The Calling

8

“Wardens!”

Genevieve’s shout of warning was unnecessary, and came too late as the black-scaled high dragon crashed down onto the ground amid them with cataclysmic force. It roared as it did so, a blast of sound so furious that Duncan covered his ears. He screamed, the pain unbearable, but he couldn’t even hear himself. The ground shook under his feet from the force of the dragon’s impact, and a rush of air from the dragon’s wings beating hard sent him flying off his feet.

The world spun around him as he tumbled and skidded along the ground, until finally he slammed into a column of black rock. Agony blazed through his back. Gritting his teeth, Duncan forced himself to get back to his feet. A wave of dizziness swam over him, but he managed to keep his bearings.

The others had been scattered the same as he had, though the ones in heavy armor had not traveled quite as far. Already the high dragon was spinning around with surprising agility to attack them. It stomped down onto Julien with a taloned foot, pinning him before he could rise, and turned its sinewy neck to glare directly at Genevieve with a head that was twice as large as the woman herself.

She did not retreat, standing resolute with her sword poised before her, eyes warily locked onto the dragon’s. The creature snorted black smoke angrily, as if it was enraged by the presence of these intruders in its lair. It breathed through its huge fangs, each yellowed tooth as long as an arm, as it stalked carefully around Genevieve. She kept her sword ready and faced the dragon, her face grim determination.

The dragon stepped off Julien, and the man groaned in pain. Nicolas darted in, quickly dragging the man away to a rocky ridge nearby. There was too much dust and dirt stirred up by the dragon still clouding the air to see much of anyone else.

“Get yourselves to cover!” Genevieve shouted. Her voice drew the dragon’s ire and it darted in to snap at her with its great jaws. She rolled to the side, her speed impressive despite her bulky armor, and slashed at the dragon’s long neck with her sword. The point cut through its thick black scales, but not deeply. It was enough, however, that the creature reared up high and roared in outrage.

The entire cavern shook as the Commander darted forward, her greatsword held out to stab into the dragon’s chest. She never got that close, however, as it swiped her aside and sent her hurtling along the ground.

The other Grey Wardens were reacting now. Duncan saw Nicolas rush in, bashing the dragon on its rear leg with his mace. Julien joined him a moment later, limping as he attacked with his sword. So, too, did Utha appear on the creature’s other side. She had pulled out her double-club, a dwarven weapon he had seen her use from time to time, which consisted of two lengths of steel connected by a short length of chain. These she spun around her with dizzying speed, and she rapped the dragon’s scales with a wicked blow.

Kell appeared, as well, leaping up to higher ground with Hafter bounding beside him. The hunter restrained the dog from running down to join the fray, and began carefully firing arrows aimed at the dragon’s vulnerable head.

The dragon ignored the arrows and spun around with lightning speed. Its long tail swept Julien and Nicolas off their feet, sending them crashing to the ground, and only barely missed Utha as she did a somersault to avoid it. It fixated on the dwarf now, stamping down hard several times in an attempt to crush her. Each time the dwarf danced agilely out of the way.

Duncan pulled out his daggers and dashed forward to assist the others. The heat in this cavern was incredible, and already he was sweating profusely. It would be unfortunate if he got swept by those great wings into one of the lava streams—Duncan had never seen lava before in his entire life, but it wasn’t hard to imagine how unpleasant it would be to end up dropped inside it. About as unpleasant as being chomped on by those giant dragon teeth, no doubt.

Are we really planning on fighting this thing?

Genevieve appeared out of the haze and smoke and charged beside him, her sword raised high. They didn’t exchange looks and merely ran together toward the dragon’s flank as it was preoccupied with Utha. Duncan gulped as they got closer. The creature loomed high overhead, far larger than it had looked from a distance. Far faster, too. It was long and lanky and quick. How in Andraste’s name did it live down here?

Dragons were supposed to have been extinct, hunted into oblivion—or at least they were thought to have been until one was spotted over the Frostbacks at the beginning of the Dragon Age. Was this that one? Was this where dragons came when they weren’t flying about and razing the countryside?

Genevieve plunged her sword deep into the dragon’s hide. Duncan did the same with his daggers, the silverite easily cutting through the scales. Bright dragon blood spurted from the wounds. His blades didn’t cut anywhere near as deeply as the Commander’s, but hopefully they were enough to cause the beast some damage.

Apparently they were. The dragon reared up again, roaring thunderously and bringing bits of stone plummeting down from the cavern’s ceiling. As it spun around, Genevieve’s sword yanked out of the creature’s hide, coated red with blood. Duncan’s daggers were almost torn from his grip and he had to pull hard to free them. The dragon opened its maw wide, and for a moment there was the sound of a great intake of breath.

“Look out!” Genevieve shouted.

She leaped on Duncan and pushed him to the ground, burying him under her heavy armor. The air was knocked out of him, and for a moment he felt confused. A moment later he realized why she’d done it: The dragon was breathing flame.

The blast of heat hit them first. Duncan cried out, but found the air forcibly ripped from his lungs. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, and then the fire washed over them. At the same time, however, something else struck them. A wave of freezing cold from the other direction, something that made Genevieve’s armor frost up and the air suddenly fill with boiling steam. The heat was searing and painful, but shockingly they survived. The flames were gone.

Genevieve pulled herself off of him, and he rolled aside quickly. He saw then the reason for their escape: Fiona had appeared, her staff held high over her head and flaring brilliant blue streams of power from the stone at its tip. She looked radiant, surrounded by a corona of magic so cold Duncan could feel it from where he lay.

The dragon could feel it, too. It bellowed in fury and launched itself at the mage, flapping its wings hard enough that Duncan had to struggle not to be blown away once again. Three arrows streaked toward the dragon’s head, and one of them hit home in its eye. The creature shrieked and spasmed in midjump, and it crashed down next to Fiona and slid along the ground.

One of its wings nearly hit the elf, but she ignored it and instead collected her will. She channeled power through her staff, and the icy aura around her suddenly burst out in all directions. Instantly the entire cavern was filled with a freezing storm. Wind and snow blew in all directions, and the temperature dropped so rapidly that Duncan could see his breath.

It figures she would bring the damned winter down here, too, he grumbled. The dragon reacted wildly to the spell. It writhed in place, obviously in agony and beating its wings uselessly against the ground as it tried to escape from its millions of painful icy tormentors.

Maric appeared next to Fiona and charged the dragon as it spun, slashing with his enchanted longsword, which bit deep into the creature’s hide. Another indignant shriek, and this time the dragon pushed itself to its feet and launched itself high up into the cavern. With several beats of its great wings it retreated to the shadowed recesses above them.

Genevieve stood unsteadily, covering her face against the blizzard. “Grey Wardens, to me! Regroup!” Her voice was almost lost to the howling winds, but the others heeded her call even so and ran toward her.

Duncan remained crouched low to the ground, trying to see through all the blowing snow to discern whether the dragon was about to swoop back down on them again. Perhaps it was gone for good? Perhaps they delivered it enough of a bloody nose that it had retreated to lick its wounds?

“Is it going to come back?” Fiona shouted as she arrived, her thoughts echoing Duncan’s.

Kell dropped down from the boulder, Hafter barking angrily. “We should get back to the Deep Roads! Quickly, while there’s still time!”

“No!” Genevieve growled. “Our difficulty will be no less there!”

“Than with a dragon? Are you mad?”

Julien and Nicolas approached, an injured Utha limping not far behind, and they looked surprised as they saw their commander cross the distance toward the hunter and grab the front of his leathers in her gauntlets. Her face was contorted with fury, yet he met her gaze levelly, staring at her with his pale eyes. Hafter growled menacingly at Genevieve’s feet.

“We are not leaving,” she insisted. “We fight. We will win.”

“We should be facing darkspawn—”

“We should be finding my brother!” she snarled. “That is our mission! We find a way through this place, back to Ortan thaig! Or we die trying!” She turned a glare to each of the Grey Wardens in turn, challenging them to contradict her. None of them looked away, but none of them spoke, either. When those blue eyes fixed on Duncan, he shrank away a little. She really meant them to fight the dragon if it came back.

“Then what is your plan?” Maric demanded. He stood beside Fiona now, his runed longsword glowing faintly in the blowing snow. “Do you even have one?” he continued, his tone harshly accusing.

Genevieve’s face was steel. She had no time to respond, however, as another cry sounded from the upper reaches of the cavern. The dragon was returning.

“Move!” she cried.

They scattered. Duncan ran as fast as his legs would take him, covering his face to protect it against the icy winds of Fiona’s spell. He could sense the great mass of the dragon overhead, and for a moment he was certain that it was about to come crashing down on top of him, or worse, swoop down and snatch him off the ground in its talons like a hawk would a rabbit.

The creature landed somewhere behind him, however, and uttered another ear-splitting roar. He stumbled and half fell behind a column of rock. Lava swam in a narrow channel nearby, the blowing snow causing great waves of hissing steam to rise from its surface.

Getting his legs underneath him, Duncan turned and chanced a look around the edge of the column. He could definitely make out the dragon through the blizzard, but only as an extremely large and indistinct shape. It was clearly spinning around, its long neck darting down to snap at something below it, though who it was he wasn’t sure.

Swallowing hard, he gathered his courage and ran out again. The high dragon came clearly into view as he approached, all muscle and grace and covered in glossy black scales. He might even have called it beautiful had it not been so dangerous.

The dragon bellowed again, its long tail lashing wildly behind it. Its wings beat madly and added to the flurry of the winds. The sound of its roar amplified in the cavern to the point where it was painful to hear. Duncan winced and tried to keep running forward despite the ringing in his ears.

The creature was having difficulty dealing with all the combatants. From what Duncan could see, the others had surrounded it on several sides. Every time the dragon attempted to concentrate on a single opponent, the others would move in to strike. So, too, did Kell’s continual barrage of arrows keep distracting it from its intended target. He saw Utha dancing about near its legs, and Genevieve stabbing deep into its flank. Its black scales were heavily streaked with blood, presumably its own.

The dragon snapped down at Genevieve, and she only barely dodged out of the way. Two more arrows struck its neck and caused it to flinch. It snorted with rage and spun its entire body around, the thick tail swinging low on the ground and flinging Genevieve away. Duncan had to leap to avoid it, and heard the Commander land hard on the uneven rocks behind him. There was a snap like something breaking, and he heard her gasp in sudden pain.

Berserk, the dragon rushed at the outcropping where Kell stood with his bow, its maw open wide. Fiona fired a bolt of lightning at the creature, and it roared in pain as it was struck, but it was now too intent on its tormentor to be dissuaded.

Hafter bolted forward from his master’s side, racing down the side of the rock before Kell could stop him. The hound barked furiously and charged at the dragon, but it barely even slowed down. With one great swipe of its forearms it struck the hound and sent him flying. Hafter yelped in pain as he crashed with incredible force against the far stone wall of the cavern, and then slid down to the ground below, where he lay still and silent.

Kell shouted in rage, his cool demeanor finally broken. He fired three arrows in quick succession at the dragon’s head, and one of them struck true near its eye. It reached the hunter and snapped him up in its jaws, carry ing him into the air. The man screamed now in agony, and even from where Duncan stood he could hear the sounds of ribs breaking as the dragon bit down with its enormous jaws.

“Kell!” Fiona cried out from below.

Duncan got near enough to the dragon’s rear to stab into it with his daggers. He drew blood, but it only had to twitch its tail to send him stumbling down to the stone again. Dazed, he sat up, only to have the tail slam into him like a brick wall. He skidded several feet and then rolled, finally smacking his head hard against a stalagmite. His vision swam, and for a moment he couldn’t tell which end was up.

When he raised his head, he saw King Maric charging at the dragon, his longsword with its blue glowing runes raised high over his head. He stabbed it deep into the creature’s flank, just above one of its forearms, and that was enough to make it scream. It dropped Kell out of its mouth, the man little more than a limp rag doll of blood and broken bones from what Duncan could see. Fiona ran to his side.

The dragon angrily spun on Maric then, its mouth open wide and dripping with red blood. The intake of breath was audible even from where Duncan lay, and for a moment the King stared up at the creature. There was nowhere for him to run, and nobody was nearby to distract the beast further. As the dragon glared down at him, Duncan saw him stare back and see his death in the creature’s eyes.

And then the dragon blew its gust of flame.

Maric’s eyes went wide with disbelief as the flames struck an invisible barrier in front of him. Instead of engulfing him completely, they passed around him harmlessly. He looked around and saw Fiona not a few feet away, her hands still raised from the spell she had cast.

“Get back, you idiot!” she yelled.

He stumbled away as the dragon stomped one of its legs, attempting to crush him underneath. It stomped again, this time catching his cloak and tearing it off his back. Nicolas and Utha appeared out of nowhere on its other flank, and for a moment the beast was torn between trying to attack the fleeing Maric and turning to face its new attackers. With a roar of pain and frustration it spun about, batting Nicolas aside almost instantly.

Fat lot of good I’m doing over here!

Duncan picked himself up off the floor, wincing from the sharp stab of pain he felt in his leg but refusing to let it slow him down. The dragon had its back to him again, and he needed to take advantage of that position this time. They could keep hacking away at this giant beast all day. It wasn’t going to die unless they hit something really critical—like its head.

He raced across the stone, watching as Utha once again danced away from the dragon’s attacks and struck at it when she could with her double-club. He saw a bright flash of blue light as Fiona laid a healing spell on Kell. When he reached the creature’s tail, he didn’t slow down, and tried to pretend that what he was doing wasn’t completely idiotic.

Oh, don’t turn around! Don’t turn around!

Grinning madly, he stepped onto the thickest part of the dragon’s tail and kept on running. It was difficult with the blowing wind and snow, and harder still as the creature jerked and moved underneath him, but somehow he managed to keep his balance as well as his momentum. Arms held out at his sides and shouting in near panic, Duncan sped up along the dark ridges of the dragon’s spine.

“Duncan, you fool!” he heard Genevieve shouting from somewhere behind him. “What are you doing?”

It was a good question. One he didn’t really have time to think about. The dragon was only just now becoming aware that there was something on its back. Fortunately, both Maric and Utha pressed their attack just then and kept the creature from attempting to deal with him.

He tried not to look. He kept his feet pumping and his eyes on the scales beneath him. He tried not to notice just how far down the floor was from this height. Terror thrilled through him, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Then he slipped. For a split second, Duncan thought he was going to fly off and that this madness would have been for nothing. His heart leaped up into his throat. By reflex he managed to stab one of the silverite daggers into the base of the creature’s serpentine neck. It went deep and lodged into bone, and impossibly he hung on to the hilt for dear life as the dragon reared up high and roared in pain.

The world spun dizzyingly around him. The dragon flapped its wings, hard, and with a great leap it went up into the air. His stomach plummeted, and he had to fight the overpowering urge to vomit. There had been entirely too much vomiting lately, he thought. No more vomiting!

The air whipped past his face, his black hair fluttering wildly. He tried to haul himself up toward the dagger, but it was all he could do just to hold on and breathe. He could barely see anything, as the light was almost completely gone. The dragon hit something and he was almost pulled off, and he realized it had landed on something high up in the cavern, perhaps on what ever ledge it had retreated to the first time. Then the dragon leaped up again, roaring as it beat its wings and flew.

Something whizzed by his head in the darkness, and for a moment Duncan didn’t realize what it was. Then something else passed right over him and he recognized the tip of a stalactite. Was it trying to brush him off? A third one seemed like it was about to successfully do so, and he strained hard to pull himself up onto the dragon’s neck and out of the way. Still, it banged hard into his leg and he winced at the flash of pain.

Then the dragon descended again. Summoning his strength, Duncan raised his other dagger and stabbed it a bit farther up along the creature’s long neck. It twitched and attempted to dislodge its rider, but he now had two handholds. Scrabbling hard with his legs, he managed to wrap himself around the neck a little better. Now let it try to get rid of him.

It landed somewhere once again, the impact slamming him against the dragon’s scales and nearly knocking the wind out of him. There was light from nearby lava, enough that Duncan could see the creature attempting to twist its head around. Its long neck was lithe, but not enough to allow it to reach where he actually was. Several times it snapped close, and he saw those giant teeth clearly and smelled the reek of brimstone and carrion on its breath. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of it biting him off its own back! What if it had been able to do that?

The dragon was still moving, but now Duncan had the purchase he needed. Pulling one of the daggers out, he stabbed up ahead of the other. And then repeated this process. Quickly he ascended the dragon’s neck this way until he was directly behind its head.

Now it thrashed him around. He had to hug the neck close, warm scales pressed against his cheek, and hang on for dear life. His stomached heaved left and right, and he would have vomited had there been anything in his stomach to expel. Fighting against the inertia and the winds whipping by him, praying to the Maker that he wouldn’t be flung off across the entire cavern, he pulled one of the silverite blades out and then stabbed it directly into the dragon’s head.

He could feel it hitting bone and cutting through, and bright blood spurted out over his arm. The dragon threw its head back and roared, but rather than dislodging him, this very movement forced Duncan to push the dagger in deeper. It went in even past the hilt, more blood and gore gushing out of the wound. He felt muscles twitch convulsively in the creature’s neck. It tried to leap up into the air again, only to crash down so that its entire neck hit the ground.

He simply couldn’t hold on. He lost his grip on both of his blades and was thrown off, hitting rock with such force that he heard his arm break. He screamed aloud as he rolled along the ground and skidded to a halt.

When he opened his eyes, he found he was back in the effect of Fiona’s spell. Wind and ice whipped about, and for a moment Duncan couldn’t see anything in the dim orange light of the lava. Where was the dragon? Where had it gone? How could he not see something so incredibly large?

Then it appeared, emerging from the blowing snow like a giant apparition. Its dark head was streaked with its own blood, and it roared in fury as it charged toward him. Every instinct told him to run, but he was too broken from the fall and too gripped in terror. As that great head descended down upon him, Duncan clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, waiting for the inevitable …

… and then felt someone grab him from behind, yanking him backwards.

He saw Julien, battered and caked in blood. The wounded warrior picked him up and physically threw him back, and for a moment he felt himself sailing through the air as if in slow motion. He could see the high dragon behind Julien, its head snapping at the ground where Duncan had been only a moment before.

And then he crashed back to the ground, rolling away, and the pain flared up in his broken arm until his vision became little more than white fuzz. He fought against the agony and opened his eyes. The dragon reared on Julien now, clearly furious that the man had denied it its vengeance. It lunged down at him, and while Julien fought to bring up his sword to meet its attack, he was slowed too much by his injuries.

The dragon’s head closed around his body, teeth closing in and crunching loudly. Duncan heard Julien scream in agony. Then the creature pulled the man up in his mouth and flung him up in the air behind him. The broken body sailed out of sight into the blowing wind and shadows.

The dragon slowly turned back to stare at Duncan, its black eyes narrowing in pure hatred. He gulped and began to scramble backwards, but before he could even get far he saw Genevieve charge the dragon from its side. She ran into view, soot covering her armor and sweat pouring down her face, the effort showing in every step. With a great cry she swung the sword hard against the base of the dragon’s neck.

Blood fountained forth from the gash. The creature bellowed its fury and lunged its head down at its attacker. Genevieve was ready for it, however. Bracing herself, she shoved the greatsword up into the onrushing maw of teeth, the point of the blade driving into the back of its throat and piercing its head.

The inertia drove her back, and she slid along the ground several feet until one of her metal heels caught in a large crack in the cavern floor. She screamed in exertion as she pushed back against the weight, holding her ground. The dragon twitched violently and attempted to pull its head up and away. The blade remained impaled within its mouth, however, and as Genevieve held on she was yanked off her feet.

The creature floundered, its strength dissolving as bright blood gushed out of its mouth and down Genevieve’s arms. It crashed down again, slamming her hard against the ground, but she doggedly held on. The impact drove the sword even more deeply into the dragon’s head, and its whole body spasmed in response.

It tried to gnash its teeth, but couldn’t quite close its mouth around the blade. Small blasts of flame guttered forth from the back of its throat, licking at Genevieve’s face. It tried to claw at her, but the creature almost seemed too disoriented. It kept trying to rise and ended up only thrashing its wings uselessly.

Slowly but inexorably, she gained her feet and pressed her blade forward until her arms were well past the dragon’s great teeth. It spasmed again, ribbons of blood streaming out of its black eyes. And then, just as Genevieve screamed in rage at the strain of holding against the creature’s impossible strength, it collapsed to the ground.

Its wings settled, and its entire body twitched once and then was still.

For a moment Duncan almost couldn’t believe it. The blizzard began to dissipate, and a hush descended over the cavern. He heard only Genevieve’s labored breathing as she knelt down by the dragon’s head, shaking with pure exhaustion. Weakly she braced a foot against its snout and slowly pulled her blade free with a sickeningly wet sound. Dark red blood gushed out of its mouth, pooling at her feet. The dragon’s eyes were still open, but they were blank. It was definitely dead.

They had won.

Duncan heard quiet footsteps approaching and twisted around to see who it was. Utha held her chest gingerly and favored one leg, her robes covered in streaks of blood, and ran quickly over to the Commander. Genevieve did little more than nod curtly and wave away the dwarf’s concerned hand on her shoulder.

“I need to catch my breath,” she gasped. Wearily tugging off one of her gauntlets, she wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. “See to the others.”

Utha glanced over to Duncan, but he pointed off toward the far end of the cavern. “Go that way,” he suggested to her. “Julien got thrown over there; he’s probably hurt really badly.” She nodded and ran off.

Fiona and Maric were not far behind. Neither seemed too hurt, though the King looked battered and all but covered in foul ash. They both ran over to Duncan, the mage bending down to help him sit up. He winced as sharp pain radiated from his broken arm. There was blood covering the leather straps, and no way to tell if that was his or the dragon’s. Truth be told, he didn’t care to inspect the injury too closely. It felt bad.

“Are you all right?” Fiona asked

“Do I look all right?” he snapped, cradling his arm in front of him. The pain intensified for a moment and he hissed sharply through his teeth, closing his eyes as he rocked back and forth.

Maric whistled in appreciation. “I can’t believe you rode that thing!”

“It was idiotic!” Fiona snapped up at him. “He could have been killed!”

“He looks alive to me. Plus, it worked.”

Duncan held up a bloodied, shaking hand to distract the pair from their bickering. “Hello? Wounded here?”

The elf snorted in anger, frowning tightly as she turned back to see the extent of his injuries. When she touched his arm too strongly, he flinched and twisted away from her reflexively. That brought its own agony, enough to make him fall back to a prone position and writhe on the ground. Had he shattered the bone? It bloody well felt like it! It was like liquid fire burning through his veins.

“All right, then,” she breathed. “A spell it is.” She was pale and sweating, with dark circles under her eyes from the exhaustion, but still the mage collected herself and began to cast. She firmed her grip on his shoulder, whispering arcane words under her breath. The blue aura of power surrounded her and flowed into him, bringing with it a cool, blessed relief that made him gasp out loud.

He could feel his flesh mending, even feel some of the bones moving about inside his arm. That should have been painful, but it wasn’t. The sensation was merely odd, his senses numbed as the magic danced its way along his body and tickled at his fingertips.

“We have some poultices,” Maric commented. “Potions, too. You shouldn’t waste your strength, Fiona; you look exhausted.”

She didn’t stop. “We may need those. I may not be here to cast these spells later.”

He didn’t argue, and instead looked around the cavern. Duncan followed his gaze and noticed Kell limping toward them. The hunter looked quite a sight, completely caked in dirt and blood, his leather jerkin torn with several long gashes in it along his side. He’d lost his hooded cloak, and his head was coated in blood, but for all that Duncan supposed he looked rather healthy for having been inside the dragon’s mouth not minutes earlier.

The man wasn’t looking their way. Instead he was casting around anxiously, looking toward the far reaches of the cavern. “Hafter?” he called. Normally such a shout would have been enough to bring the hound bounding toward him, but there was absolutely no response. Not even a bark or a whine.

Fiona looked up sharply. “Oh no! Hafter!”

Just then, Kell noticed a shape against one of the far walls. It was where the dog had been flung by the dragon, and from where Duncan sat it looked like he had not moved at all. He was just a heap of lifeless fur collapsed at the base of the wall, a small stream of hissing lava not two feet away. The hunter limped in that direction, ignoring his pain as he sped to see to his companion.

Fiona completed the spell. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked Duncan anxiously. He nodded and tried to get up. The pain was still there, and his arm was stiff as a board, but he was much improved. Maric helped him, while the elf ran off to join Kell, her tattered blue skirt swishing.

With Maric’s assistance, Duncan limped over to where the pair of them knelt by Hafter’s body. It looked certain that there was nothing that could be done. The dog didn’t move, and Kell’s face was anguished as he ran a shaky hand along his fur. Duncan had never seen the man look so helpless.

“Is he—?”

“No.” Fiona shook her head. She sighed in relief, and Kell closed his eyes in silent thanks. Perhaps he prayed; Duncan really couldn’t say. He’d never known the hunter to offer thanks to the Maker—or any other god, for that matter—but perhaps this was a special occasion. “He’s badly hurt, but I think my magic will be enough to restore him.”

She began to cast her spell, and as the blue glow spread across the hound’s body, Hafter suddenly twitched. His dark eyes opened, and when he saw Kell kneeling above him, he whined plaintively and thumped his tail weakly against the stone floor. The hunter patted his head and urged him to remain still while the spell did its work.

“Lucky dog,” Maric chuckled, to which Duncan could only nod.

An anguished cry from elsewhere in the cavern interrupted them. Fiona’s spell fizzled to a halt as she looked up, and the rest of them turned around. At first Duncan couldn’t see where the sound was coming from, and then he noticed Utha on the far side of the cavern next to a large, rocky outcropping. In the dim light of the lichen he could see that the cavern floor sloped up to that point and led back the way they came. The dwarf was very still, and it took him a moment to realize that there was someone crouching on the ground next to her.

It was Nicolas, holding a limp and bloody Julien in his arms.

“Fiona!” Duncan cried, though it was unnecessary. The mage looked to Kell and the hunter nodded quick assent. She collected her skirt and dashed quickly across the cavern toward the others. Duncan limped slowly, Maric helping him along, and he saw that Genevieve was walking there, too.

The elf got to Julien’s body, and it took a moment to pry the grieving Nicolas off of him. The blond warrior was disconsolate, tears streaming down his face as he begged his friend to hold on. Utha looked sorrowful, but when she put a compassionate hand on Nicolas’s shoulder, he shrugged it off angrily.

“Just help him!” he shouted at Fiona.

She nodded, shaken, and laid her hands on Julien. The blue glow of her healing spell surrounded him, but as Duncan drew closer he suddenly saw the warrior’s state. Julien’s body was twisted and broken, his head at an odd angle from the rest of him. Blood covered his armor and was pooled around him, and one of his arms was almost completely ruined. It was nothing more than a bloody red mass, held together by the fragments of his armor.

If Fiona had gotten here earlier, then perhaps … but from the way Julien’s neck looked, it was possible he had died instantly. Duncan hoped he had died instantly. The man’s eyes were open and staring, but strangely calm. Like there was nothing wrong with him in the slightest. Duncan shuddered and looked away.

Magic continued to pour from Fiona into the body, but very little seemed to be happening. Some of the gaping wounds on Julien’s body were closing, but no color was being restored to his pale skin and he didn’t move at all. Tears welled in the mage’s eyes as she intensified her concentration.

“Do something!” Nicolas insisted. “Why is nothing happening?”

“I’m trying!” she sobbed.

Genevieve stepped forward. Her expression was stone, and she touched Fiona’s shoulder. “Stop,” she ordered. The elf looked up at her uncertainly, but there was no ambiguity in the command. The spell faltered and then ceased entirely.

“No!” Nicolas shouted. He knelt down again and cradled Julien in his arms, trying to support his head carefully even though the neck was clearly broken. “No, you can’t stop! He’ll be all right! He just needs healing!”

“He’s dead,” Genevieve said. Her voice was flat.

More tears streaked down his face, mingling with the splatters of blood. “You don’t know that!”

“Look at him, Nicolas. He is gone.”

For a second it looked like the warrior might rebel. He shook with rage, and then his anger quickly dissolved into tears. Trembling now with anguish, he lowered Julien’s head back to the ground, and then pressed his face into the man’s chest plate. His desolate sobs racked his entire body, his hands touching Julien and then recoiling. Duncan couldn’t watch. The others hung their heads, and for a time all they heard in the hushed cavern was the sound of Nicolas’s grief.

Fiona looked up at Genevieve, her face streaked with tears. “Are you sure you don’t want me to try …” Her voice faltered, and there was nothing more to say.

“Magic cannot bring someone back from the dead.” Genevieve gestured back to where Kell still sat. “Go and help the dog. We will need to move soon.”

“No!” Nicolas roared, jumping up. “We’re not leaving him here!”

“We must. The darkspawn are already coming; can you not feel it? We have very little time.” She stepped forward and put a gauntleted hand on the warrior’s shoulder, looking at him directly. For a moment she hesitated, and compassion broke through the Commander’s steely facade. Tears of grief welled up in her eyes. “My friend,” she began, her voice faltering. Nicolas stared at her in incomprehension, and it was clear that though Genevieve searched for words to comfort him, she found none.

Then she quickly blinked away the tears and resumed her aura of command, the moment of grief past. She removed her hand from his shoulder and nodded at him brusquely. “Say your farewells,” she ordered him, “and do it quickly. We move out as soon as we’re able.”

He collapsed to his knees, the tears driven from him and replaced with a stark blankness as he stared down at Julien’s corpse. The Commander turned and walked back to Kell without further comment, and Fiona slowly got up and followed her.

Duncan looked at Maric beside him, but the man simply stared uncomfortably at the ground. He had barely known Julien. Duncan himself had only known the warrior for a few months, but the others? Utha and Nicolas had been his constant companions for years, if not more. The dwarf knelt down next to Nicolas and put her hand on his shoulder, and this time he didn’t pull away. He just stared, stricken.

There had been a lot of death back in Val Royeaux. Duncan had grown up on the streets, and it wasn’t uncommon for people there to simply disappear. Sometimes they were arrested, vanishing to some dank dungeon never to resurface again. Sometimes people got sick and there was no medicine to help, and sometimes there were murders. He’d known a young girl, a fine pickpocket who’d taken a fancy to him once, that had been struck by a nobleman’s carriage and had her leg broken. She’d lain there in the street begging for help and been ignored, and by the time she’d finally crawled out of the mud and into a nearby alleyway it had only been to die from blood loss.

So death was no stranger to him. Still, this was the first time he’d seen a Grey Warden fall in battle in the months since he’d joined the order. It seemed at times like they were indomitable, warriors and mages that simply could not be taken down by any force in Thedas, and yet here was evidence that that simply wasn’t so.

He stepped forward, placing a hand on Nicolas’s other shoulder, and was about to offer a comforting word when the man jumped up and spun on him. The sudden apoplectic rage in those eyes sent him stumbling back.

“You!” Nicolas snarled. Though Utha tried to restrain him, he ignored her. “Julien died saving your pathetic life. He should have let that creature snap you up.”

“I didn’t—,” Duncan stammered.

“What were you doing, leaping on it? Do you think there are no consequences for your actions? You act the rash fool and look what becomes of it!” He gestured down at Julien, new tears streaming from his eyes.

“Hey!” Maric protested. “He brought that dragon down!”

“He brought Julien down, too,” Nicolas growled. The blond warrior glared at Duncan, and there was nothing but accusation there. Nicolas was absolutely right, after all. The image of Julien pulling him away from the dragon’s jaws played in his head: It should have been him lying there, neck broken and twisted around. It should have been him who’d paid the price for his bravado, but instead someone else had stepped in and paid it for him.

His eyes met Utha’s, and the dwarf stared back at him in silent anguish. She was the most compassionate person he’d ever met, and yet she didn’t move to intervene. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. She agreed with Nicolas. She didn’t need to say it; he could see it as plain as day.

Duncan retreated, the force of Nicolas’s hatred driving him back. Maric shouted his name, but he turned and ran. The glow from the lava grew dim, and before he knew it he’d run out of the cavern and into the darkness, away from the others. The shadows welcomed him, drawing him into their embrace, and all he could do was to keep on running.