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DRAGON AGE: THE CALLING 25 страница

What would Genevieve be doing now, he wondered? Would she be searching for them separately, or did the Architect have more command over the darkspawn than he claimed? He tried to imagine a Grey Warden directing a horde of darkspawn in a systematic search of the caverns, but his mind balked at the image. It was too bizarre. Thankfully, while Genevieve could likely guess their heading, she couldn't know which route they were taking since they didn't know themselves.

Perhaps she wouldn't care. Perhaps she and her brother and Utha would simply proceed with the Architect's plan, chalking up their escape to an unfortunate loss. She claimed they had intended to do it without any help, after all. Somehow Maric found that hard to believe.

They were passing what looked to be the ruined remains of a dwarven outpost when Maric noticed the tarnished statue standing in the middle of it. He halted, staring wide-eyed at it. It was half covered in corruption, but the image of a great dwarven king with his warhammer raised was unmistakable. He walked to the edge of the small cavern the outpost was within, studying the rubble and the collapsed tunnels and the strange debris everywhere.

Could it be...?

Fiona stopped ahead, and Duncan turned around as well.

"What is it, Maric?" she called back. "What did you find?"

"I've been here." He slowly walked up to the statue, the stones under his boots crunching loudly and echoing in the cavern. He was suddenly aware of just how much his legs ached. Fiona and Duncan edged cautiously into the cavern behind him, looking around as if worrying that subterranean creatures might jump out of the shadows."This is Endrin Stonehammer," he breathed."The first of the dwarven kings."

"That's nice," Duncan muttered. "Why are we stopping?"

"The Legion of the Dead brought us here. This was their outpost."

He pointed to an area near the statue now covered in debris.

"And that is where they buried some of the legionnaires who died fighting the darkspawn when we first encountered them."

"Do you think there's anything left?" Fiona asked.

"There might be. I remember they couldn't take all their supplies along."

Duncan peered at some of the side caves that had collapsed. Something had been through here, something with an eye toward destroying most of what the Legion had left behind. Perhaps the darkspawn? The Legion was one of their most hated enemies, after all, along with the Grey Wardens. Perhaps they came and defaced the area as soon as the dwarves left.

"Anything in there was probably crushed," the lad remarked. "Or spoiled."

"Would it hurt to look?"

Duncan gave Maric an annoyed glance, but Fiona held her hand up. "You know as well as I do that the darkspawn are well behind us. I can't even sense them right now."

"Maybe you're right." Duncan glanced toward the cavern entrance, suddenly troubled. "It's just that I keep expecting Genevieve to appear out of every shadow, all blighted like she is now. I feel like she's right on our heels."

Fiona snorted. "She's only human, Duncan, as she proved quite well."

"Yes, I suppose so." Still, Duncan looked far more sad than frightened, and with a final pensive glance at the entrance, he turned and nodded. "Let's stay here and rest, then. There's only the one entrance to the cavern, and even with all the rubble it's still pretty defensible. This is as good a place as any."

They spent some time searching through the ruins, but other than finding a few stone crates just inside one of the smaller caves, there wasn't as much as Maric had hoped. Cooking utensils, pots and pans, a few worn blankets and some dusty clothing. Thankfully the dwarves had a knack for building sturdy crates that kept the insides protected. Maric was able to find a pair of boots that fit, and Duncan located a grey leather vest that replaced his torn jerkin quite well.

Fiona located a crate with some food supplies that were mostly useless, no doubt left behind for good reason, but at least a few of the stores therein looked edible and they chewed on them in silence. Balls of jerky, though of what meat Maric couldn't really imagine. Perhaps it wasn't meat at all. He seemed to recall that Nalthur, the leader of the Legion, had complained about their lack of decent food. Justifiably, it turned out.

The elf was much more pleased when she located a dusty, cracked basin underneath a pile of rocks. It had a magical dweomer, she exclaimed, and when she ran her hands over it the basin began to fill with water. Maric had seen something similar during his time in Ortan thaig years before, and Fiona explained that it was a simple enough enchantment - one the dwarven Shapers specialized in.

This afforded them the opportunity to wash themselves at least a little, and they took turns at the basin. Maric didn't realize just how filthy he was until he started wiping off some of the dust and dried ichor that had accumulated on him. He ran the water through his hair, watching with alarm as the basin quickly turned a brownish red. Then the water slowly cleared as if by magic.

Or exactly by magic, he corrected himself. We should get these at the palace.

He wiped his face once more with the makeshift washcloth, marveling at the feeling of the cool water on his skin. Throwing caution to the wind, he undid the straps on his breastplate and removed the top half of his armor. Then he removed his shirt and proceeded to wash up. The cave was cramped but it allowed a little bit of privacy, and for a brief minute he just enjoyed sitting there in the quiet, listening only to the occasional splashing of the water and feeling human again.

"I wish I'd thought of that," Fiona mused, standing at the entrance to the cave.

He grinned at her. "Where's Duncan?"

"Standing watch at the cavern entrance. He saw me looking over at the cave and rolled his eyes and told me that's exactly where he would be until one of us came to get him." She chuckled, but it trailed off quickly into silence. A shadow crossed behind her eyes and she frowned."He still isn't hearing the Calling."

"But you are?"

"Yes. And it's getting worse." She walked toward him and knelt down next to him beside the basin, leaning her staff against the wall. She refused to meet Maric's eyes, and he watched as she slowly removed her chain shirt. As soon as her back appeared, he noticed the tell-tale signs of corruption spreading. The stains were small, but noticeable, and he didn't remember seeing anything when they lay together not a night before.

Fiona began to shake suddenly, covering her eyes with her hands and stifling an exhausted sob. "Do you see them?" she asked, her voice anguished.

"Yes."

"Of course you do. How could you not?" She wiped at her eyes, and then shook her head angrily. "It's on my hands, too. I'm going to end up like Kell. Or Utha."

"You're not."

"Don't say such things." Fiona looked at him reproachfully. "Of course I am. There is no coming back from this, is there? Even if we make it to the surface, I'm... I'm dead. I don't even feel elven any longer."

He hushed her, and she closed her eyes and took a deep, ragged breath. Dunking his cloth into the basin again, he took it and began to wash her back gently. She jumped, surprised by the cold water, but then quickly acquiesced. For a time he ran the cloth over her skin, including the tainted areas, and she said nothing, continuing to stare ahead. Occasionally she shuddered when his fingers brushed against her. The quiet filled up the small cave, electric and yet somehow still not uncomfortable.

"Maric," she finally asked, "do you think we will really get out of this?"

"Yes, I do."

"Why, exactly? Our chances are not good."

"It's like this-" He smiled. "I've been incredibly lucky most of my life. I barely escaped the night my mother was murdered, and I met Loghain by chance. He saved my life more times than I can count during the rebellion. In fact, he wasn't the only one. I think I'm due for some more luck, now."

"Perhaps you used up all your luck," Fiona said. Her tone was more severe than she probably intended, and she bit her lower lip as soon as she said it. He didn't mind. His grin widened as he wiped the back of her neck with the cold cloth and felt her shiver.

"I think my luck is returning, actually."

The elf finally turned her head and peered at him curiously. Maric continued to wash the dried blood off her skin as she appraised him, the thoughts clearly running about in her head. He didn't ask, and eventually she frowned and spoke her mind. "You know, you don't have to live as you do."

"Oh? How do I live?"

"Like a man who's trapped." Now it was his turn to avoid her piercing eyes. "As a king you have every freedom, Maric. Yet you act as if you were a slave. You act as if this gift the Maker has given you is some kind of burden."

He sighed, taking a long minute to soak the cloth in the basin once again. The ichor bloomed in the water like a dark and deadly flower. "I don't think I'm as free as you think I am."

"Aren't you? What's imprisoning you, exactly?"

"I didn't have a choice about becoming what I am. My country needed me. The way Rowan looked at me and the way Loghain looked at me, they expected me to take my place. To be a strong king. To be a good king. To rebuild Ferelden. And I've done that. But... all it feels like is that there's this long, long road ahead of me, with no surprises and no reprieve, and I'm going to keep walking down it until one day I just fall down and die." He chuckled mirthlessly."I'm sure they'll have a very large funeral, with many Fereldan women weeping over my grave that Maric the Savior is dead."

Fiona's eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "And you never once wanted to be king? Not even just a little?"

"I wanted to avenge my mother. I wanted to kick the Orlesians out of Ferelden."

"And nothing else?"

"Well..."

She turned herself around to face him completely, her skirt rustling loudly on the stone floor. She appeared to be completely oblivious to her bared chest, and firmly took his chin in her hand.

"This elven woman you killed. What was her name?"

He felt himself blushing. He didn't really want to talk about this, but the way she stared at him with those dark eyes, it was as if they were boring into his skull. "Katriel," he answered quietly.

"Did you love her?"

"What kind of question is-?"

"Did you love her?" she insisted.

"Yes." It was a painful admission. He would have looked away, had she not held his chin tightly. Fiona looked into his eyes and smiled warmly.

"So you punish yourself for what you did, for the rest of your life?" Her eyes teared up as she shook her head, baffled by him. "Maric, you said back on those stairs that you had changed, that you wanted to live. So live! You have every freedom that I never had. Use it! You want to repay this elven woman you wronged so badly? Make sure that nobody ends up like her ever again." Fiona released his chin and blinked away her tears, frowning bashfully for crying in the first place. "There were all these stories about the wonderful Maric the Savior, and I thought for certain it was all just lies. That it was simply a genteel front like my master used to have, smiles on top of the sickness. But Ferelden got lucky and has a good man as its king."

"I'm not such a good man."

She snorted incredulously. "Only a good man would say that."

She took the wet cloth from him and studiously began to wipe his face with it. He let her, watching her quietly. Then she paused, looking at him with grave seriousness. "You need to forgive yourself, Maric. Or I'm going to have to punch you in the head, I swear it."

It was almost the same thing that Katriel had said to him in the Fade. The thought sent a pang of regret through him, but still he laughed at Fiona's expression, and it felt good to laugh. She cracked a smile at that. She went to wipe his face again, but he reached up and took her hand, and stopped laughing. "Come with me," he said earnestly. "To Denerim."

"We're not even out of the Deep Roads yet...."

"We could both die, I know that. Come with me anyway."

Her smile was polite, but he could see the refusal even before she said it. "I am a Grey Warden," she sighed. "And an elf. And a mage. And even if that were not enough, I am suffering from the taint. My time is limited."

"I don't care about that."

"I do." He saw that there would be no arguing with her. "And I care about you."

He leaned in and kissed her. She was taken by surprise, just about to speak again, but quieted as she accepted his embrace. He leaned her down to the floor, his kisses growing more passionate, knocking over the dwarven basin so that the cold water ran along the stone and soaked into their clothing.

They barely noticed.

Duncan seemed mostly bemused when he woke them up a while later, clearing his throat loudly just outside the entrance of the cave. When they finally exited, their clothing sopping wet and their armor hastily rearranged, he chuckled at them. "So I guess you're not going to be complaining about each other anymore?"

Fiona's face reddened and he grinned.

He hadn't let them sleep longer, he said, because the darkspawn were closing in. That was when the amusement ended, and they picked up what few supplies they wanted to take with them and headed out quickly. Maric saw the dark circles under Duncan's eyes and felt badly. The lad could have used some sleep, himself, and yet Fiona and he had selfishly used the time up for themselves.

Still, Duncan didn't complain. He also seemed more determined, somehow. Maric wasn't sure he could put his finger on it.

They spent half their time running, the dark corridors speeding past, and while Maric tried to remember the route the Legion of the Dead had taken to reach the outpost, he couldn't piece it together. It wasn't long before he realized he wasn't recognizing the corridors at all.

They kept the punishing pace for several hours, pushing themselves hard. Duncan's apprehensive expression told him that the darkspawn could not be far behind, although Maric couldn't hear the telltale sounds of their approach. The Deep Roads were quiet. Only the sounds of their footsteps echoed, and as the time wore on, Maric noticed that the signs of the taint around them were lessening.

"Are we getting close to the surface?" he asked nobody in particular.

Fiona and Duncan glanced at him, but said nothing.

Another hour passed, the three of them sweating profusely as they trudged. They were definitely moving up a slope; the pain in Maric's legs told him that much. While it slowed them down, they continued on. Up was where they wanted to go, after all.

At the top of the slope, the light from Fiona's staff slowly revealed that the corridor came to a dead end. The roof here had collapsed long ago, leaving the end of the tunnel completely filled with rocks and debris and no way around. They ground to a halt, staring at all the dust with wide eyes.

"Well, so much for that," Duncan grumbled, wiping his forehead.

"We'll need to turn back, and quickly, or we'll meet the darkspawn halfway back to the last intersection." He turned around to do just that, but even before he took his first step, Maric held up his hands.

"Wait. Do you smell that?" Maric had become so accustomed to the stench of corruption in the tunnels and the musty smell of the dust that he almost thought his nose had simply stopped working out of self-defense. But as he stood there not ten feet from the massive pile of rocks, he could have sworn he smelled...

"Fresh air," Fiona breathed. Her eyes suddenly bright, she approached the rocks and clambered up the slope until she reached near the ceiling. She grinned and looked back at them. "I think this leads outside! I think the surface is past here!"

"Are you sure?" Duncan asked.

"I can't see any light, but there's definitely air coming over the rocks here at the top." She reached up with her hand and pushed it past a number of the larger chunks, frowning in effort. "Yes, I can feel it."

Maric scratched his chin, thinking. "Maybe this led to one of the doorways that sealed the Deep Roads off from the surface? One that's not there anymore."

"It doesn't matter," Duncan sighed. "We'll never be able to dig our way through all this in time to do us any good. The darkspawn will be on us long before then." He glanced back down the passageway into the darkness below. "At least it will be easier going down then coming up."

"No," Fiona stated. She climbed back down the rocks toward them, clutching her staff in her hand firmly. She had a dangerous look that made Maric nervous. "We are getting out of here. Now."

Duncan stared at her, his mouth agape. "You don't mean...?"

She stopped in front of them, frowning severely. "Stand back. Well back."

They did as they were told. Even as Maric and Duncan ran back a ways down the passage, already Fiona was concentrating. Swirls of magical fire were gathering around her hands and working their way up her staff, the flames suddenly growing hotter and more pronounced.

She didn't unleash the energy, however. She held the staff above her head and closed her eyes, her mouth moving in a silent chant. The fire grew. White energy began to course around her body, lighting up the entire tunnel like it was daylight. The staff shook, and it became obvious that the magic was difficult for Fiona to control. She gritted her teeth and clutched the staff tightly, and a halo of flames slowly surrounded her.

"She's mad!" Duncan exclaimed. "She'll bring the roof down upon us."

Maric was not so sure. "Maybe we should move back a bit farther...."

The fireball, when it was unleashed, shook the entire tunnel.

There was a massive flash of light and a roar of sound that deafened them, the backlash of force from the blast throwing them both back several feet. Several large chunks of rock fell nearby, followed by a swarm of thick dust and smoke that choked him. He gagged and coughed, thinking for a moment that Duncan might be right, but then he felt something else.

The dust began to move. It swirled as a light breeze moved through the tunnel. Maric sat up, waving at the dust and coughing some more. Duncan seemed fine, but he couldn't see Fiona through the cloud. He scrambled to his feet and was relieved to find her lying on her back not far away. The mage had been blown back by the fireball, and was now choking and pale but otherwise seemed intact.

The pile of debris that had blocked the tunnel was gone. The walls and ceiling were scorched, and much of the upper portion of the pile had been blown out, somewhere beyond. It was pitch black, but fresh air was coming in. Lots of it. Nothing had ever smelled so sweet to Maric in his entire life.

"Fiona!" he laughed. "You did it!"

"Wonderful," she groaned weakly. Maric reached down and helped her slowly to her feet. She was trembling. He suspected she had used up her entire store of mana on that blast. Good thing it had actually blown the rocks out and not, say, simply blown them in. Or reflected the fire back at them. Or...

He glanced up and saw severe cracks forming on the old masonry along the ceiling, none of which had been in particularly good shape to begin with. More dust and chunks were already falling.

"We need to get out of here," Duncan muttered, limping toward them.

Maric waved him on up the pile. He wasn't as small as Fiona was, but she was exhausted enough that she would need help through. The lad didn't need to be told twice and scrambled up the rocks quickly. The space that had opened up at the top of the pile was not large, and he needed to slowly crawl his way through, digging his way past obstacles.

Maric and Fiona stood next to each other, watching nervously as rock after rock slowly tumbled down the pile behind Duncan. They could still see his legs; he wasn't through. Meanwhile, more dust and debris shook down from the ceiling. He could see massive cracks forming along the walls, too. This passage was not going to hold itself together.

"My," Fiona remarked, her exhaustion so complete she seemed more bored than frightened."This could end very poorly."

"You don't say?" Maric grinned at her. Then he turned and shouted up the pile. "Duncan! Time is of the essence!"

He heard a muffled reply from beyond the legs, something that could have been an affirmative or an expletive. Either way, with one final wriggle Duncan's legs finally disappeared. A new shower of smaller rocks was kicked out, scattering down the side of the pile loudly. A moment later, the lad's head appeared out of the hole.

"There's a cave beyond!" he exclaimed."A real cave. And it leads outside."

Maric sent Fiona up next, helping her up until Duncan grabbed hold of her. As soon as she was out of his hands, Maric quickly began removing his armor. If Duncan could barely fit through, he would have even less chance - and wearing his bulky suit of silverite armor, it would no doubt be impossible. The breastplate clattered to the ground, and he worked with frantic haste to rip the rest of it off. Shame to lose such a fine suit of armor, but it had to be done.

As the staff disappeared into the hole, so did his only source of light. The white radiance grew dimmer and dimmer until all he was left were shadows and the slowly growing sounds of crumbling. Something enormously heavy crashed to the ground behind him. Maric found himself rather glad he couldn't see what it was.

A muffled shout came from beyond the pile that sounded like "She's through," and Maric didn't wait. He ran up the pile and threw his sword and his pack on through the gap, then jumped in after them. He didn't get far in before the sound of collapse in the tunnel behind him became deafening, and a rush of dust poured past him.

For a moment he thought he would choke to death in that tiny space. He could see faint light through the dust ahead, and frantically tried to crawl forward as he coughed and gasped. It was almost too much. The weight of the ceiling felt as if it was pressing down on him. He became light-headed and slowed. He heard more collapsing behind him, cracking sounds so alarmingly loud that it sounded like an entire mountain was coming down around his ears. He screamed, and his scream was lost in the thunder of noise.

Then hands grabbed him. He felt himself being hauled through the gap. It was slow, and he tried to kick and wriggle as much as he could, but he was almost too large. Rocks poked painfully through his shirt, and he heard ripping. He felt scraping on his skin, and a sharp pain as his flesh was torn.

And then suddenly he was through. He was being pulled out the other side, and he half rolled and half fell down a rocky slope until he was lying flat and staring up into dust and hazy white light. Duncan and Fiona were coughing, as well; he could hear them but only saw vague shadows through the dust. Maric felt dizzy and nauseated, like the world was spinning around him.

"Let's get him out of here!" Fiona shouted.

Both their hands grabbed him again, attempting to haul him to his feet. This time Maric did his best to help them, trying to get up and mostly doing a poor job of it. He saw his longsword lying on the rocks and snatched it up, and then he was being pulled in another direction.

He stumbled along, all three of them hacking and coughing. He got a definite impression through the dust that the cave was filled with ruins of some kind. He saw the remains of one of the great metal doorways the dwarves used to seal the entrances half blocking the cave passage, but this one was so rusted it was barely even identifiable for what it was.

It occurred to him to wonder that there was even a cave to move through at all. Shouldn't that pile of rocks have come from the tunnel collapsing? Unless someone had piled those rocks thereto seal off the Deep Roads. He had to wonder if that was something done from the outside or from within.

A cool breeze struck him in the face before he realized they were out of the cave and in the open air, standing on a rocky slope covered in snow. It was nighttime, with a cloudless sky overhead filled with a million stars and the silvery moon almost full. In that moment, as the three of them stood there, stunned, Maric thought it was the most beautiful sight of his entire life.

Fiona let him go and leaned against the rocks, wiping the sweat off her brow. The snow here was deep, going halfway up their shins. The freezing chill he felt through his boots was wonderful, and he reached down to scoop up some of the snow and smear it on his face. They were all coated in a chalky grey dust that sat on the skin like grit.

Duncan chuckled, and then looked around while he wiped at his face with the back of his hand. Whatever vista was out there was mostly hidden by the rocks around them, but Maric could see a hint of trees in the distance. "Where are we?" the lad said out loud.

"I'm not sure," Maric answered. "We'll need to get higher up to see."

"Wait," Fiona sighed. She pushed herself away from the rocks and put her hands on his shoulder. Maric realized then that his shirt was mostly in tatters, and smeared with blood. He had several deep gashes in his chest, covered in dirt, and they were bleeding profusely.

She closed her eyes, summoning more energy even though she was still pale and weak. He stopped her and shook his head. "No, we can do that later." She didn't argue, which indicated, if nothing else did, just how depleted she was.

They slowly walked up the gentlest nearby slope, Duncan taking the lead and helping them both up. When they reached the top, Maric found that the bright moonlight allowed them to easily see the surrounding snowy countryside. They were in the foothills of the Frostbacks, with trees dotting the rugged hillside as it swept down before them into the flatlands and a thick forest farther out.

"We're in the northwest, I think," he said. He pointed out into the distance. "I think the Circle of Magi's tower is that way. If it was daylight we might even be able to see it from here."

Fiona looked at him, perplexed. "How can you tell?"

"You think I was born in a palace? Remember, I spent half my life hiding in these mountains. I didn't think I paid that much attention, but it seems I did. We're not too far from Lake Calenhad."

Duncan rubbed his arms vigorously, apparently already freezing, and this time without even a fur cloak to keep him warm. He glanced oddly at Maric, who was without his armor and now almost shirtless, and shook his head in amazement. "Let's get going, then," he suggested.

They began marching down the hillside. Fiona did her best to try to reassemble the bloody tatters of Maric's shirt, but it wasn't much help. He didn't mind, as it felt good to feel the breeze and the cold air, but he imagined he would mind it very much before the night was over.

As they walked, however, it became apparent that three figures were approaching them from the bottom of the hill. They emerged from the shadows, at first barely discernible, and initially Maric thought they might be darkspawn. He raised his sword in alarm, and Duncan drew his black dagger, but Fiona pointed excitedly.

"It's mages!" she exclaimed.

And she was correct. They halted their descent as the three mages walked up toward them, their robes now evident as well as their staffs. In fact, the man at the head of the group was none other than First Enchanter Remille himself, smiling amiably and holding up his hand to wave at them.

"The First Enchanter?" Duncan asked, confused.

Maric thought it was strangely convenient as well, but Fiona looked purely relieved. "First Enchanter!" she shouted to him. "Thank the Maker you found us!" She picked up her skirt and began running toward the First Enchanter as the mages drew closer.

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