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DRAGON AGE: THE CALLING 12 страница

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 whatever 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 moutharound the blade. Small blasts of flame guttered forth from theback of its throat, licking at Genevieve's face. It tried to claw at her,

but the creature almost seemed too disoriented. It kept trying torise 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 afoot 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 sh etouched 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 Julienin 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 thereto 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.

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.

From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.

Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.

In my arms lies Eternity.

-Canticle of Andraste 14:11

Fiona glanced at Maric as he walked beside her. "You didn't need to come with me," she muttered."I am perfectly capable of finding Duncan by myself."

"I know that," he said.

"I have a spell that will lead me right to him."

"So you told me earlier."

"And if I were to sense any darkspawn coming, I'd go back."

"I know that, too." He looked at her seriously."I also know there's more than just darkspawn down here. I've had firsthand experience with such creatures. You shouldn't be alone out here anymore than Duncan should."

She couldn't really argue with that logic, so she sighed and turned her attention back to the tunnel ahead. Maric had been frustratingly agreeable since they'd left the dragon's cavern. He was being respectful of Julien's loss, she supposed, and that was unexpected.

There were times when she thought Maric a fool, a man who seemed to get by on his irreverent charm instead of acting as she would have expected a king to act. And then there were times like this when he seemed thoughtful and competent, and she could see perhaps a sliver of the leader his reputation claimed him to be.

Which was the real man, then? It was impossible for her to tell. So instead she tried to ignore him and concentrate on their task. Frustratingly, she found it almost harder to ignore Maric when he was quietly following beside her than when he was chattering away. Surely he'd planned that.

They walked for a short time through a winding passage, the white light of her staff showing the way even though it probably was unnecessary. There was a lot of the phosphorescent lichen down this path, which at least meant that Duncan hadn't wandered this far completely in the dark. If he had, what he had done would have been suicidal on top of being extremely foolish. She was still going to kill him when they found him.

And if she didn't, Genevieve certainly would. The Commander had been livid when she'd learned Duncan had run off. There had been a moment where she very nearly ordered them to move on, leaving the lad behind to fend for himself. Fiona had seen the thought cross the woman's mind, and only reluctantly had it been discarded.

The darkspawn weren't on them yet, after all. They had a little time, if not much. Fiona had volunteered to retrieve Duncan, if she could. The fact that Maric accompanied her made it less likely they would return to the dragon's cavern only to find the others gone, but it was not impossible. The King's knowledge of the way to Ortan thaig was far less useful now that they were essentially lost.

"Look at that," he murmured, pointing down to the ground.

There were patches of colored moss, purple and grey mostly but also bits of orange. The walls in these caves were moist, and the air was humid and smelled of musty greenery. Strange how they had just left behind a cavern with streams of lava and here was already something completely different. She'd expected mostly stone and more stone down here in the underground, but there was much more. It was full of life. Indeed, there were dragons.

"It's just moss," she said.

"No, I mean it's not corrupted. Do you notice there's very little evidence of the darkspawn around here? Ever since we left the Deep Roads."

"They probably don't come this way often, thanks to the dragon."

"Do they need to? The corruption spreads everywhere, I thought."

She had to admit he had a point. As they'd descended, the taint had become so thick it almost choked the air, and yet here there was almost nothing. Perhaps it was the lava and the heat, burning the corruption away? Perhaps it was the presence of the dragon. The Old Gods were said to be ancient dragons, after all. There could be a link.

As they approached a cave opening ahead, she heard the sound of running water. They stepped into another large cavern, and from where they stood on the edge of a small cliff they looked out over what had to be some kind of underground lake. The water was cloudy green, lit from beneath by phosphorescent rocks until it shone like an emerald on the rocky ceiling. It had an eerie beauty to it, she thought.

The acrid smell of brimstone clung to the air, and the echoing sound of dripping water surrounded them. How far the cavern went on she couldn't tell. At some point it was all just a greenish haze mingled with the mist.

Maric stood at the edge of the cliff and stared out at the water, awestruck. He said something under his breath that she didn't quite catch.

"What's that?" she asked him.

"Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew." He raised an eyebrow when he saw she didn't recognize the quote. "It's from the Chant of Light."

"I didn't have a very religious upbringing," she responded wryly.

Which was an understatement, but how could he know what it was like in the alienages? There were no chantries there, and when the priests came it was with alms and many words of benevolent advice for the poor elves and their lost, wicked ways... and a large number of wary templars to guard the priests from harm.

"Oh. It's where Andraste goes to speak to the Maker for the first time. It's where she convinces him to forgive mankind. It was supposed to be this beautiful temple deep under the earth surrounded by emerald waters. I guess I always imagined it looked like this."

"I doubt there's a temple here."

"I know, I just... never mind." Blushing slightly, he pointed out a natural path that led down the side of the cliff. "Do you think Duncan really came down this way? This far?"

She nodded. "So it seems. We're close, however."

They made their way down the path, which turned out to be little more than a collection of embedded stones at several points, some a fair distance apart. Fiona was still quite drained from all the spellcasting and found it difficult to maneuver with her chain garments and her heavy skirt. Twice Maric needed to steady her before she slipped on the dewy mist that clung to everything, and he helped her down to the next ledge. She curtly thanked him, feeling more like an ass each time.

At the bottom was a shore comprised of mud and slabs of rock mixed in with strange white formations. It was as if misshapen statues dotted the edge of the lake, all of them in the process of melting down into sludge. Perhaps it was sulfur or lime; she couldn't really say. The formations were surreal, however, and oddly sad. Even with the constant dripping sounds, the entire cavern seemed somehow muted.

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