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DRAGON AGE: THE CALLING 5 страница

Luc had been furious with Duncan, certain that he was responsible for all the attention. It didn't matter in the end. The templars came, and when Luc tried to run, they'd struck him down. Killed him in cold blood, right in front of Duncan. Nobody had said anything, of course. Just one more thief rotting in the gutter, and this one an apostate to boot.

Duncan knew where Luc kept his stash, hidden away in the attic of an abandoned chantry. He'd gone to collect it, considering that Luc wasn't going to need it anymore, and he'd been pleased by the amount of coin there. It was enough to get him through some hard winters and even put a roof over his head, at least for a little while.

He'd felt badly about it, even so. Far better for Luc to still be alive, even if that meant being locked up in a tower like this one. One didn't acquire friends very often where Duncan came from.

He stuck his head into a dim chamber and saw that it was a library of some kind. Rows and rows of dusty books, and tables covered in even more books with candles burned nearly down to nothing. Duncan wasn't sure what a mage needed to read in order to learn his spells, but apparently it was a lot. There were two mages in there now, older men in their full enchanter robes, poking through various tomes as a templar glared at them next to a roaring fireplace.

Good thing books weren't worth stealing, so there was no need to go in.

He continued forward, avoiding the large chambers in the central part of the tower as that was where most of the people seemed to accumulate. He probably needn't have worried. Most everyone was down on the main floor with the King and the Grey Wardens, watching whatever formalities the First Enchanter had cooked up to honor them. It had made it a simple matter to slip away. With any luck, the long-winded Orlesian would still be talking long after Duncan found his way back... preferably with his pockets full of whatever trinkets he could find up here.

It occurred to him that it was very possible he could get into trouble again. The last time that had happened, he had ended up the serving boy of the King, after all. Well, he thought, I'll just have to make sure I don't get caught this time, won't I?

He ducked into an alcove and hid behind the statue there as the sound of footsteps approached. An elven man in grey robes passed by, this one with the same serene expression that he had seen on others similarly dressed. Fiona had called them "the Tranquil" with a fair amount of distaste. He had asked what that meant, but she refused to say. He knew that they seemed to act as the keepers of the tower, seeing to the day-to-day running of things and acting as the Circle's merchants to the outside world. Beyond that, he had no idea why Fiona would shudder whenever she saw them. Their emotionless manner was unnerving; perhaps that was it?

As the man glided past, Duncan reached out and snatched a ring of keys that he spotted on the man's belt. It was a simple matter to slip them free of their hook with nary a jingle. Duncan smiled to himself as the fellow kept on going, completely oblivious to his loss.

The keys were large and iron, the sort that you used in padlocks and gates. Or chests. That thought ran enticingly around Duncan's mind as he crept out from behind the statue. Where would these keys fit? Would the Tranquil get to wherever he was going and suddenly discover them gone? Would he assume he lost them and retrace his steps, or raise the alarm? Duncan needed to work quickly.

It took some time to move through the next several levels of the tower. He needed to scamper back into the shadows every time some templar roamed his way, and while he poked his head into just about every room he came across, there was always either someone inside or it was just another boring storage room or something filled with even more books. Everyone was so quiet, as well, moving around with a hush that seemed completely unnatural. It served to make Duncan nervous. Not that sneaking around the home of magic-wielders wasn't call for a bit of sweat as it was.

There were small side stairs that led up, allowing him to avoid the central staircase, and he noticed that as he moved up in the tower it became quieter and more cramped. The halls were narrow now, and he couldn't even hear the distant thumps of armored templars walking the halls. Good. That would make things easier.

The rooms up here appeared to be mostly dormitories, each with a set of beds and large chests. They ranged from the chaotic to the neat and orderly. Was this where the apprentices slept? That made him a bit dubious about his chances of success. It was unlikely that apprentices would own anything of interest, surely.

But then he reached a darker part of the halls, where the doors were all locked. The quarters of the senior mages, then? That held more promise.

Quietly he tried the keys on several of the doors. Nothing. The keys were too large, and while he was tempted to use the lockpick he kept hidden in his belt, he knew too little about the sorts of protections these mages might be using to guard their privacy. He had heard about traps that exploded in fire or electricity. He had once known a girl, in fact, that had been killed trying to open a chest belonging to a mage. Nothing left of her but some scorched bones and a pile of ashes. The guards had been able to do little else but gawk as the mage responsible rode off in his carriage, leaving the girl's remains to blow in the windy streets.

So, no. He wasn't going to force his way anywhere. As angry as Genevieve might be if he got himself stupidly caught sneaking around the mage tower, she would be utterly livid if he got himself killed.

He was just about to give up and look for a way to get even higher into the tower when he noticed the large door at the very end of the hall. It was at least eight feet tall, and made of a darkwood. It had an ornate brass handle that was completely unlike any of the others he had seen. More important, it had a very large keyhole. The sort that an iron key would fit into.

Smirking, Duncan approached the door and attempted to insert one of the keys on the ring. It slid in easily, but didn't turn. He waited for the bolt of lightning to strike him... and nothing happened.

Silently he exhaled.

He tried two more keys before he found one that slid in and turned. With a loud clacking sound, the door unlocked and opened inward. He tensed, almost expecting a magical beast of some kind to leap out at him, perhaps a demon. Demons were supposed to follow mages around like flies, weren't they? The whole tower could be full of them!

But nothing happened. There was just a shadow-filled room awaiting him, and his foolishness was the only thing keeping him from it. Shaking his hands out nervously, he walked inside.

There was a tall, arched window that let in faint light, and through it Duncan could just barely make out the lake below and the hint of land on the horizon. The shutters were open, and a crisp breeze caused them to clatter against the wall with a disjointed rhythm. He shivered, squinting to see everything else in the room.

There was a fancy bed, with the sort of gilded posts he'd seen in Orlais from time to time. A desk made of a reddish wood he didn't recognize, covered with an assortment of parchments and leathery tomes. The silver inkwell might fetch a price, he thought, but not enough to make it worth stealing.

A massive wardrobe stood open, filled mostly with- no surprise there- cloaks and woolens and more mage robes, but as Duncan drew close he realized something. Several of those robes were ornamented in exactly the same manner as the First Enchanter's.

Were these his quarters? The idea excited as well as terrified him.

It made sense. There were a number of small statues about the room, all elegant women carved from ivory. Exactly the sort of thing that was all the rage right now among the Orlesian nobility, or so he'd been told by a fence. The shield on the wall looked big, and expensive. The giant set of golden scales against the wall also seemed elaborate, if far too large to carry out. All these things struck him as the type of possessions an important mage might have carried with him to his new home.

If only he could find something actually small enough to take.

He froze as he heard what he thought were footsteps out in the hall, but it was just the shutters banging against the wall once again, slowly at first and then once very loudly. The breeze that followed cut through him like a knife.

Duncan was about to start searching the desk more carefully when something tucked away at the bottom of the wardrobe caught his eye. Something glittering amid a pile of rolled- up linens. Hidden.

A slow smile crept across his face as he knelt down and moved some of the rolls aside. This revealed a red lacquered box, longer than it was wide and with a small golden lock. Very fancy, the sort of thing one might keep jewelry in, he thought.

Ignoring any warning thoughts about magical protection, he examined the lock closely and then reached into his belt to retrieve two fine pieces of wire. The lockpick was small enough to do the job, he figured, and as he quietly plucked away at the lock mechanism he was pleased to see he was right. It resisted him with clicking sounds until finally it gave way and released. Cautiously he pulled it out and opened the lid of the box, half expecting it to explode.

It didn't. Duncan gasped as he looked in the box to see an ebony-black dagger lying upon red silk. The entire dagger seemed to have been carved from a single piece of glossy stone, looking almost as if it was made of glass. Was it obsidian? He had heard of such a material, but never actually seen it before. The hilt was beautiful, delicate ridges leading up to a pommel carved into a roaring dragon's head.

As he lifted it out gingerly, he saw what looked like red veins within the black blade, tiny cracks along its surface. He would have thought it was blood, but running his finger along the side told him it was perfectly smooth. Not a stain or blemish.

Now this was worth stealing. This was something special, something that the First Enchanter prized enough to hide within his own chambers. Not hide well, of course, but how much could the man expect anyone to steal from him within his own tower?

Chuckling with amusement, Duncan slid the blade into his shirt. Where the smooth metal touched his skin he felt a tingle. Not unpleasant, and almost warm. It made him like the weapon all the more.

He closed the box, relocked it, and quickly rearranged the linens. No need for the First Enchanter to ever know he was even missing anything. With any luck, the fellow never checked his precious box and wouldn't be aware anything was amiss until Duncan and the Grey Wardens were long gone. He did bring us here to help us out, he thought. Well, he's simply helping us out more than he guessed.

Glancing around to make sure he hadn't accidentally moved anything else, he retreated out of the room and very gently closed the door. The lock gave a loud snap as it shut, which made him jump.

He paused, listening intently for the sound of a reaction, but again there was nothing. It seemed he was alone up on this floor, after all. Perhaps you should just stop jumping at every little thing, you idiot.

As Duncan turned around, he had taken only two steps from the door before he realized that there was someone standing at the end of the hall, staring at him. He ground to a halt, his heart leaping up into his throat. It was the apprentice from the assembly hall, the one who had waved at him.

She must have seen him come out of the First Enchanter's quarters. But why was she just standing there? Did she think that he was going to attack her?

He wasn't, of course. If only there was somewhere to run! But he was standing at the end of a hallway; the only way out was to go through her. He remained completely still, a single bead of sweat running down his forehead as he waited for the mage to act.

Curiously, she smiled with delight and ran toward him. "I saw you leave, and I just had to follow!" She stopped short a few feet away from him. Her cheeks were flushed, and she nervously smoothed down her hair. "I had hoped that maybe your wave was an invitation, that maybe you..." Her voice trailed off suggestively.

Duncan narrowed his eyes at her, slowly catching on. "Oh. Yes, that."

"My name is Vivian. I cannot believe I am meeting an actual Grey Warden!"

Think fast, fool. "I...am Duncan. I was...looking for you. I thought-"

"You thought I might be up here?"The young woman's big eyes lit up and she stepped closer toward him, assuming a seductive stance as she ran a finger down his arm. "They say you Grey Wardens are clever. They also say you have a great deal of...prowess."

"Err... yes. Yes, we do, in fact."

She beamed with pleasure. "I hope I am not being too forward. My bed is in the dormitory, but most everyone else is in the assembly hall. We will be alone, at least for a little while."

Duncan glanced askance at her to see if she was actually being serious. She was. The expectant look she gave him left no question as to what she intended. He'd heard that mages largely dispensed with social customs among themselves, but he hadn't imagined it to go quite this far. Most Orlesian girls he'd known, even the rough-and-tumble ones in the streets, would have guffawed at this sort of display.

Not that he didn't like it, necessarily. For a mage, she was rather attractive in her way. And clean, too. That alone would be a step up from the few experiences he'd had, furtively groping girls in filthy back rooms at the flop house, the act all sweat and desperation and over almost as soon as it'd begun. If this mage was looking for some kind of virtuoso performance on that front from a Grey Warden... well, he'd just have to give it his best shot, wouldn't he?

Flashing his most charming smile at her, Duncan leaned casually against the wall. It was the sort of pose he'd seen Kell perform, and from the mage's excited blush it seemed to have exactly the effect he was hoping for. "Vivian," he crooned, "you have just made this trip more worthwhile than you could possibly imagine."

Letting out something between a squeal and a giggle, she grabbed his leather and yanked him in for a kiss. He was taken by surprise and almost stumbled, but kept enough presence of mind to keep the dagger hidden in his shirt from showing itself. And then he was quickly lost in the moment.

She tasted like strawberries. Was that a mage thing? Duncan's mind flashed to Fiona and he thought that, no, it probably wasn't. Evidently the sneaking-away bit didn't always end in disaster.

There in the depths of the earth they dwelled,

Spreading their taint as a plague, growing in number until they were a multitude.

And together they searched ever deeper until they found their prize,

Their god, their betrayer.

-Canticle of Threnodies 8:27

Maric shivered as the wind blew a flurry of snow across the rocky hills. They had been traveling most of the day, making their way on foot into the hills northeast of the tower. There did not ride horses this time, not for where they were heading. As the evening had approached, it truly seemed as if the heavens opened up above them. A blizzard had been unleashed, the wind howling amid the crags as they slowly plodded through icy paths.

He remembered these hills. If they pressed far enough north to reach the coast, they would find themselves near the fortress of West Hill. There he had suffered the worst defeat of the war, one that had very nearly cost him the rebellion entirely. Hundreds of men who had followed him lost their lives there, all because he had been a trusting fool. It had been a sobering lesson to learn.

None of them had spoken a word for hours, now. Genevieve wanted to make up for lost time, and so each of them buried their faces into their cloaks and endured the weather as silently as they could. The roads and peaceful farming hamlets now covered by a blanket of snow slowly gave way to rocky crags, a skyline dotted with tall trees and sharp cliffs that were all but uninhabited.

Poor Duncan walked beside him, more miserable than ever.

Maric wasn't certain what the lad's exact heritage was, but perhaps a lack of resistance to the cold was simply in his blood. Clearly he would have gladly stayed behind at Kinloch Hold if that were an option, which was saying a lot considering how most people felt about mages.

Genevieve had been quite eager to get him out of there, however. Something had passed between her and Duncan, and Maric wasn't certain what. The Grey Warden's commander had finally grown impatient after enduring the First Enchanter's ceremony for much of the afternoon, cutting the man off in midsentence as she spun about to go in search of her missing young thief.

To tell the truth, Maric hadn't been aware up to that point that Duncan was even absent. Eventually, Genevieve had returned with him in tow. Rather than being furious, however, the woman's

expression had been more awkward mortification. She refused to comment on what the lad had been up to when Maric asked her, clamping her jaw shut and actually blushing. Duncan stood behind her, ashen faced and looking like he wanted to do nothing more than crawl under a rock somewhere and die.

So the lad's misery was due to far more than the weather. Since they'd left the tower, the white- haired Commander had barely spoken to him. Whenever she did, she stared at him incredulously with those hard eyes of hers, and Duncan withered under the disapproval. Maric would have stood up for him, but for all he knew the lad had done something completely reprehensible.

For his own part, Maric didn't feel truly cold even in the blizzard, not until they spotted the doorway, a great slab of dark granite easily twice a man's height set into the side of a ridge and almost covered in a drift of snow. It would have been simple to miss, had he not known exactly where it was. It came into sight slowly amid the wind and the snow, and they approached cautiously. The closer they got, the larger it loomed and the more the chill seeped into Maric's heart.

This was the entrance into the Deep Roads that he had used eight years earlier, a desperate gamble to reach Gwaren without encountering the Orlesian usurper's army on the surface. It had only been through sheer luck that he had survived. In fact, he survived by luck on a number of occasions back then. The people of Ferelden who worshipped him now wouldn't believe the truth even if he told them, that their heroic king had managed to free them more through fortune than through skill or good decisions.

They would simply tell him that the Maker had watched over him, that through the Maker's grace Ferelden had been freed. And perhaps that was so. Still, his mind inevitably was drawn to the two women who had accompanied him into those dark depths. One had become his wife and the mother of his son, while the other...

He grimaced. He didn't want to think of Katriel.

It was she who had led them to this remote location the first time, calling on her mastery of history and lore. Once upon a time this doorway had been a way for the dwarves to ascend to the surface, no doubt to collect the resources that they needed, but since the darkspawn had overtaken the dwarven kingdoms it had become little more than an open sore long forgotten. Forgotten by anyone but people like Katriel, he amended silently.

Back then, they had found the entrance lying open, its great doors ravaged by time. When he visited Orzammar years later, he had asked the dwarves to repair the entrance and seal it. Loghain had worried that the darkspawn might use it to raid the surface, even though they clearly had not done so in centuries. Still, one could never be too careful.

It had never occurred to Maric that he would one day be returning here.

Another powerful gust picked up a pile of snow from the rocks and blew it in their faces. Genevieve shrugged it off and marched ahead to the entrance. Her thick white cape fluttered madly as she reached out with a hand to touch the dark stone, running her fingers along its surface. It seemed like she was feeling around for something.

"What is she doing?" Maric asked Duncan quietly.

The lad shrugged, not even willing to raise his face from the furs.

Finally Genevieve turned back and walked directly toward Maric. "You are able to open it, yes?"

"The dwarves gave me a key."

She nodded. "Then we camp here until morning."

"What?" Duncan spluttered with indignation. "Can't we go in now? Where it's warmer?"

The Commander turned a level gaze toward him, and he immediately shrank back from her. "We have no way of knowing whether there are darkspawn behind that door," she said tersely.

"Just because the King did not find any there eight years ago does not mean the situation will have remained the same."

"Can't you detect them?" Maric asked. "Isn't that what Grey Wardens do?"

"I tried. I felt... a strange presence, very faint. I cannot tell if it is because the darkspawn are far below or because the doorway is simply too thick." Without waiting for a response, she turned and snapped to one of the large warriors standing nearby, "Julien, tell the others to spread out and find someplace close with shelter. I want to keep an eye on this doorway to night."

It wasn't long before the Grey Wardens had efficiently set up a camp just over the next rise. Snow was piled high on top of it, but at least it offered relief from the sharp winds, and that was better than they'd had all day. Maric felt a bit useless as the others bustled around, setting up tents.

Kell gathered a small pile of frozen wood, and before Maric could ask how he planned on turning that into a fire the hunter produced a small flask from his pack. He poured out a bit of the contents, a bright yellow liquid that began to sizzle as soon as it touched the wood, and within moments a healthy blaze materialized.

"Impressive," Maric commented.

Kell grinned. "It works on darkspawn, as well. Sadly, we only have a little."

Before long, dusk gave way to night. Darkness pressed in around them, driven back only by the flames of the campfire. Above the hills, a black sky filled with clouds seemed to go on forever, lit by a moon that never quite seemed to show itself. The blizzard thankfully ended, though the wind continued to lash across the landscape,scouring the fields of snow smooth.

Within the camp, tension filled the air. Maric could see from the grim faces of the Grey Wardens that they didn't look forward to the morning any more than he did. At least they knew what they were likely to encounter in the Deep Roads. When he first came here, he hadn't had a clue.

Once the tents were set up, Kell headed off with Duncan and his warhound to hunt. Genevieve strode to the top of the bluff, as from there she could keep an eye on the doorway. The warrior stood up there, one leg propped on the rocks and her cloak billowing behind her in the wind as she kept her watch. It was an intimidating pose, Maric thought. She seemed even more intense than before, if that were possible, as if she expected the doors to burst open at any moment.

He turned to the dwarven woman with the coppery braid, Utha, who shared the frozen log they had dragged next to the campfire. Her face was pretty, he thought. Most of the dwarves he had ever seen looked as if they were hewn from stone, all hardness and rough edges. This one, however, seemed almost soft. She stared into the blaze with an unsettling serenity, and was so very... still.

He couldn't imagine ever being like that. Even now his head was filled with worry- what was Loghain doing, for instance? He had left a note explaining his plan, but the man might assume it was fake. He might believe that Maric had been kidnapped, and probably had the army searching for him even now. Loghain rarely desisted when he was determined to have his way.

And then there was Cailan, his young son, now no doubt wondering where his father had gone. His mind immediately shied away from such thoughts. No, he wasn't still at all.

Maric nudged the dwarf and pointed toward where Genevieve kept her vigil. "Is she always like that?" he asked. "Do you know?"

She regarded him with an impenetrable look, her brown eyes glittering in the firelight. She made several strange signals with her hands, and belatedly he remembered that she didn't speak.

The two warriors sat on the other side of the fire from them, and stopped their quiet whispering to each other as they noticed Maric's confusion. Nicolas, the blond and more talkative of the two by far, leaned toward him. "Utha tells you that it is love that drives our commander." The man's Orlesian accent was cultured and warm.

"Love? You mean love for her brother?"

He nodded. "They were very close."

"Can you tell me about him? I barely know anything about him. How was he captured? How can you even be certain he's still alive?"

The brown- haired man, Julien, picked up a long stick he had been using to tend the fire and began shifting several of the logs. Sparks flew, and when Nicolas glanced at his companion they shared a guarded and wary look. Maric had heard perhaps three words in total from Julien since they had left Denerim, and all of them had been directed at Nicolas. Still, the man's dark eyes said plenty. They said right now that Nicolas shouldn't be telling Maric any more than was necessary. More Grey Warden secrecy.

Utha frowned, raising a hand and agitatedly gesturing at the men. The fluttering of her fingers seemed to punctuate her words firmly. Nicolas scowled in response and reluctantly nodded. Julien said nothing, his eyes only darkening with concern.

"What did she say?"

"She says we have no right not to tell you more," Nicolas muttered.

The dwarven woman continued to sign at Maric, and then waited patiently as Nicolas translated."His name is Bregan, and until one year ago he was Commander of the Grey in Orlais, leader of the order within the Empire. He held that position for a very longtime."

"Did he quit?"

"He did not. He left the order for his Calling. It is a rite where a Grey Warden enters the Deep Roads alone."

"Alone!" Maric exclaimed. "Why would someone do that?"

"To die," Utha signed. "A far better fate than to allow the darkspawn taint to overtake our aging bodies. Every Grey Warden knows when their time for the Calling comes, and every one of them who has entered the Deep Roads for their Calling has died, until now."

Maric pondered this for a moment. Duncan had already explained to him how the Grey Wardens drank darkspawn blood in a ritual they called the Joining, taking the taint into their own bodies in order to effectively combat the creatures. They were more than simply skilled at fighting darkspawn; they knew them intimately. They sensed their presence, sometimes even gleaned their intent. This information was not something many people knew, and Genevieve had only grudgingly allowed the lad to impart it to him.

He wondered if it was the same taint that he had encountered in the Deep Roads years ago. He remembered it well, covering everything in the underground passages like a vile, black fungus.

Maric had been fortunate not to contract the darkspawn's plague during his time there, and had always wondered if Rowan had. No one had ever been able to determine the nature of her illness, and though Maric had tried everything to help her, he had been forced to watch her wither away before his eyes.

It had been painful. Rowan had been a vital woman, and the slow sapping of her strength had galled her. Toward the end she had become a shadow, wanting nothing more than for the pain to simply stop. Maric had held her skeletal hand and felt his heart break as she had begged him in a cracked and hollow voice for release.

No, perhaps it wasn't so difficult to imagine why the Grey Wardens might prefer to go on this Calling of theirs. The idea that anyone would make such a sacrifice, however... that they would subject themselves to a corruption that would slowly eat away at their bodies solely to combat a menace that hadn't threatened Thedas since the last Blight centuries ago?

But that was why they were here, wasn't it? If the darkspawn were able to use the captured Grey Warden to find their Old God, then a new Blight would begin. Their threat would suddenly become very real. Provided Genevieve and the others were telling him the truth.

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