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DRAGON AGE: THE CALLING 18 страница

"They are Avvars. Hill folk. They're not apt to like us much."

"Should we fight?"

"No, let's wait to see what they do."

It didn't take long for three men to stream out of the gates, tall warriors with stern frowns commanding vicious-looking warhounds that barked and growled and strained against their leashes. That they didn't simply unleash the hounds on them must mean they were willing to talk, he hoped.

The trio stopped just short of Maric and Duncan, staring at them suspiciously as they held back their dogs. The leader was an older man with grey hair well past his shoulders, but even so, he was powerfully built. He had the air of authority, as well.

"Lowlander," he growled.

It wasn't exactly a question, but Maric nodded. He thought it best to remain polite. The Avvars had a long history of warfare with the "lowlanders" in the Fereldan valley, and had stubbornly refused to join the kingdom when King Calenhad had united the teyrns centuries ago. The years since had just made them more determined to remain apart.

"Why have you come?" the man demanded.

"We are looking for a man by the name of Kell," Maric said.

The looks the men exchanged told him they knew exactly who he was talking about. This wasn't surprising. So far it seemed like each of these dreams had been centered completely around the person doing the dreaming. Did people have different sorts of dreams? Ones where they were innocent bystanders to events, irrelevant to the larger scheme of things?

"You seek Kell ap Morgan? Why?"

"That's something I'd need to speak with Kell about." It wasn't an answer that these hillsmen liked, and he saw them bristle at his temerity. Duncan raised his eyebrows at Maric, clearly thinking that they were about to get into a fight and not altogether opposed to the notion. Luckily, the grey-haired leader spat at his fellows and halted their rage before it got out of hand.

"We shall see," he grunted. Nodding for the others to follow, he turned and began to walk up the path back to the holding. The others ran after him, yanking hard on the warhounds to get them to come. Maric and Duncan were left either to follow or remain behind. It wasn't much of a choice.

"They smell like urine," Duncan complained, though without force.

"You can stay here, if you like."

They went inside the holding, and were greeted immediately by a crowd of curious hill folk. The children were filthy and feral, staring with wide eyes as they chewed on their fingers. The adults were little better. These were people who lived from day to day, clinging to this mountain like stubborn weeds and subject to a wide assortment of disasters, from disease to poor hunting years to violent feuds with neighboring holdings. The Avvars were born to harsh misfortune, as well as inured to it.

The buildings outside the caves were low but remarkably well-built. These were not primitives, Maric reminded himself. They knew of masonry and mining and traded with the dwarves to acquire fine weaponry and other supplies. Each of the doors had a hide stretched over it, which was then decorated with brightly painted runes. The totems in front of most of the buildings were also typically Avvarian. Stone idols built to honor their gods, if Maric remembered correctly. The only one he knew of was the Father of the Skies, to whom the Avvars returned their dead, leaving their bodies out on the rocks to be picked clean by the birds. He supposed that was no stranger than burning one's dead, though he was curious what they did with the bones.

The men led Maric and Duncan across a dirty courtyard littered with dog dung and hanging furs, toward a larger stone building. It was little more than a hut, really, but it was wider than most of the others and had an impressive carved eagle head over the door. Someone important lived there.

The grey-haired man went directly inside, and when Maric went to follow him the other two Avvars interjected themselves, crossing their arms and glaring at him firmly. No access just yet, then.

They waited in the courtyard, a group of dogs coming up and snuffling at their legs curiously. These were not well-kept animals like Hafter; they were almost wolves, and covered in matted fur that reeked of wet. Duncan gagged and covered his mouth, but Maric just smiled. Being Fereldan, he had been around dogs since he was a child.

Nearby, a group of children looked around a corner at them with fearful expressions. One brashly threw a stone at Maric, missing by a wide margin, and then the whole group of them ran off giggling in terror. The pair of guards at the door took no notice of any of it.

When the grey-haired warrior reappeared, he had beside him another: This was a younger warrior, wearing a reddish fur cloak and with long brown hair and a short beard. As Maric saw the intense, pale eyes, he realized that this was Kell. A Kell with hair, and sporting tribal tattoos up and down the length of his bare arms, but there was no mistaking the man's taciturn demeanor.

"Kell?" Duncan asked, gasping.

The hunter's eyebrows shot up. The grey- haired warrior glanced at him, frowning heavily. "The lowlanders say they have come to speak with you, Jarl. Do you know of them? We can feed them to the dogs."

Kell studied Maric and Duncan closely, those pale eyes traveling over them carefully. Maric saw no hint of recognition, but that meant little when it came to the inscrutable hunter. Duncan put up his hand as if to speak, but the grey-haired warrior growled him down. What happened if Kell decided that he wasn't going to speak with them? They were surrounded by a holding full of seasoned hillsmen that could cut them down instantly.

"Let them come inside," Kell finally said. He seemed hesitant, but stepped aside and gestured for Duncan and Maric to enter the stone hut. The other men present appeared startled, but deferred to Kell's wishes and gave way.

The hut's interior was uncluttered, with thick furs covering the floor and a large, high-backed chair made of logs. This was an audience chamber of some kind. Maric knew the sort. Several longbows and animal heads were displayed prominently on the wall. One of the heads was from a giant bear, its roaring mouth wide enough to engulf a man's head. An impressive trophy.

Maric could see little past a curtain that hung in an interior doorway, but saw the hints of another room beyond. He also heard the distinctive cooing of an infant, as well as the sounds of a young woman's soft humming. She quieted, and Maric got the impression of someone peeking curiously through the curtain, but could make out no details.

Kell sat down in the chair, resting his chin on his fist as he studied them again. "I saw you both in a dream," he murmured, "and now you are here. How can this be?"

"That wasn't a dream," Duncan snapped. "This is."

Maric wouldn't have leaped right into it like that, but perhaps it was just as well. The hunter looked at each of them in turn, no doubt wondering if they were joking with him. Seeing that they weren't, he frowned. "This is no dream. You are standing here before me, in my hall and in my holding. This is reality."

Before Duncan could respond, Maric held up his hand. He stepped forward and touched Kell's shoulder, looking into the man's eyes. There was confusion there. He wasn't certain that what they were saying was the truth, and perhaps that was enough. "Do you remember that dream?" Maric asked him. "You were a Grey Warden, just like Duncan here. We encountered a demon that trapped us in the Fade." He waved at the room around them. "That's what this is. This is your dream."

A dark cloud passed over Kell's face and he jumped up from his chair, pulling his shoulder from Maric's grasp. Disturbed, he walked over to the curtain leading into the other room, but stopped short of opening it. He bowed his head and listened for a moment to the crying of the child next door. "How did you get here, then?"

"You can end the dream," Maric told him. "That's what I did, when I realized what it was. And I came looking for you. We can't stay here, and Fiona needs us."

"Fiona," Kell tested the name out. "The mage."

Maric nodded. "We're asleep, I think."

"We could be dead. This could be the Beyond." Kell seemed almost hopeful. "You could both be demons sent to tempt me from my final rest."

"Is that what you think?" Duncan asked him.

The hunter thought about it, and then closed his eyes. "No," he said grimly. "I know what happened to this place, to its people."

His eyes were bright as he opened them and took one final look around. "I will not accept a lie."

The infant in the other room suddenly began to wail, and Kell flinched as if struck. He stood there, his face ashen as he listened. None of them moved. "Do you need to say good-bye?" Maric asked him cautiously.

He shook his head. "No," he rasped. "I did that long ago."

The man was replaced by the figure Maric knew: clean-shaven and bald, with the hooded cloak and the hunter's leathers. His eyes shone from beneath his hood with grim intensity. A moment later the hut vanished, replaced by the empty landscape of the Fade.

The three of them walked through a door into a dwarven home. The ceiling was low, and the air filled with the smell of coal smoke and meaty dishes. A large family lived here; solid dwarven chairs were mixed in with children's toys and rolled-up furs and a table covered in vellum scrolls. Maps adorned the walls, at least one of them a map of Ferelden that Maric recognized. A large brazier filled with coals lent a warm orange glow to the chamber.

A dwarven child ran in, perhaps ten years of age with a mop of unruly coppery hair on his head. He skidded to a halt, clearly having expected someone other than a trio of three humans to be at the entrance, his expression turning from excitement to horror.

"Mam! Pap!" he squealed. "There's cloudheads come!"

"Humans?" A matronly dwarven woman walked into the chamber from a dimly lit kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Maric could hear something bubbling in a large pot, and noticed several other children behind the woman looking past her skirt. The woman's black hair was streaked with grey and pulled back into a bun, and she wore spectacles. Much the same as Maric's grandfather had, he remembered. "By the Ancestors! It is humans!"

Several more people entered the room. An older man walked in, a fat dwarf almost as wide as he was tall, with a bald head and a bright coppery beard going halfway down his chest. He walked with a cane and possessed the air of a distinguished gentleman, perhaps a scholar. A fit young man walked beside him, his own coppery beard short but lovingly cultivated with braids.

The young man looked outraged at the presence of intruders and rushed forward, his fists out. The older dwarf grabbed his shirt and hauled him back forcefully. "Wait, Tam! Don't be stupid."

"Why are you here?" the young man demanded angrily.

The woman stepped forward, waving the children behind her back. They retreated into the kitchen but didn't go very far. The tension in the room made them terrified, however, and the woman wasn't far from it herself. She nodded cautiously at Maric. "We don't have anything someone like you would want, human. There's no reason for you to hurt anyone."

Maric put his hands up. "Please calm down. We don't mean any harm." He looked back at Kell and Duncan, who nodded. None of them wanted to start any trouble with these people.

"Then answer the boy," the man grunted. "Why are you here?"

"They have come for me, Father," came a new voice. Maric turned, and was shocked to see Utha enter the chamber from a short hallway. Her long braid had been undone to reveal a luxurious mane of coppery hair, and she wore a simple dwarven dress with a fine leather mantle. Her expression was forlorn."There's no reason for you to be frightened. These are friends."

"Friends?" the older woman interjected, confused. "Since when do you know humans, Utha? What strange business is this?"

"I'm sorry, Mother, it would be difficult to explain." Utha turned toward Maric and the others and nodded. "I trust you are all well?"

"You can talk!" Duncan exclaimed.

"It seems that here I can, yes."

"And you remember us? You know who we are?" Maric asked her carefully.

"You are the King of Ferelden," she stated, reciting the fact with a sad sigh. "The men with you are Grey Wardens, as am I. Yes, I remember."

The dwarves in the room looked fearful and confused. The older man stepped forward, glancing at Maric as if he were a snake ready to bite, but walking up to Utha in order to take her hand in his own. "Utha, what are you speaking of? This is madness!"

She looked at her father, tears welling up in her eyes, and she reached up to fondly stroke his cheek. "I know it is, Father. It's time for me to go."

"Go? Go where?"

Her mother marched toward them, the woman's concern overriding her fear of Maric and the others. The rest of the family piled in behind her, babbling confused questions. "What do you mean you're going?" she asked. "Why would you leave with these people?"

Utha pressed her lips into a thin line, controlling the tears that clearly threatened to overwhelm her. "I must," she whispered, her voice thick. She hugged her father and then her mother, each of them returning her gesture warmly even if they didn't understand what she was doing. The children gathered around Utha, hugging her legs and shedding panicked tears as they realized what was happening.

"You won't stay for dinner, even? You and your friends?" her mother asked with faint hope, tears streaming down her face.

Utha kissed her mother tenderly on the cheek, saying nothing, and did the same to her stammering father. Then she turned to face the young man who stood grimly nearby. She began to speak to him, but a wave of grief held her tongue. She paused, collecting herself even as the young man stared at her, not comprehending.

"You fought well, Tam," she finally forced out. She made herself look him directly in the eyes, though it was clearly difficult for her. "I was very proud of you. Very proud."

"You... were?"

"Oh, yes," she said fervently. "I swore an oath to avenge you."

She turned and looked at the others, new tears welling. "I swore an oath to avenge you all. And I shall." Her tone was resolute, and with that the chamber vanished. They were back in the Fade, standing in a field of impossibly tall rock pillars, and Utha stared off into the distance. She looked as she did before, dressed in simple brown robes with her hair braided down her back.

She turned back to the others, her eyes red from tears. She made several emphatic gestures, ending with her fist clutched over her heart. Her expression was so desperately sad that Maric didn't know what to say.

Kell walked up to her. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then she hugged him tightly around his waist. He stroked her hair fondly. "We do not blame you, Utha," he said. "You stayed as long as you could."

Duncan hung his head sadly. Maric looked at him and wondered if he thought of his own family. He saw Katriel standing not far away, watching the group but unwilling to join them. He wondered how terrible it would have been just to stay with her for a time, to enjoy that lie just a little bit longer. He longed to talk to her, to make her understand....

But these were thoughts he needed to banish. He had made a promise. Their lives hung in the balance.

They needed to move on.

A cabin made of logs stood at the top of a hill, amid a verdant forest that appeared to stretch on forever under a clear blue sky. The trees here were enormous pines shooting straight up into the sky, rows upon rows of towering sentinels that made the cabin look like a tiny thing in comparison. It wasn't, of course. As they drew closer, they could see that the building was significant, with a large pile of chopped wood outside and a warm trail of smoke leading up from a chimney. A furry hide stretched over a drum next to the doorway, and a large fire pit still smoldered from recent use, a spit over it stained from whatever carcass had been roasted there.

"We are in the Arbor Wilds," Kell surmised, studying the terrain. "In the south of Orlais. Dangerous country. A difficult place to live, to be certain."

Duncan looked up, interested. "Dangerous? Because of the animals?"

"Because of the dryads."

"Whoever lives here seems to be doing fine," Maric noted. "And there's someone now." He pointed off in the distance toward the side of the cabin, where a shirtless man with short dark hair and a beard was busily chopping wood on a tree stump. They walked up the dirt path, the rhythmic sound of the chopping echoing over the countryside. A flock of crows burst into flight from one of the nearby trees, cawing loudly as they vanished into the sky.

The chopping sounds halted.

As the group came around the side of the cabin, they encountered the dark-haired warrior facing them warily with axe in hand, still sweating and heaving from his exertions. He looked on them as one might regard a pack of wild dogs, uncertain whether they were actually going to attack or slink away. Whatever he thought, he said nothing. It took Maric a moment to realize that he knew who this was.

"Julien!" Duncan cried in amazement.

The man narrowed his eyes. "Do I know you?"

"Of course you do!" Duncan replied. "We're-"

"Friends of Nicolas," Kell interrupted, placing a hand on Duncan's chest to hold him back. The lad looked confused for a moment before he realized why. This wasn't Julien. It couldn't be. Julien was dead.

"I find that hard to believe," he responded, holding up his axe a little higher. "Nobody knows we're out here, not even my relatives. You don't look like the normal sorts of bandits we get, but I'll tell you the same as I told the last: Leave now, or face the consequences."

"We're not bandits, I assure you," Maric told him.

"Then what are you?"

"If we could speak to Nicolas, that would be easier to explain."

Julien assessed them carefully. His gaze went from one to the next before he finally lowered his axe. It was done only reluctantly, and likely only because all of them kept their weapons sheathed. "We will see" was all he said as he swung the axe hard into the tree stump, lodging it there. He walked back toward the cabin, snatching up a damp linen shirt from on top of the woodpile and throwing it over his shoulder.

The inside of the cabin was a single chamber, filled with evidence that it had been occupied for a long time. A stone hearth dominated the room, two worn chairs in front of it surrounded by several wine bottles askew on the floor. A bookshelf overflowed with dusty tomes, and a desk sat next to it covered with reams of papers, many of them crumpled into wads, and an elaborate quill-and-ink set made of gold. The kitchen was a mess of iron pots and dishes scattered about the stove, and beyond it lay a single sizable bed in the corner covered by several thick bear furs.

Nicolas sat inside in front of the hearth, the fire roaring and filling the room with warm light and a smoky smell. He wore along black shirt and leather trousers, and stared into the fire with the air of a man weighing a heavy burden. He barely glanced up as Julien and the others crowded in through the door.

"You heard?" Julien asked him.

Nicolas continued to stare into the fire, his face haggard and worn. "I did."

"And do you know these people?"

Maric stepped forward. "Nicolas, I know this may be hard to believe, but-"

The blond warrior stood up, interrupting him with the heavy scrape of his chair as it was pushed back. He looked at Julien solemnly. "You need to leave me alone with them, Julien."

"What? You're mad! Tell me who they are first."

Nicolas walked toward him. Ignoring the presence of the others nearby, he took Julien's chin in his hand and kissed him tenderly on the lips. Julien seemed chagrined at first, and then accepted the gesture. It was sweet, and had the air of a couple that had been together for a great long time.

Maric glanced away, embarrassed by the intimacy, not to mention the fact that he hadn't quite realized the nature of the two warriors' relationship earlier. Not just comrades, then, and far more than close friends. The other Grey Wardens seemed unsurprised.

"I'm not mad," Nicolas whispered. "But you need to trust me."

Julien was clearly confused, but he reluctantly nodded. Giving one final suspicious glare at Maric, he said, "I'll be right outside, then." Marching across the room, he opened a large wardrobe next to the bed and removed his greatsword. It was dull and looked as if it had not been used in some time. The man hefted it onto his shoulder and walked back outside, still glaring the entire way.

Nicolas watched him go, frowning sadly. As soon as Julien was out the door, he sighed. "He doesn't know."

"But you do?" Maric asked him. "You know this is a dream?"

"I know this is the Fade. I knew it instantly. To see Julien alive, I knew it couldn't be true. I held his body in my arms. You don't forget that."

"Then we don't need to explain," Duncan said, relieved.

An awkward silence ensued as Nicolas turned back toward the hearth. He walked to the wooden mantel and ran his hand along its length, as if testing its smoothness. His eyes looked haunted, Maric thought, and for a long moment they all watched as he stood there. The only sound was the crackling of the flames.

"We'd talked about this," the blond man murmured. He didn't look at them. "Leaving the Grey Wardens, and coming out here on our own. We'd have a few years left before the taint caught up to us, and we could spend it with each other. We could truly be together."

He gently ran his hand along the mantel again. "It was a fine plan, down to every detail..."His voice trailed off and he became silent again, staring into the fire.

"You mean to stay," Kell said. It wasn't a question. The hunter and Utha exchanged a sad, knowing glance.

Nicolas nodded. "I mean to stay."

"You can't!" Duncan objected, his dawning horror evident as he realized what was being suggested. "You can't do that! You know that isn't him, right? It's a lie!"

"It's not a lie."

The warrior seemed resolute. Maric walked toward him and tentatively put his hand on the man's shoulder, looking at his eyes to get his attention. "But it is a dream. Your body is back in the real world, just like ours. If you stay here..."

"Then I die?" Nicolas smiled, abashed. "We knew it was possible one of us could fall in battle. I thought I was prepared, but I wasn't." He turned back to the mantel, unable to meet Maric's gaze. "I love him. Tell me I should return to a life where I can't be with him. Tell me this isn't better."

Maric couldn't tell him that. He let him go and stepped back.

"But-" Duncan looked around, his confusion only mounting as he saw both Kell and Utha accepting Nicolas's words just as Maric did. "You can't be serious! You have to come back. This is suicide!"

"I can think of worse ways to die."

"No! It's wrong." He ran up to Nicolas, making as if to push him back against the hearth. The warrior warily caught at the lad's leathers and held him with a strong hand, though Duncan didn't struggle much. He seemed more astonished than outraged. "How can you let the demon defeat you like this?"

Nicolas nodded slowly, closing his eyes as if the idea pained him. "Julien saved you," he sighed. "He did the right thing, I know that. I wish I'd died with him." Then he paused, opening his eyes and looking directly at Duncan. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "I did die with him. This has nothing to do with the demon."

"But-"

"Let me have my dream," he pleaded, his voice heavy. It was as much to Maric and the others as to Duncan. "Please, just let me have this one last thing."

Duncan looked like he was about to continue arguing, bu tseeing the expression on Nicolas's face, he visibly deflated. Finally he nodded. He didn't agree, even Maric could see that, but he couldn't argue in the face of that pain. He gave Maric a troubled glance and then turned and stormed out the door without another word.

Kell walked up to Nicolas, extending his hand. "You served well," he said. "You did your duty. Let it end here." Nicolas shook his hand heartily, the tears coming more quickly. He fought to control a sob.

Utha went to the warrior, looking up at him with compassionate tears of her own. She made no gestures, but simply took both his hands in hers.

"Thank you," he croaked, his voice near breaking.

Maric nodded at the man. Part of him felt disquiet at the idea of leaving Nicolas behind, a warrior who could still be of great help to them. But would it be better to demand that he follow them, fighting until he died some grueling death alone in the Deep Roads? Or worse, survived and carried on alone? It didn't seem as if Grey Wardens met happy ends even at the best of times. Perhaps it was better to choose your own.

The idea settled over Maric like a dark cloud as they left Nicolas behind in the cabin. Outside, Duncan waited with his arms crossed. The lad looked distressed rather than belligerent. It must be difficult to understand when death seemed like a thing very far away. Perhaps it was better that he didn't.

Julien solemnly watched them leave, and then returned inside the cabin to his love. This dream wouldn't end, and somehow that brought Maric a small amount of comfort.

"We need to find Genevieve," Duncan avowed.

Maric agreed, and together the group swiftly walked down the hill and out of the wilderness in search of the Grey Warden's commander.

Time was running short.

Draw your last breath, my friends,

Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.

Rest at the Maker's right hand,

And be Forgiven.

-Canticle of Trials 1:16

The guard studied the group with a wary eye as he peeked through the massive gate's shuttered window. The livery of a horned stag on a black background hung from the battlements. Duncan didn't recognize it, but he assumed it was Orlesian. The guard's accent seemed to confirm that. "M'lord doesn't take in travelers," he sneered.

Maric glanced back at the rest of them, clearly asking for ideas. They had spent the better part of the afternoon traveling through the marshes before they'd seen the remote outpost. It had appeared out of the mist, ivy creeping up its cracked stone walls and greyish moss hanging down. It was as if the marsh was busily trying to reclaim the place, and yet it endured nobly.

There was a single keep within the walls and a small courtyard, room for no more than perhaps a hundred men, according to Kell's estimation. The sort of outpost the Empire built on the fringes of its borders, watching for incursions even if none had materialized for centuries beyond counting. They were convenient places for out-of-favor aristocrats to be exiled, though Duncan knew that some noblemen took these frontier assignments seriously and tried to make an honest go of it. They brought law to the local villages and attempted to clear the wilds of outlaws and pagan worship. This place, however, looked as if it was barely holding its own against the murky marsh around it, and if there was any local population to speak of, they hadn't seen evidence of it. This was a cold and wet wilderness, full of snakes, and certainly an inhospitable place to build anything.

Duncan shrugged, and neither Kell nor Utha appeared to offer anything better. Maric sighed and turned back to the waiting guard at the window."We're looking for someone. A friend."

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