer, he realized it was something else. Mixed with the sulfurous stench was a dry heat wafting in the air.

“I don’t hear anything,” Genevieve growled.

“Exactly! Where are the darkspawn? I can barely sense them!”

The Commander seemed stunned not to have realized it herself. They stood for a long minute, doing nothing, before she finally waved them to proceed. “We need to find a way through. Whatever reason the darkspawn aren’t following us, perhaps we can use it to our advantage.”

The rest of them appeared reluctant but said nothing. They followed her quietly, picking their way through the field of bones as the cavern slowly opened up into something even larger. There was light here, too. It was dim at first, the faintest glow of lichen clinging to the walls, but eventually it increased to the point where Fiona’s staff wasn’t even needed. Maric was reminded of the great caverns that the thaigs were built within, but here there were stalactites and stalagmites instead of dwarven buildings. There were fissures pumping out steam, and he thought he saw faint streams of lava behind large rocky outcroppings. Their orange glow added to the dread ambience.

There were also more of the bones littering the entire chamber. Many of them were blackened, jumbled atop piles of dark ash. Several of the fissures sent clouds of steam pumping up along the rocky walls. The smell of brimstone became almost overpowering.

Kell’s hound began to growl fearfully, its hackles raised.

Genevieve stared into the distance, trying to peer past the faint haze of the steam as if she could command what ever secret this place held to reveal itself. Nothing came. Without looking at the others, she waved them forward. “Look for a way through.”

As they began to spread out, however, Kell suddenly hissed, “Stop!”

Genevieve turned back, annoyance clear on her face—which instantly turned into alarm. The hunter stared upward, his eyes wide and stark with fear. She followed his gaze at the same time as Maric did, as they all did, and they saw what it was that had kept the darkspawn from pursuing them. Something descended down upon them from above, something large. Something with great, leathery wings.

“Dragon,” Kell breathed.