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DRAGON AGE: THE CALLING 9 страница

The Architect turned to him, its milky eyes wide and unreadable. "Do you see?"

"No, there's not enough light. But I-"

His objection died on his lips as the emissary lifted up its dark staff. A deep purple glow surged forth from it, and suddenly Bregan saw the entire cavern clearly. It was vast, a great underground chamber that stretched out farther than he could possibly see, and it teemed with darkspawn. Thousands upon thousands of the creatures toiled, all so closely intermingled it seemed as if a mass of black maggots writhed in some festering carcass. The organic strands covered everything, great hives of it strewn like nerve clusters and dangling amid the horrific workers that moved among the shadows below.

Were they digging? He had the impression that the masses of them were all engaged in some sort of industry, all united in moving great portions of the rock out of the cavern and expanding it even further. Yet there were no sounds of tools crashing against stone, no hammering sounds or grunts of exertion. All he could hear was a rhythmic groan, a keening pitch that it seemed each of the darkspawn contributed to. The sound of it made his skin crawl, and he realized that the chorus in the distance responded to it. Like a cat that arched its back to meet a brushing hand it became ecstatic; it surged and almost overwhelmed his senses.

The world swayed around him and he felt himself stumble, only to have a strong hand grab his arm and steady him. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, and for a long minute the only other sound next to that powerful song was his own labored breathing. In and out. In and out, slow and controlled. He felt flushed, sweat pouring down his face.

He was ill. Perhaps he was dying.

"Be calm," the Architect urged him. The purple glow from its staff ebbed and suddenly the vast cavern was cloaked in shadows once again. But now Bregan knew they were out there. He could feel them moving, their tainted forms bumping up against each other as they swarmed over the rock like ants. The fact that he couldn't see them now almost made it worse.

He pulled away from the emissary's touch, his breath rough as he leaned against the nearby rock wall for support. He stomach lurched, and had there been anything in it he might have vomited.

As it was he heaved painfully a few times and fought to gain control over his revulsion. The smoothness of the rock, the coolness of its surface, felt good against his skin. He curled up against it, tried to ignore the blackness that trailed across it. Closing his eyes helped, if only for a moment.

"A curious reaction," the Architect observed. Bregan opened his eyes and saw the creature watching him with clinical fascination.

It made no move to approach him, content merely to let him convulse.

Sweating and exhausted, he let himself slump down to a sitting position on the floor.

"There are so many," he breathed. He really didn't know what else he could say.

The Architect nodded solemnly. "The Old Gods call to them and so they search. They search because they have no choice. All who hear the call must obey, in the end."

"Except you."

"And you." It inclined its head.

Bregan sat against the wall and tried to ignore the great, dark chamber that he knew was beside him. He wanted to retreat back to his cell, somewhere small and safe where he could pretend that there wasn't a monstrous swarm all around him. Yet that, too, would be a weakness.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaky hand."So what is it you want from me, then?" he asked, his voice quavering. "You want me to help them? You want me to tell you where the Old Gods are, to speed this all along?"

"So you do know where they are."The creature seemed intrigued, but not surprised.

He laughed, a bitter bark that devolved into a fit of mad giggling that only left him hoarse in the end. The emissary seemed unmoved by his mirth. "Are you saying you really didn't know that? Isn't that why you brought me here?"

The Architect lowered itself onto its haunches to look Bregan directly in the eyes. Its brown robes rustled around it, and it placed its staff gingerly down on the ground. He didn't want to look the creature in the face, but he couldn't help himself. Those milky, deadeyes commanded his attention. They seemed so oddly serene, almost sincere in their concern.

"I did not bring you here to begin the Blight," it said carefully, emphasizing each word so there would be no misunderstanding. "The numbers of my brethren grow with each passing year, and given enough time they will find one of the ancient prisons. They will unlock it and the cycle will begin anew. This will happen whether you were to tell them where to look or not. I have no desire to see it happen sooner."

Bregan was flabbergasted. For a moment he could almost ignore the incessant humming that threatened to crack open his head and crawl inside. He stared at the darkspawn in amazement.

"Then what do you want?"

"I wish to end it."The Architect stood and walked to the edge of the cavern, and stared out into it with eyes that Bregan was sure could see far better in the darkness than any human."My brethren have been subject to this impulse since our creation. We rise to the surface and struggle to eradicate your kind, and each time you drive us back and we begin again. This will continue until one of us is victorious, yes? Until one of us is eradicated forever, if such a thing is even possible?" It turned and looked to Bregan, a cool intensity gripping its every word."But what if it didn't have to be this way?"

"What other option is there?"

The creature crossed the gap between them quickly, crouching down with a look of such fervent excitement that Bregan almost recoiled. It clutched at his hand, holding it firmly. "In your blood lies the key," it whispered. "Yours is the middle ground between human and darkspawn, the path to true peace."

Bregan stared at the Architect, not quite certain he understood. "Middle ground?"

"Your kind will always be at risk from mine so long as our taint spreads and infects," it insisted. "And my kind will always seek to destroy yours so long as the call of the Old Gods continues."

"But I don't understand. There's no way those things can change."

"Can they not?" It seemed surprised."You are human, and yet you are immune to the taint."

Bregan held up his arm. In the soft light of the glowstone, the trail of corruption along his flesh was only too evident. "Not anymore."

"You are not dying. You are changing."

The word sent a shiver down his spine. The creature said it as if this should not be alarming in the slightest, but the truth was that not thinking about what was happening to him was the only way he could keep from going mad. His mind shied away from images of those poor fools that had fallen sway to the darkspawn's plague.

Those that did not suffer an agonizing death at the hands of the sickness became ghouls, beings whose shattered minds were subject to control by the darkspawn. They became pawns, even servants, until finally they withered away and perished.

Would he begin to obey eventually, just as they did? Would he be in that cavern soon, digging along with all the other creatures, mingling his flesh with theirs? "It... it doesn't matter"- his words stumbled together-"there's no way that the rest of humanity could become immune. Not unless they became Grey Wardens."

"Yes."The Architect nodded as if this point should be obvious.

Another shiver ran down Bregan's spine. Sweat ran into his eyes, and for a moment he felt faint. "But becoming a Grey Warden means drinking darkspawn blood. Most of those who do it die. Only a few of us ever succeed."

"Yes"-it nodded again-"many of your kind would very likely perish." Before he could protest, the creature raised its hand. "You exist halfway between human and darkspawn. If the rest of your kind could be made as you are, they would have no reason to fear my brethren."

"Other than the fact that the darkspawn keep trying to kill us?"

"That, too, would need to end. Humans and darkspawn must meet each other in the middle." It paused and studied Bregan carefully, as if watching for a reaction. Oddly, he found himself having very little reaction at all. He sat against the wall, listening absently to the droning hum that seemed to vibrate inside the very stones, and waited for the sense of horror to come. It didn't.

Shouldn't it? Unless he was somehow mistaken, the Architect was suggesting unleashing the darkspawn taint on humanity at large, putting each and every human through the same kind of torturous test that allowed one to become a Grey Warden... those that survived, anyhow. Which wouldn't be many. There was a reason only the strongest and hardiest were chosen to join the order. Few others had any hope of surviving the process.

Was such a thing even possible? Should he not be angrily demanding answers from the creature? Part of him said he should be horrified and enraged, and that he should find out the details behind this plan. He imagined it involved some brand of darkspawn magic, but what, exactly? Shouldn't he want to know?

As he sat there, chin on his chest and listening to his own hard and ragged breathing, he found that he didn't. Was it not the job of the Grey Wardens to seek an end to the darkspawn threat? And when had they ever actually been close to succeeding at that goal?

Each time the Blight came, it brought with it a war that came that much closer to wiping out humanity altogether. Each time the world had to scramble to save itself, and each time it had barely managed to succeed.

How many more times could it do so? Would the next Blight be when the darkspawn finally succeeded in wiping out all life from the surface of Thedas? How many would die then?

Bregan suddenly recalled the man who had inducted him into the order. Kristoff had been a grizzled and uncompromising warrior, all hard edges and frowns. He had been Commander of the Grey for many years before succumbing to the taint. Bregan had accompanied him down to Orzammar, feasted with him at a table full of boisterous and drunken dwarves, and then watched him walk out into the Deep Roads.

At the time, Bregan had been overcome with grief. For all his taciturn manner, Kristoff had been his only real friend within the order. He'd allowed his student to care for his horse and sweep his quarters, knowing that Bregan would rather do such tasks than carouse with the other recruits. He'd played queens with Bregan on a dusty old board and sparred with him indoors when it rained. It was Kristoff 's recommendation that named Bregan as Commander of the Grey after him, despite Genevieve's unspoken jealousy at the promotion, and Bregan had accepted it only because Kristoff had demanded he do so.

What he remembered of his grey-haired mentor that final night, however, was the man's relief. While it had been all Bregan could do to choke back embarrassing tears, Kristoff had been calm and composed. The sense of serenity around him was palpable, all the grumbling tension that was present for all the years Bregan had known him completely gone. He'd walked into the shadows of the Deep Roads, head held high as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and stopped only to give his former student a few final words of advice.

"You will guard them," he'd said, "and they will hate you for it. Whenever there is not a Blight actively crawling over the surface, humanity will do its best to forget how much they need us. And that's good. We need to stand apart from them, even if they have to push us away to make us do it. That is the only way we can ever make the hard decisions."

At the time Bregan had thought, What hard decisions? There had been no Blight in centuries, and at worst the order dealt with darkspawn raids that popped up on the surface from time to time. The hardest decisions a Commander of the Grey was forced to make were which recruits could be given the test to join the order.

It was never an easy thing, as even the hardiest of them often perished, but it seemed hardly worth Kristoff 's words.

The Grey Wardens watched and waited as they always had, but now the order was but a shadow of what they had once been during the wars of long ago. Late at night in the quiet of his cell, Bregan had allowed himself the private luxury of believing that the days of the darkspawn were well and truly done.

At least, he had believed that until now.

"You say nothing," the Architect murmured uneasily.

"What should I say?"

The emissary gathered its robes closer around itself and circled Bregan warily. It seemed to be watching for some sign, its pale eyes intent. "My experience with humans is limited," it admitted. "What you will or will not do at any given moment is a mystery to me. Your kind is often irrational. Yet I was expecting... anger, perhaps?"

"And what am I feeling now, do you think?"

It blinked. "I would say that you are sad."

Bregan felt leaden. His thoughts became fuzzy, and for a brief moment it seemed as if the mad humming was a world away. He simply sat there in the quiet shadows, sweat running down his moist and corrupted skin as the robed darkspawn looked down upon him. How very unreal this all was, somehow. "Can you do it?" he finally asked. "This thing you plan. Can you actually do it?"

"Not alone." The Architect offered no further elaboration, and he wasn't sure that he would get any even if he pressed. Part of him wondered, in a much removed fashion, if perhaps he should attack this darkspawn after all. If he had thought the creature dangerous earlier, now it might possibly be the most dangerous thing in the entire world.

He did nothing. He sat there and stared down at the cracked floor, chipped away by an eon of wear. Once there had been stone tiles there, delicately inlaid with a geometric design typical of the dwarves. He'd seen something much like that within a bath house in Orzammar. Perhaps this had once been a similar place? He tried to imagine it filled with bright lamps and steamy tubs and curvaceous dwarven noble-hunters giggling behind their fans. Instead he conjured only images of corrupted flesh and pools of stagnant foulness. A cancer had taken over this place, a dank sickness that grew in secret until it spilled out onto the surface.

That was the truth, wasn't it? The world was sick. Since their inception, the Grey Wardens had fought back the symptoms time and time again. But they had never defeated the disease. Maybe the time had come for a more radical treatment.

The Architect beckoned to him with a black and withered hand.

"Come with me, Grey Warden." It did not wait to see if he followed, but Bregan did not hesitate this time. Groaning with effort, he pulled himself up off the floor and stumbled after the emissary as it walked away from the cavern and went back the way they'd come.

They didn't return to the cell, however. They spent a fair amount of time crossing a maze of passages, some small, others huge and supported by crumbling arches that Bregan could barely see the tops of. He quickly lost track of where they headed, doing his best to fight against the gnawing weakness inside him and to keep the emissary within range of the glowstone's light. For all the fact that it didn't seem to exert itself, it moved so quickly he began to fear that he might actually get left behind.

Twice they encountered darkspawn. Once it was but a handful of the short genlocks. The second time it was an entire group of hurlocks, one of them a powerful alpha, armed and armored in metal that glistened like dark obsidian. Bregan tensed both times, expecting to be attacked, but the creatures did nothing more than make wary hisses and keep their distance. At first he thought it was him that they reacted to, an enemy Grey Warden in their midst.

But then, as he watched their reactions more closely, he realized the truth.

It was the Architect they feared.

The emissary paid them little heed, merely holding out his gnarled staff threateningly as he passed among them. They backed off, making angry thrumming noises from deep in their throats, like dogs confronted with a clearly superior hound and salvaging what little of their dignity they could as they pulled their tails between their legs. Bregan was amazed, and found himself disconcerted to be so universally ignored.

Did they see him as a darkspawn, now? So full of corruption running through his veins that he wasn't even distinguishable as a Grey Warden? That idea disturbed him far more.

After a time, Bregan began to perceive that they were moving upward. They climbed a long flight of stairs, an ascent that left him gasping and shaking with exhaustion, and then entered a long tunnel that seemed to slope toward the surface. The stone there was mostly still free from the darkspawn taint, and he began to wonder just how far they had traveled. He had the impression that the dwarven ruins remained unbroken around them, that they had not moved into natural caverns, but who could truly say how far such ruins spread? Some of the oldest thaigs, according to the dwarven Shaperate, had been larger than Orzammar itself. Now they were all part of the festering underground world occupied by the darkspawn.

He fell into a daze, focusing more on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping up with the Architect - who said nothing. Their travel was utterly silent, with only the beautiful strains of the humming tugging at Bregan's senses. He tried to tune it out.

When he finally started to wonder just where it was they were going, he resigned himself to the fact that there was no point in asking.

The Architect was moving and he was following.

Then the emissary finally stopped, abruptly enough that Bregan almost ran into it. He looked up and saw that the tunnel had come to an end. They were at an entrance of some kind that opened up into a larger natural cavern beyond. What little he could see with the glowstone told him this was natural rock, mostly untainted. The faintest breeze crawled across his skin, cool and welcoming, and only belatedly he realized that it signified fresh air. They were near the surface.

The Architect held up a calming hand as he spun about. "It is not as close at it seems," it cautioned in its usual calm and civilized tone. "The ducts that still exist here bring the air down from the surface. But it would be a simple matter to reach the surface from here."

Bregan stared at the creature suspiciously. "And why did you bring me here?"

"If you had attempted to flee again when we were still among my brethren, they would have stopped you. They listen to me at times because they fear me, but I am not the same as them and they know this."

It took a moment for the idea to sink in. He was exhausted, his legs burning now that he was standing still. The fiery itch underneath his flesh clawed at his tendons. The Architect turned and stared out into the cavern, the glowstone highlighting every fold of the withered flesh on its skeletal face. If Bregan were to guess, he'd have suspected that it felt pensive. "You want me to flee now?"

"Is that still what you wish?"

"Would you let me go?"

"I would."

That answer stumped him. He looked out into the shadowed passages where the Architect stared and wondered what the darkspawn saw there. Bregan had come to the Deep Roads to die. If he left, he could still do that. He could continue his Calling, as planned.

But if all he wanted to do was die, then there were simpler ways to do it. Even the Architect had told him that, and it was true. So perhaps he didn't want to die. Perhaps he could go to the surface, if it was truly reachable. He could warn the Grey Wardens about what this emissary planned, give them time to find a way to stop it...

... but should he?

Ignoring the idea that he would be attacked the moment he showed himself on the surface, his skin as corrupted as any mad ghoul's, it occurred to him that perhaps there was actually something to the emissary's plan. The death of so many was a horrific thought, yes, but if it meant survival? Stopping the Blight was a Grey Warden's true duty, and even if Bregan had never wanted that onus originally, it was all he truly had left now.

"This thing you have planned," he began slowly.

"Yes?"

"You aren't just unleashing something on humanity? You said that the darkspawn needed to meet in the middle as well, yes? You must have a plan for them, too."

"We can speak on that, if you wish."

"But the idea is to end the Blights? Forever, so they never happen again."

The emissary turned and regarded Bregan for a moment, its expression unreadable. The large pale eyes blinked and it leaned heavily on its gnarled black staff. He ground his teeth, wondering if maybe this wasn't the creature's plan all along. Take him down into the depths, let the corruption gnaw away at his sanity until finally... what? Until he finally admitted that maybe the Grey Wardens never had all the answers? They did what they could to protect the world from the unthinkable, but possessed no solution save the constant sacrifice of young souls to the taint? Nothing Bregan had been taught could ever have prepared him for this.

"That is the idea, yes," the Architect murmured.

"And what do the other darkspawn think about this? Do they agree with you?"

"They cannot. I must make this decision for them."

Bregan found himself slowly nodding. He looked out into the cavern and felt another brush of cool air across his skin. It would feel good to be on the surface, he thought. By now there would be snow on the ground, and the icy breath of the wind would be welcome against his flushed, burning skin.

And then he thought of Genevieve, his white-haired sister with her stern glare. He remembered his dreams and wondered if she was indeed searching for him. If he went to the surface, she might even find him. And what would she say, if she saw him now?

"Let's talk about it, then."The words spilled out of him unbidden, yet as soon as they were said Bregan knew that it could be no other way. The whispers within the distant humming grew louder and more insistent, calling out his name from the shadows and tugging at his mind.

And he ignored them.

The Architect bowed low, respectfully, and then gestured back the way they had come. Bregan adjusted what little clothes he had left and began to stride purposefully down the passageway, back into the depths, and this time the darkspawn followed him.

Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground,

Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.

-Canticle of Andraste 7:12

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 process 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. Whatever 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.

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