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DRAGON AGE: THE CALLING 20 страница

"This can't be the same place we just entered," he muttered.

The others were looking around now, as well, their grips tightening on their weapons. "We went through a doorway, didn't we?"

Maric whispered. "We could be anywhere."

"We are being led," Genevieve declared. "This is a trap."

"Do we have much choice?"

She had no answer for him. After a moment's hesitation the group moved forward again. It became obvious that this was an estate, the home of some Orlesian aristocrat. They passed a luxuriously appointed sitting room, a hallway that seemed to go off into a servant's wing, and even a conservatory complete with whitewashed doors that opened up onto a sunlit garden filled with flowered bushes.

All of it still had the same unreality that the alienage did, the feeling that everything wasn't quite right. Duncan noticed, as well, that the estate was similarly abandoned. The hallways should have been teeming with servants and guards, an entire staff bustling about to run the house hold, and yet there was nothing but silence.

"Do you hear that?" Kell asked quietly.

The group stopped in the hall. Duncan cocked his head and ever so faintly heard the sound of a woman crying. It might have been Fiona; it was too far away to tell and would have been impossible to hear if it wasn't otherwise so quiet. The hunter had good ears.

They moved on, Kell leading the way as he tried to find a path toward the sound. They passed through an open courtyard filled with verdant bushes and a marble statue of Andraste atop a burbling fountain. Opening a sliding window, Kell took them carefully into an empty kitchen. It was large, the sort that would have normally been filled with servants desperate to bake their bread and finish the evening meal, but there was no one. It didn't even smell as if it had ever been used. The sounds of the whimpering woman were definitely louder, however, and as the hunter brought them to the back of the kitchen they found a narrow flight of stairs leading downward into darkness.

The cries were coming from below.

"Do we go down?" Maric asked nobody in particular.

There was no answer. They had no way back into the waking world, no way to free themselves from whatever spell the demon had placed upon them. If this was truly a trap, then they had to walk into it with their eyes open and hope that they came out the other side.

Duncan felt growing dread as they descended single file. The stairs creaked ominously beneath their weight, and the air turned chill the farther down they got. His heart began to beat rapidly, and he had to force himself to keep moving. The stones around them changed, becoming natural rock. They entered a dank cave, the sound of the crying ahead echoing past stagnant pools.

This was no natural place, he thought. This was a memory, something so terrible that to Fiona it had become a dark cave filled with terror. He could feel it clawing at his senses, and could see the others feeling the same. Sweat poured down their foreheads, their eyes wide as they pushed ahead in the shadows. Fiona wasn't trapped in a dream filled with her fondest hopes - she was trapped in her worst nightmare.

A faint light appeared ahead of them, the cave opening up into a small cavern. It was bare except for a candelabrum of wrought iron standing in the center, the candles flickering and sending shadows jumping about the rocky floor. A man stood next to it with his back turned, his grey hair pulled into a genteel ponytail. He was dressed in the embroidered velvet jacket and high leathe rboots typical of an Orlesian nobleman, and carried a long leather whip curled in one hand.

What he was using the whip on was obvious. Fiona lay prone on the stone floor, facing away from them with her arms raised above her head and chained to the wall. Her head hung down limply, and the back of her robe was ripped open from so many whiplashes across her back that her skin was red with blood. Duncan would have thought her dead were it not for the quavering of her shoulders and her racking sobs.

"Did you think"- the nobleman sneered at Fiona beneath him- "that I was going to let the Chantry take you away from me? Whisk you off to the Circle of Magi, hmm?"

"I'm sorry, master," Fiona pleaded. Her head still hung down, almost touching the floor. Her voice was reduced to a broken whisper, and she continued to cry.

"You forget my connections! I can ensure they forget about some little elven harlot! The mage who found you was mistaken, as simple as that!"

"Yes, master..."

"It's not as if I need you for any foul magical gift you possess, do I?"

"Yes, master..."

Although Duncan couldn't see the man's face, his rage was obvious. He unfurled the leather whip and cracked it loudly. "You're not listening to me, foolish girl! I have had enough of your insolence! Enough!" He raised the whip up high, preparing to lash Fiona once again.

"Stop!" Genevieve ordered him. She moved into the small cavern, her greatsword raised cautiously before her. The others followed suit, keeping their distance from the nobleman and spreading out. There was no way of knowing what to expect from him.

He paused, not landing his blow, and instead turned to look at them. The nobleman was arrogantly handsome. His eyes were lined with black kohl, in Orlesian custom, but, far more noticeable, they glowed with a sinister purplish hue. He smiled, as if pleased. "Ah! And here they are at last. Found your way out of your dreams, did you? Well, throw away a gift if you will; I won't give you another."

"We do not need your gifts," Genevieve said, her tone deadly. She lowered her sword at him. "You will release Fiona, and you will release us. Do it."

He chuckled lightly. "Release my precious girl? I don't think so! I bought her fair and square! I have spent years raising her; I'm not about to waste all of that!"

"We know what you are, demon. There is no need to pretend."

He clucked his tongue reproachfully."Do you think you are actually here? Do you think those are actual weapons that you have pointed at me? Who do you think is the master of this realm, and who the dreamer?"With a wave of his hand, Genevieve was thrown back with terrible force. She grunted as she slammed hard into the stone wall of the cavern, her sword clattering to the ground. He raised his hand, grinning, and she rose as if carried by the throat, kicking her legs and clutching at her neck as she choked.

Kell unleashed an arrow, and it lodged into the neck of the nobleman with little effect. Utha charged at him, Maric right behind her with his sword raised high, and the nobleman merely waved with his other hand and sent the two of them tumbling back along the floor. Kell shot two more arrows, both of them striking the demon harmlessly, before he took out his flail and charged as well.

"Really," the nobleman sighed dryly, "this is silly." Still holding Genevieve against the wall, he flicked his free hand at the hunter and sent him flying explosively back, falling hard to the ground near where Maric and Utha tried to regain their feet.

Duncan stayed back, his daggers at the ready. His first thought was to circle around and try to stab the demon unawares, but seeing how effective the others were being with their attacks made it seem unlikely that his would be any better. Instead, he edged over to where Fiona lay and gingerly touched her.

"Fiona?" he whispered. "Are you okay?"

She raised her head slowly, and he realized that was a very stupid question. Her back was bloody and flayed open, and as she looked at him with questioning, reddened eyes and a face stained with tears, he gathered she had no idea who he was and barely even registered that he was there.

"Here, let me try to get those manacles off you." He took her hands, noticing that her wrists were rubbed raw and bloody by the thick iron manacles that held them. It seemed like it might be simple enough to pick. He reached into his belt and pulled out his hidden lockpick.

"Away from her!" the demon roared, spinning on Duncan and thrusting out his hand to dash him away from Fiona. Duncan slid along the ground and bashed his head hard on a stone outcropping by the wall, crying out as agony burned through him. He groggily tried to sit up, and could hear the sounds of shouting as Genevieve and the others charged the demon again. Perhaps he had successfully distracted the creature? That was a comforting thought.

He got to his feet just in time to see Genevieve thrust her greatsword completely through the nobleman's midsection. It passed through cleanly, spilling no blood as it came out the other side, and he looked at her almost in disappointment."Truly, is that the best you can do? Are such futile efforts supposed to impress me?" He reached out with a hand, his speed lightning quick and too fast for Genevieve to avoid, grabbing her throat and lifting her off the ground.

She gasped and batted ineffectually at his hand. "See? I can do this the old-fashioned way just as easily," he chuckled. "As soon as you dispense with this useless struggle, you can all perish quietly. Saving you for later was obviously a mistake."

Kell lay nearby, sprawled on the floor unconscious. Duncan couldn't see where Utha was. Maric stood near the demon, his head bloody, clearly laboring to lift his runed sword for another strike.

"Maric, don't!" Duncan shouted.

The demon spun his head around to spot Maric, and his hand snatched Maric up by the neck the same way he had Genevieve. Maric gasped loudly, holding on to his sword and hacking as the demon lifted him off the ground. His efforts did little more than slash the creature's embroidered coat.

The nobleman glanced down at the slashes, his purple eyes flashing dangerously. "For that, you will need to suffer." Still holding Genevieve aloft with his other hand, he began to crush Maric's throat. The crunching sound was wet and unpleasant, and Maric let out a guttural cry of anguish that filled the cavern.

Suddenly another shout rang out, a feral scream of pain and rage. It was Fiona. She rose from the floor like a madwoman, shaking from the effort, her eyes wild, bright magical power coalescing around her fists. The demon paused and turned a curious eye toward her, but not before she unleashed an enormous bolt of lightning at him.

The flash of light blinded Duncan, and the thunder that followed almost threw him off his feet. He stumbled against the wall behind him, and when he opened his eyes he saw that Fiona had dropped down to her knees, her effort spent. The demon was on the ground, having dropped Genevieve and Maric both. His coat was completely burned away, leaving his bare chest smoking from the strike. He seemed dazed.

Duncan took his chance. He charged across the room, leaping into the air and landing directly on top of the nobleman before he could recover his bearings. Let's see if this does something now! He plunged both of his daggers into the demon's head as he landed, and they both slid bloodlessly into the creature's eyes.

He roared in pain, flailing his arms about and unable to see. Duncan felt himself gripped by an invisible power and propelled high up into the air. He was bashed into the ceiling of the cavern, pressed there as if by some giant hand. He was being crushed, the air forced out of his lungs and leaving him gasping.

"That was a very foolish thing, little one!" the nobleman snarled, yanking one of the daggers from his eyes. The purple glow in that eye was now sickly bright, shining out as if it was bleeding from a crack in his facade. He turned toward Fiona, an inhuman grimace on his face. "You wish to play, do you? You wish more lashes? When will you ever learn?"

"Never!" she spat. She lifted herself back off the ground, so weak she was shaking, her face contorted into nothing short of vicious defiance. "I will never suffer your touch again! Never!"

"We shall see," he snapped. Flames burned around one of his hands, black flames that filled the entire room with a stark coldness that made Duncan flinch. He pointed his hand at Fiona, the flames growing to even greater magnitude. She glared at him and did not back down.

Before the demon could act, however, Duncan saw a blood-soaked Maric rise up behind him. The King roared a battle cry as he swung his longsword and beheaded the demon in one stroke.

They woke up.

Duncan picked himself off the cold stone floor of the dwarven ruin, the skeletons still all around him. He saw the corpse of the dwarven ruler, the one who had been possessed by the demon, and it now sprawled lifelessly on its ancient throne as if it had never moved. The dead were simply dead once again, and he watched as the ruler's bones crumbled and slowly fell apart, whatever magic had held them together now departed. Within moments there was nothing on the throne except dust.

The ominous sense in the room was gone. He could hear the others stirring, and he saw Maric waking up on the dais. Right next to Duncan, Fiona stirred. She was back to her normal form, he saw, and none of the injuries she had suffered in the Fade translated to her body. None of theirs had.

She stared at her hands, almost disbelieving. "This... is the real world? I'm alive?"

"We all are," he told her with a grin.

She leaned over and snatched him up in a hug, crying tears of exhaustion and relief, and he held her close. He couldn't imagine what she had gone through. He didn't want to. It was bad enough remembering what he had left behind.

Not all of them recovered, however. While the others all began to rise, Nicolas remained sprawled where the demon had flung him, as lifeless as the ancient corpses around him. Duncan found himself hoping that wherever Nicolas was now, his dream continued and he found the peace he wanted so desperately.

Somebody should.

And as the black clouds came upon them,

They looked on what Pride had wrought,

And despaired.

-Canticle of Threnodies 7:10

Fiona felt relieved to get out of there finally. The group all but fled the ruined palace after Kell reunited with Hafter. The hound barked at his master repeatedly, almost as if admonishing the fact that he and the others had left him alone for so long. She wasn't sure if the hound had slept, or if he had been somewhere with them in the Fade. Dogs dreamed, didn't they? Either way, he was clearly relieved, as was Kell. The hunter said little, and just patted Hafter's head and smiled sadly.

They took Nicolas's body with them. It didn't seem right to leave him amid all those dwarves who had died so horribly. Kell and Maric carried him between them, neither speaking a word as Genevieve led them out. Fiona followed along, hugging her arms around herself and trying to regain some warmth. She couldn't stop shivering. The more that nightmare lingered in her thoughts, the colder she felt.

They left Nicolas outside the ruined palace, at the foot of the long stairs. It took them a while to collect enough loose rubble to pile on top of him until they had a cairn of sorts. Genevieve laid his black cloak on top, and they hung their heads for a long moment.

The cavern held nothing but oppressive silence for them.

"It feels wrong not to bury him," Fiona murmured.

"It was his choice," Genevieve snapped.

She couldn't argue with that. Nobody could. Were they supposed to march all the way back to the underground lake to allow Nicolas's body to rest with that of his lover? The idea had appeal, but they all knew it was impossible. The darkspawn would surely catch up to them long before then. This would have to do.

It seemed to her that there should have been some kind of discussion then. They needed to talk about what they had been led into, and where they were going. Fiona felt like there needed to be some recognition of what had happened, even if her mind screamed at her not to think about it. Every time she remembered that whip cutting into her flesh, her thoughts veered away violently. But the others seemed no better off than her, and so they all numbly followed after Genevieve as she led them back into the thaig.

For hours they stumbled through the ruined streets. Fiona barely noticed the city itself anymore, as wrapped up as she was in her own darkness. The dream had felt so real. The demon had impersonated the human man who bought her from the slavers that took her in after her parents had died. She'd had no idea back then who those kind men really were, only that they offered her food and a warm bed to sleep in. Then an even kinder man came to take her from them, and she found herself in his luxurious home and thought herself the luckiest little girl in the entire alienage.

How very naive she had been. Count Dorian, as she learned her new master's name to be, had been in search of an elven whore he could keep as a pet, something he could put in a pretty dress and bring with him on one of his many trips to the capital, like baggage.

The Countess had permitted him his new toy, and completely ignored Fiona as she went about her own dalliances. Fiona lived in that house hold a prisoner, invisible and not even knowing that any of it was wrong, only that she needed to please the Count or suffer his wrath. Often his wrath came whether he was pleased or not.

Escaping the man had not been easy. Fortune had brought her to the notice of an elderly mage on the streets of Val Royeaux, though the Count's fury when he discovered it had been immeasurable. She still flinched when she thought of how he had whipped her that night. He had gouged and bled her until she had pleaded for death, and he had denied her even that.

And then she had grown angry. She had dug deep down inside and demanded that whatever talent for magic she had, a talent in which she did not even truly believe until that moment, come forth and save her. And it had. She had killed the Count with raw magical force, and lay bleeding beside his corpse as exhaustion took her.

The demons had come, then. They had whispered soft things, promising that they could take all the pain away. So desperate was their desire to possess her they nipped away at her mind, and it was all she could do to lie there and cry silent tears as she resisted.

The Countess found her in the dungeon, unconscious and lying in a pool of her own blood. Almost dead. Why the woman had contacted the Circle of Magi to come and take Fiona away, she had no idea. She never saw the woman again. Perhaps the Countess had felt pity? Perhaps she had felt some gratitude for the elf who had finally slain her cruel husband and transformed her into a rich widow? She could just as easily have called on the watch, or let her die.

The Circle, sadly, had been little better. At least the nightmares grew fainter in time. She thought that she had finally put them behind her, but apparently it was not so. It felt like an old wound had been ripped open inside her heart, leaving it raw and bleeding.

They were just outside a field full of so much rubble and debris that it was impossible to tell what it all might have once been, when Kell picked up Bregan's trail again. The hunter held his hand up to call for a halt and knelt, running his fingers along the ground and closing his pale eyes. He lifted his head slightly as if catching a scent, and softly said, "I found him."

Everyone knew who he meant. The effect on Genevieve was electrifying. She almost pounced on Kell, demanding that he follow the trail immediately. He stared up at her, and for a moment Fiona thought he might challenge her authority once again. He didn't, however, merely nodded and stood to lead the way.

Genevieve almost vibrated, she was so intent. The change in her from the surly and silent commander that had left the ruin was marked. Was she still as keen as before on finding her brother? It seemed so, though Fiona felt like she had to remind herself why they were even down here. They had only been in the Deep Roads, what? A couple of days? It felt like forever.

Duncan walked beside her for a time. She looked over at him and he smiled sadly. He meant it to be reassuring, she assumed, but it just reminded her that his heart had been broken in the Fade as well. She didn't know exactly what he had gone through, but she knew enough. He looked older.

"Why did the demon want you?" he asked her suddenly.

"Because they become very powerful when they possess a mage."

It seemed plenty powerful already."

She shrugged. "I don't know. It had sustained itself in our world so long, perhaps it had only a little power left. Perhaps a mage is all it ever wanted. It's in the nature of demons to covet what they can't have."

He nodded, chewing on the idea.

Thank you for coming for me," she whispered to him.

"You shouldn't be thanking me," he said. She followed his nod and saw he meant Maric, who walked not far from them, too lost in thought to realize he was being discussed.

"Why? Because he killed the demon?"

"He's the one who broke out of his dream first, and came to get the rest of us. He insisted we had to save you. Without him, I don't know that I would have left my... I would still be there. For certain."

Duncan looked away, frowning to hide his pain. What sort of dream would hold a boy who had grown up alone in the slums of Val Royeaux, she wondered? She didn't want to ask, and instead clutched his hand and gave it a warm squeeze.

They reached the massive doorway that led out of Ortan thaig after another hour of picking their way through piles of stone and masonry. Maric indicated that he had gone through this door before, and that his group had first encountered darkspawn several hours afterwards. Fiona exchanged glances with Kell and Utha, although they said nothing. They sensed no darkspawn nearby. It seemed odd, after how the creatures had hounded them so far. Perhaps when the darkspawn picked up their trail again, she would be wishing for just this sort of oddness.

The great iron door had clearly been bashed in long ago by some powerful force. Ogres, she assumed. The great blue brutes were the work horses of the darkspawn when they appeared, and whenever the attack on this thaig happened they would have almost certainly numbered among the horde. Still, it was impressive. She could almost picture the creatures swarming in through the breach, washing over whatever dwarven defenses remained like a dark tide.

Hafter sniffed among the rubble in front of the door, making anxious sounds. Then he lifted his head and looked into the shadows beyond the door and whined. Fiona was inclined to agree.

Beyond, they were back in the Deep Roads. It did not take long for them to start seeing the familiar signs of darkspawn corruption, so thick here they could not really make out the stone any longer. It was a sickening layer of skin that covered everything, and it felt unnerving, squishing as it did beneath her boots. The idea of touching it with bare skin made her shudder in revulsion.

There was also a new sound. Perhaps sound was not the right word, as she felt it far more than she heard it. She had been feeling it for some time, she realized. Sometimes it seemed like something whispering her name, or at least she thought it was her name. At other times it was little more than the softest, most alluring notes of a chorus carried to her from afar.

It had something to do with the darkspawn. That was all she knew.

They traveled for a long time. She wasn't even certain just how long, and kept her mind focused on maintaining the light from her staff and putting one foot in front of the other. Her mind cried out for rest, but she nearly felt glad for the fatigue. She suspected they all did, as their pace made it almost impossible to think.

Kell remained in front, his faithful hound keeping step, and he stopped every now and again to kneel and furrow his brow as he studied the invisible trail. How he could pinpoint a single Grey Warden amid all this darkspawn filth, Fiona couldn't begin to guess. But he did it. He turned down several passages and kept them going, until finally they reached another section where the dwarven masonry had collapsed, opening up into the inky black caverns below... the true home of the darkspawn, underneath the Deep Roads.

"There." He pointed.

Genevieve stepped forward, enough to gaze into the breach and see that the debris leading into the cavern below was indeed scalable. "Then we go there," she stated unequivocally.

"No, we do not. First we talk."

She brushed by him. "I am not interested in talking." She marched on ahead, scrambling down the rubble into the shadows below. Fiona went to follow, but Kell gave her a direct look and shook his head no. She paused, and so did the others behind her.

They waited. Genevieve could only go down so far before the lack of light prevented her from going farther. Fiona heard her eventually stop and sigh in exasperation. She turned around and marched back up the rubble until she stood in front of them. Her face filled with silent fury, she crossed her arms and glared at Kell. Hafter growled menacingly beside him, but he waved a hand to shush the hound and he complied.

"Is this to be another challenge, then?" she demanded.

The hunter studied her for a moment with his pale eyes, his expression reflective. The man was inscrutable at the best of times, and right now Fiona had no idea whether he was angry or simply concerned. "Genevieve, we have followed you," he said slowly, "as you rushed heedlessly into one danger after another. We followed you into the palace. This needs to change."

"We are not turning back."

"I am not speaking of turning back."

"The palace was not my fault," she insisted. "We were led there by an illusion, one that tricked you just as it did me."

"We were led there by your obsession and your lack of caution."

He was picking his words warily. Duncan glanced at Fiona with alarm, although he said nothing. She had to agree. This wasn't likely to go anywhere good.

"And?" Genevieve demanded. "What do you propose, then? I am your commander. Are you attempting to replace me?"

"I have no interest in leadership," Kell replied. "But I am the senior Grey Warden here after you. It falls on me to ensure this task of ours is performed to our best ability, and that requires caution you refuse to provide."

"Maker take your caution!" she snapped angrily.

His eyes narrowed. "See reason, Commander."

Maric stepped forward from behind Fiona."I agree," he said, his tone as reasonable as she'd ever heard it. "I'm willing to risk my life if it will save my country, Warden, but I've no interest in throwing it away."

"Is that what you all think?" Her eyes went from him, to Kell, and then to Duncan. They remained on the lad, though Fiona wasn't certain why."You think I wish to throw my life away?" Duncan looked down at the ground, his expression awkward.

"I don't know," Kell responded. "We could all die. But if this is how we continue, we will die for certain."

She scowled at him, her jaw clenching. Her arms uncrossed and hung by her sides, her hands clenched into fists. "Thank you, Kell," she said crisply. "Your opinion is noted. Let us proceed into the cavern below."

He hesitated. "I think you misunderstand what I mean. You-"

Genevieve's gauntleted fist flew so quickly, Fiona didn't even see it coming. Kell did, however, and he leaped back, adroitly evading her swing. "I said we proceed!" she roared, her face red and shaking from berserk rage.

With a loud growl, Hafter launched himself at Genevieve. She had time only to cover her face as the hound barreled into her, latching its jaws around one of her gauntlets and bearing the both of them down to the ground. They landed heavily, sliding along the ground. The hound whipped his head rapidly back and forth, snarling as Genevieve struggled to get him off.

"Hafter! No!" Kell snapped.

The dog didn't listen. It continued to fight viciously, and even when the hunter moved in to try to physically pull him off he didn't respond. Finally Genevieve gave a great heave, shoving the large hound off of her.

Hafter landed only a foot away, Genevieve's gauntlet still in his mouth. He immediately scrambled back to his feet, dropping the gauntlet and ready to charge back at her again. Utha darted in and grabbed the hound around the neck. Hafter snapped at her in surprise, but then turned his attention back to Genevieve, fangs bared.

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