Title: The Grey Path
Author: The Phoenix King
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Summary: Humanity's last hope isn't even human. Called upon to walk a path of blood, valour and duty, Sagramor Tabris must raise an army, rise to power and find his inner strength if he is to save Ferelden from the Blight.
Overall Rating: M/R
Pairings: Tabris/Leliana
Disclaimer: Dragon Age characters, settings, and all in-game dialogue property of Bioware.
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Chapter Twenty-Eight: Mahariel’s Calling – Part Two
If the space before the cave’s mouth had been horrifying, what waited for them inside was the stuff of nightmares. The darkspawn, it seemed, had not been content to simply lurk within the winding tunnels, but remake every inch of them in their foul image. Ghastly symbols, daubed onto the walls in blood or faeces, decorated every bend and stretch of rock, while severed heads stood mounted on poles at even intervals, the bloody pits where eyes once sat observing their passage. It was not a mere cavity hollowed out of the earth either, but an entire interconnected network of caverns, linked by passages carved out by the passage of time and the darkspawn alike. Necessity demanded that Ragnar take point, the hound’s nose sensitive enough to pick up Merrill’s trail even through the abominable stench the darkspawn had left, while the rest of the little company followed close at his heels, the darkness held in abeyance by the three floating orbs of light Nimue conjured. Grim as death, Sagramor found himself peering into every darkened alcove and jerking his head to face every slight noise, the latter amplified by the tunnels’ acoustics until it seemed like darkspawn waited in ambush in every shadow.
Abruptly, the tunnel opened into a vast cavern, clusters of great stalagmites standing proud like the graven idols of pagan gods, while stray beams of light filtered in from where the roots of mighty pines had broken through the ceiling above. Merrill was there, her locator ring burning a steady blue glow, and she barely registered the arrival of the Warden’s company, her voice echoing out into the dark before her. “Mahariel, I’m here. Everything will be all right.”
From out of the shadows came a bright flash of blue and a woman’s voice, tainted with a sickly, phlegm-ridden gurgle. “Merrill, no. You can’t see me like this…”
“I’m not abandoning you, ma vhenan,” Merrill insisted. “Please, let me help. Come away from this place, before the darkspawn find you.”
A shadow detached from the cave wall, creeping hesitatingly towards them, and Sagramor went rigid as the sorcerous light laid her ravaged features bare, blade poised to cut the figure down at a moment’s notice. “You can’t help me, Merrill,” Mahariel whimpered, deaf to the horrified gasps of the party. “Nothing can…”
She had been beautiful once, but the darkspawn infection had taken that from her, just as it had her health and sanity. Across now wasted and sunken features illuminated by the locator ring at her throat, a plague of boils had spread, all but coating the right side of her face and leaving her arms marred by throbbing pustules. Beneath her pallid skin, Sagramor saw her veins had turned black from the corruption they bore, causing great chunks of ashen hair to fall from her scalp and marring her wide eyes with milky-white cataracts. Her close-fitting leather armour was in tatters, the fine Dalish craftmanship soiled beyond repair by both her own blood and that of the darkspawn, and as she advanced, Sagramor could see her right hand repeatedly clench and unclench around the hilt of the longsword at her waist. The ghouls he’d encountered on the road with Duncan had been barely cognizant, reduced to raving, maddened fiends by the Archdemon’s influence, and if Mahariel was not at that stage already, she would be soon. “Oh, ma vhenan,” Merrill wept, her hopes turning to dust before her very eyes. “Creators, what have they done to you?”
“Please, Merrill, run. You need to get out of here, before they… before they…” Mahariel’s warning died with a scream of utter anguish, and she fell to her knees amidst the filth, fingers digging into the sides of her head. “Creators, make it stop! Please!”
“What’s happening?” Merrill demanded, stepping forward to assist. Prepared this time, Sagramor snagged her arm before she could slip past. “Let me go, I need to see to her!”
“There’s nothing you can do,” insisted Sagramor, refusing to loosen his grip. “She’s hearing the call of the Archdemon, just as a darkspawn would. And when it asserts control…” He left that obvious outcome unspoken.
“Maker, the poor girl,” Leliana murmured, taking care to keep her bow strung and nocked. “Could this befall the rest of us if we’re infected?”
“I’m not letting that happen,” spat Nimue, fire kindling at the tip of her black walnut staff in sympathy to her outrage. “I don’t care what it takes, better I die then turn into one of these things!”
“It wants me down in the deeps to worship and obey and suffer. It wants us all to suffer,” murmured the wretch. “I won’t do it! I won’t be what it wants me to be!” Mahariel’s head snapped up, milky-white eyes fixated on the Warden, and Sagramor forced himself to remain steadfast under her twisted scrutiny, the sight of his own blade enough to keep her at a distance. “You’ve seen it too, haven’t you? The shadow in your dreams? Urthemiel. You know what’s waiting for us. I can see it in you…”
“What’s she talking about, Sagramor?” Nimue snapped, fear sharpening her tongue.
Another helpless groan from Mahariel spared Sagramor the need to answer. “I can feel its anger, Warden, like needles in my brain. It hates your kind more than anything, and it knows you’re here now. Please, take Merrill and leave this place before they return.”
“I’m not leaving you! We’ll go back to the clan and have the Keeper heal you again. We just have to keep trying!” Choking back a sob, Merrill whirled on Sagramor, eyes welling up with desperate tears. “Please, you’re a Grey Warden. You must know something that can help her.”
“Not when it reaches this stage,” Sagramor stated. “The Order knows ways to minimize the risk of becoming infected, but something like this is beyond our capabilities. I doubt even Wynne’s magic could help her now. I’m sorry, Merrill.”
“But… but…” stammered the Dalish girl. She slumped in his grip, a wave of despair threatening to drag her under, and the hand restraining her from foolish action fell away to offer her own a comforting squeeze. “Oh, Mahariel…”
“End it. End it, please. I can barely hear myself think, the song is so loud!” Mahariel suddenly doubled over, retching black blood onto the cavern floor, and even through her tainted cataracts, Sagramor could see the desperation and anguish, the constant struggle to maintain control over her own will. “Don’t let me hurt the people I care about, Warden! Don’t leave me like this…”
“Do it,” came Geoffrey’s urgent hiss, the horror of Mahariel’s condition robbing him of his usual affability. “Maker’s sake, she’s suffered too much already.”
“I’ll do it,” said Leliana, withdrawing a small vial from the pouch at her waist and dumping its contents into her waterskin. Astonished, Sagramor watched as she approached the sobbing ghoul, any protestations about the risk dying at the hard look in her eyes. “I would not have anyone else suffer the burden of such guilt.”
“But there has to be a way,” Merrill mumbled brokenly. “There has to be a way…”
Sagramor felt it before he saw it, and quicksilver-fast, his belt knife was out, hurtling past Leliana’s head to lodge deep into the shriek’s right eye, the beast dead in mid-pounce before it hit the ground. Fresh shadows boiled up from out of the nearby tunnels, their presence given away by their echoing howls, and just as suddenly, the question of Mahariel’s fate became rather academic.
For they had real monsters to contend with now.
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Uttering a curse that would have earned her a caning back in the Circle, Nimue slammed her black staff against the cavern floor, sending the globes of light flying outwards to rip away the shadows. At least a score of darkspawn stood revealed, their numbers swelling as more stormed out of the nearby tunnels, and without thinking, Sagramor charged directly for the nearest knot of enemies, greatsword taking the head of a hurlock with his first strike.
“Get back!” Nimue shouted, bringing up her staff. Fire engulfed the closest darkspawn and reduced them to screaming torches, their heedless flight spreading the flames yet further, and a smile of cruel delight more suited for Morrigan’s dark beauty appeared on her face, the fear and revulsion that had curdled within her since the battle at the steading finally offered an outlet in the beasts. More flames raked the mass of darkspawn like the claws of some great beast, reaping a notable cull, and the rest of the party seized the initiative, striking hard before they could recover. “You bastards like that?!”
“Stay focused!” Sagramor urged, carving a fresh breach into the mob. His greatsword was a living thing in his hands, riposting their frenzied blows with a practiced ease and leaving them wide open for its killing edge, while any attempts to encircle and strike him from the flanks ended with the rip of Ragnar’s fangs and claws. A hurlock swinging an immense warhammer made for him, its charge halted in its third step by a red-fletched arrow, and at the back of the cavern, Leliana continued sniping, other such priority targets falling to the lethal, measured rhythm of her shots.
In the darkness beyond Nimue’s light-globes and the general chaos of battle, the black line of the noose was all but invisible, even to the elves, the first sign of its presence the strangled cry Leliana offered as it looped around her throat, instantly robbing her of breath. The twisted forms of a half-dozen darkspawn dropped from out of the shadows enshrouding the cave’s ceiling, yanking her into their midst, vile chuckles sounding as she clawed desperately at the cord. “No!” roared the Warden, the greater fight forgotten, Ragnar instantly following his master.
Howling, the darkspawn pressed forward. Geoffrey’s voice boomed, sonorous in the deeps, and the front ranks of the enemy were catapulted backwards, hurled into the cave walls or their vile kin with bone-shattering force. Nimue joined him, flames sweeping over the howling beasts, hot enough to burn the stone black, yet still they came on, their losses forgotten in their haste to rend the intruders apart, the best efforts of the mages like fighting back the ocean tide.
There came the sound of thunder, and lightning exploded at the heart of the pack, the shockwave throwing darkspawn of their feet and scattering the smouldering and blasted pieces of those caught at the epicentre across the cavern. “You’re not hurting anyone else!” the Dalish girl proclaimed, the song of her incantation a demanding threnody. The darkspawn who’d ensnared Leliana were repaid in kind, clusters of thick, thorn-laden brambles sprouting into existence beneath their feet to wrap around their limbs and tear them away from their prize, their outraged shrieks at the intrusion silenced for good by the Warden’s vengeful sword. A few emphatic gestures sent the brambles racing throughout the cavern like a plague, infesting the ground where the main body of the darkspawn warband stood, stalling their charge and buying time for Nimue and Geoffrey to bring further sorceries to bear.
The hated noose finally gave way and Leliana gasped, frantically taking in air. “Are you all right?” demanded Sagramor, panic colouring his words, desperately peering about her face and neck for any sign the darkspawn infection had taken hold. A flash of motion in the corner of his eye, and Sagramor whirled about, the hurlock’s blade stopped dead in mid-air before it could plunge into his spine, as if slamming against an invisible wall. Sweat pouring down his face, Geoffrey shouted a second incantation, and more such barriers closed in about the hapless darkspawn, its limbs resisting the pressure but a moment before it was crushed in on itself into a hands-breadth of space.
Nodding in thanks, Sagramor helped Leliana rise from the cavern’s floor, bow restored to her grip. The flow of the battle was shifting towards them, the sorceries of the two elves wreaking devastation upon the darkspawn even as the flow of reinforcements slowed to a trickle. “We can do this,” Sagramor insisted to himself, gritting his teeth and hurling himself back into the fray. “We can do this! Stand firm and kill them all!”
And from the deeps, the terrifyingly familiar sound of monstrous footsteps sounded in answer, any more defiant words turning to ash in Sagramor’s mouth. Immense horns scraped free from one of the far tunnels with the ghastly screech of bone against rock, and the cavern shook with the heavy crash of their feet, the rest of the party faltering in shock at the gargantuan monstrosities come to join the fray.
Ogres. A pair of them, bearing down on the party in an avalanche of muscled flesh and inhuman rage, lesser darkspawn crushed underfoot or swatted aside. Leliana was the first to recover, and the lead ogre stumbled, clumsy fingers striving to take out the arrow lodged in its left eye. Bolts of fire and spirit energy peppered their thick hides, slowing but not stopping them, and Sagramor cursed the lesser darkspawn that crowded around him, keeping him from preparing to meet the ogres’ charge.
For there was one factor to the fight they’d all forgotten about…
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The moment the darkspawn were revealed, Mahariel had taken the opportunity to scamper out of the proverbial line of fire, her flight going unnoticed in the ensuing struggle. Panting, the Dalish huntress fled to the relative shelter offered by a great stalagmite, hands clasped against her head, her whimpers going unnoticed in the symphony of clashing steel. “She shouldn’t have come…” she whispered to herself, daring to look back towards Merrill, visible through the chaos by the halo of lightning that wreathed her, blasting darkspawn apart. “It wants her now. It wants them all…”
Except for one. Except for the Warden, and Mahariel felt her blood churn at the very thought of him, its anger for the darkspawn slayer so intense her hands moved of their own volition, drawing her veridium longsword free. Milky-white eyes turned towards Sagramor, judging the distance between them, and she shivered uncontrollably, the song so loud blood began pouring from her ears and nostrils, its presence stronger than it ever had been. From her tainted blood, from the very depths of all the hells there ever were, it called to her, the whispers that defined her nightmarish existence coalescing into a single, sanity-shattering demand.
SUBMIT.
Something broke inside Mahariel, and with a feral scream, she charged into the madness, eyes wild. Down came her longsword, not towards Sagramor, but the nearest hurlock, a single wild slash tearing it apart, and Sagramor gasped in shock as she laid into the rest of the pack, their momentary confusion at being attacked by one so infected all the opening she required. “I am the last of the Elvhenan!” she raved, all knowledge of proper swordcraft lost in her frenzy. “And never shall I submit!”
Howling in outrage, the darkspawn moved against this new threat, yet she barely registered the kiss of their blades against her flesh, such was the endless agony of her condition. The first black iron sword bit deep into her side, and Merrill let out a wail of anguish, a half-dozen darkspawn paying the weregild with their lives, lightning blasting them to clouds of ash. Still Mahariel pressed the attack, a whirling dervish of death seeking her own, the voice that sought to command her drowned out by the fury of battle.
The first of the ogres reached the press, the shaft in its eye joined by five more buried deep into its chest, great fist slamming down towards Mahariel. Barely dodging, she counterattacked in a mindless fury, driving her longsword home in its guts, her scream of triumph dying as its other hand closed around her midsection with the sound of snapping ribs. “Take it down!” ordered Sagramor, leading by example as his greatsword struck at the tendons in its right ankle.
Weathering the party’s strikes, the ogre bore Mahariel off the ground, her sword tearing free of its midsection. With the last remnants of her strength, the infected huntress thrust the blade forward, and the ogre stumbled backwards, its grip on her forsaken to paw at the length of metal jutting through its windpipe. Dalish girl and darkspawn monster hit the ground hard, but it was the former who rose while the latter thrashed about in its death throes, and she turned to Merrill, hideous features twisted into a smile. “It’s going to be all right, ma vhenan. You’ll s--”
Blood, black as sin, welled up in her mouth, washing away her words of comfort, and Mahariel looked down at the pair of rusty spearheads jutting out her chest. The pikes holding her dying body upright fell away, and the darkspawn fell upon her from all directions, drowning her beneath a tide of corrupted flesh, her life’s blood splattered about them in their fury. Heeding Merrill’s despairing screams, more roots exploded from out of the rock to entangle Mahariel’s attackers, but the darkspawn were too many and the approach of the second ogre far too pressing for the Warden’s party to ignore.
“No more.” Somehow, Merrill’s small voice made itself heard in the chaos, and Sagramor finished slicing another genlock open in time to see the Dalish mage cast her staff to the floor, hands darting to the little knife at her side. Beneath the floating magelights, fresh steel gleamed in her right hand, and a fear greater than anything the Blight had provoked in him took hold at the sight of the little dagger, only Ragnar’s intervention keeping the foe from taking advantage of the otherwise fatal distraction. “I won’t let you take any more of my clan. No more!”
Down came the blade, slicing cleanly through pale flesh, and the magic poured from the wound, Nimue and Geoffrey’s own sorceries faltering at the sheer power the girl projected. “Andraste…” Leliana whispered in horror, bowstring slackening, and even the darkspawn became transfixed, the more cunning among them trying to close the distance before Merrill could bring her powers to bear.
Too late. With an anguished cry, Merrill throw her hands outwards, droplets of blood suspended in midair. As one, the darkspawn began to scream, a dozen, two dozen, until every last beast in the cavern was united in a chorus of agony, malformed bodies shuddering as if caught in the grip of a palsy. To Sagramor’s horrified fascination, they began to swell, like waterskins filled to bursting, flesh straining against cages of skin and bone. The ogre stumbled onto its knees, its now bloated limbs unable to bear its own weight, while the pack that had been savaging Mahariel were torn away from their victim by invisible talons, hurled away to strike the walls with wet, fat pops.
“Everyone, stay close!” Merrill cried, leaping to Mahariel’s side. As the last of the party darted over to her, she drove her staff the ground, sending thin walls of stone rising protectively around them just as the anguished screams of the darkspawn reached a crescendo.
It was a mercy, perhaps, that the conjured barriers spared Sagramor the sight of Merrill’s blood magic finishing its grisly work upon the darkspawn, but it did not stop him hearing their howls of agony violently cut off as they popped like blisters, the sound of bursting flesh accompanied by repeated wet splashes against their stone shelter. It took half a minute for the last of the darkspawn to die, and when the walls crumbled away, only blood and scraps of bone remained of the foe, every surface painted black with their gore. “Mahariel!” Merrill cried as she knelt over the dying elf, the devastation she’d wrought and the horrified expressions the Warden’s party bore mere transient details in her desperation to save her clanmate, bloody hands frantically rummaging through her many pouches and satchels, hoping against hope to find the answer to her survival. “I’m here, just hold on!”
Maleficarum. She’s maleficarum.
Fear, inescapable as an ogre’s grasp, took hold of the Warden, and before he could stop himself, he was moving behind Merrill, belt knife whispering free of its sheath. Only a few paces separated the two, and its edge had been whetted keen only the night before. A single swift thrust to the nape of the blood mage’s neck as she knelt over Mahariel, and any threat she might conceivably pose to his companions would be ended quickly and painlessly, the atrocities that Uldred and the Connor-abomination had wrought never to be repeated by her.
And all it would take was to give into that fear, to literally stab someone in the back who’d fought so hard for their sake and even now wept hopelessly at her inability to save Mahariel. All it would take would be to break the promise he made his mother, to fail that test when it mattered the most and discard all honour. “No,” Sagramor murmured, blade lowering of its own accord, the fear replaced by a profound disappointment in himself. No, it was not fair to condemn Merrill for the crimes of others, even other blood mages, and harming someone over what they might do would make him no better than all those who’d persecuted his people in the past. Fear was an enemy like any other, and good men did not bow to it.
No matter how much they wanted to.
“You can’t die, ma vhenan, not in this horrid place. Don’t leave me alone like this, please!” Sagramor’s hand fell on her shoulder in a comforting gesture, and Merrill sobbed, turning to the Warden helplessly. “You have to help her, Warden: a potion, a healing spell, anything!”
“I’m sorry, Merrill,” Nimue answered for him, her own misgivings about the blood mage likewise tabled in the name of compassion. “She’s beyond even Wynne’s power to save now, and Geoffrey and I are nowhere near the healer she is.”
“But…”
“Merrill.” Mahariel’s voice, calm and soothing, halted any further protests from the blood mage, and even as her life’s blood drained out of her, a reassuring smile appeared on her ravaged features, the chains of her Blight-induced madness falling away with the approach of death. “It’s going to be all right.”
“No, it isn’t! We were going to set things right for our people, ma vhenan, together! You must live, Mahariel. I can’t…” Merrill’s throat swelled shut, grief momentarily robbing her of speech. “I can’t do this without you.”
“Yes, you can. You’ve always been stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Mahariel whispered. “You’ll make a better world, I know you will. I just wish I could be there to see all the great things you’ll achieve.” The ghoul gave a deep, bone-rattling cough, wracking her dying body with pain. “I can’t hear the song anymore, Merrill. Would you sing for me? Something nicer…”
Merrill nodded, taking a shuddering breath to steady herself, and softly, she began to sing, the first verses sending a chill up Sagramor’s spine at their power.
Hahren na melana sahlin
Emma ir abelas
Souver'inan isala hamin
Vhenan him dor'felas
In uthenera na revas
Without missing a beat, Leliana joined in perfect harmony, enunciating each of the elven words as if born to that tongue. In her final moments, Mahariel donned a contented smile, and Sagramor saw her slip peacefully away, carried off to her final rest by the pair of angelic voices lighting up the dark.
Vir sulahn'nehn
Vir dirthera
Vir samahl la numin
Vir lath sa'vunin
The final note faded in time with Mahariel’s last breath, and Merrill wept afresh, hunched over the still form of her clanmate, thin body shuddering in her grief. “You did all you could for her, Merrill,” Sagramor consoled her, kneeling at her side. “It’s not your fault.”
“I should have… I should have…”
“There was nothing more to be done. She was in pain, Merrill, but now she’s free of it. The darkspawn can’t hurt her anymore.”
Forcing the tears away, Merrill rose to her feet, her magic singing back to life. Across the cavern, shattered hunks of stone levitated upwards, quickly assembling into a cairn over Mahariel’s body, and with a sharp word of power, the individual rocks fused together into a smooth, uniform cocoon of hardened stone, impenetrable to darkspawn claws and blades. “Falon’Din watch over your rest, ma vhenan. May the Trickster never find you in the Beyond,” Merrill intoned. “Do any darkspawn remain, Warden?”
The echo of distant howls reverberating down the length of a nearby tunnel gave them their answer, sending lightning flaring vengefully from the tip of the Dalish mage’s staff. “Then let us finish this, once and for all!”
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There was no need for a Warden’s senses to tell them where the darkspawn had come from, the monstrous howls echoing throughout the blood-splattered tunnels doing an ample job of guiding them onwards. For all their savagery, the darkspawn had been cunning enough to fall back and regroup rather than throwing themselves at the Warden’s company piecemeal, and in the few minutes it had taken them to make their way to the breach point, at least two dozen of the beasts had rallied, a howling mass eager for bloodshed that greeted the first glimpse of the interlopers at the tunnel’s mouth with a volley of crossbow bolts.
The cavern floor suddenly convulsed, bucking and writhing like a maddened steed trying to dislodge its rider, hurling darkspawn off their feet and reducing the storm of missiles to the merest trickle. Volcanic heat bubbled up from the mouth of the tunnel, washing over the foremost darkspawn in a tide of flame, and in its wake came Sagramor, bursting through the clouds of ash like some avenging angel, greatsword singing its deathsong as it bit deep into the ranks of the foe. Darkspawn archers began falling, Leliana’s red-fletched arrows finding their mark, their attempts at reprisal stopped dead in their tracks by Ragnar’s claws and whatever spells Geoffrey’s waning strength could muster. More darkspawn poured up through the breach, and the Warden cursed, feeling the engagement start to turn in the enemy’s favour. “Kill them all!” he roared, slashing the nearest genlock open and booting the dying beast back into the mob.
Then, with the sound of bare feet padding upon stone, the pendulum of war swung back to those who dwelt above.
Steady and certain as death, Merrill made her way towards the raging melee, neither her stride nor the passionate rhythm of her incantations faltering for an instant despite the tears streaming down her beautiful features. Sagramor’s schooling in the abilities of the Templars had barely begun, relatively speaking, yet there was no denying the power radiating from the Dalish girl, beautiful and terrible in equal measure, like the heavy stillness before a great summer storm. A single quick slash along her right palm, and the storm broke, the magic surging forth with a strength he doubted even Wynne could match. It was as if the earth itself had finally awoken to the vile creatures infesting it, its disgust made manifest in Merrill’s sorcery so that the very ground on which they fought turned against the beasts, their strength and fury rendered meaningless. From above, the roots of great trees heeded Merrill’s furious call, growing to unnatural size and punching through solid stone to entangle the darkspawn, seizing swordarms in mid-swing and squeezing tight about their necks with the brittle crack of snapping vertebrae. From below, the skin of the cavern floor suddenly split to reveal a series of wide stone maws, the shrieks of the darkspawn falling into them lost beneath the rumble of great granite molars masticating flesh and steel and bone. At the rear of the darkspawn mob, genlocks burst into clouds of gore, obliterated on the raw edge of her grief, while those at the front seeking her blood fell prey to the great arcs of lightning that lashed the air about her like taskmaster’s whips, hurtled away as scraps of scorched bone and charred meat.
Witchfire slammed into Merrill’s arcane shield, driving her back across the cavern, and Sagramor saw the emissary rise out from amongst the press, the collection of Chantry amulets brandished as trophies from the tip of its staff proof it was responsible for plaguing the Aeonar Templars at the farmstead and beyond. Leliana’s aim twitched, sending a bodkin-tipped arrow towards its face, only for a single gesture from the darkspawn mage to dissolve the heavy oaken shaft in midflight. A series of throaty howls rallied the surviving darkspawn, and Sagramor cursed as he and Ragnar were forced onto the defensive. “Don’t let them isolate you! Stick together and cut them down!”
The emissary’s head snapped towards him, lipless mouth pulling back to expose rows of jagged fangs, and Sagramor leapt aside, witchfire licking at the edges of his cloak. Darkspawn fell upon him, blades scoring his breastplate, their screams of triumph lasting for but an instant before Geoffrey’s force magic plucked the beasts from the ground and dashed them against the roof of the cave with enough force to baptise Sagramor beneath a rain of gore.
Thunder boomed once more, deafening in the tight confines of the cavern, and at the heart of the storm, Merrill and the emissary clashed, stray bolts of lightning and spirit energy reflecting off their arcane shields and laying waste to the surrounding darkspawn. For all her incredible power, the emissary was managing to hold her at bay, its remaining minions heedlessly charging against the Warden’s party to keep them from intervening, their lives thrown away to buy it time.
Time enough for the beast to kill her.
Through the chaos of the melee, Sagramor glimpsed Merrill tremble, arms wavering with the strain of holding the emissary at bay, and the gallantry Morrigan had so often mocked spurred him forward, cutting down the darkspawn with renewed fury. Ahead, the emissary pressed its advantage, a fresh sorcerous blast forcing Merrill to her knees, and in his mind’s eye, he saw her claimed by the same contagion that had warped Mahariel, the mere thought more than he could stand. On instinct, his right arm rose, reaching out for the emissary, and in his panic, he failed to register the power making itself known within. “No!”
Light, the un-magic of the Templars, exploded outwards, catching the emissary unawares and hurling it back against the wall of the cavern, shrieking in agony. Gasping, Sagramor fell to his knees, utterly drained, greatsword reduced to a walking stick in the effort to keep his body upright, and only Ragnar’s fangs and the skillfully wielded Green Blade kept the darkspawn from exploiting that weakness. Beyond, the emissary struggled to regain its own footing, staff torn from its grasp by Sagramor’s attack, its magic reduced to impotent sputterings of witchfire at its fingertips. Blank white eyes turned to the source of its weakness, and with a savage howl, it leapt upwards, claws raised to rend the Warden limb from limb.
The first tree root descended with a viper’s swiftness, snagging about the creature’s right arm and bringing its charge to a violent halt. Obedient to the strident call of Merrill’s sorcery, dozens more fell upon the emissary. Howling, it brought its remaining magics to bear, roots bursting into flame, entropic energies crumbling others into dust, yet for each the emissary destroyed, three more emerged to take its place, seizing its limbs and bearing it above the floor of the cave. Nimue sent another wave of fire forth, cutting off any attempts by the lesser darkspawn to come to its aid, and above the crackle of burning flesh, Sagramor heard Merrill speak, every syllable made unto steel.
“You will never threaten my people again.”
Merrill’s fists clenched, and the emissary gave a final scream as the roots pulled savagely at its limbs, ripping it asunder in a burst of fetid gore. Momentarily taken aback by the loss of their leader, the rest of the darkspawn warband was quickly dealt with, Nimue’s Circle-trained sorceries and Merrill’s blood magic scouring them into oblivion, and no sooner had the last of the beasts fallen did the former whirl upon Sagramor, staff levelled against him in condemnation. “You’re a bloody Templar? Maker’s breath, having Alistair around is bad enough, but--”
“I’ve only just started learning their ways, and only because we’ve been encountering demons far too often for comfort,” Sagramor protested between laborious breaths, sweat pouring down his forehead. It felt like he’d just run up the side of a mountain in full plate, and inwardly, the elf marvelled at how Alistair could employ his Templar powers and remain standing, much less remain capable of fighting. I really do have a lot to learn, he told himself, accepting Leliana’s helping hand. “I’d never use such powers to hurt you, Nimue, I swear it.”
The apostate refused to be mollified, her suspicions whetted keen from her time in the Aeonar. “You should never have damn well taken them up in the first place! If I had known--”
“You really believe that if I bought into the way the Templars sees things, I would have given you the choice to begin with? That I’d even consider trusting you?” Sagramor demanded, her mouth tightening in answer. Sharply, he gestured towards Merrill, the Dalish girl engrossed in applying a sharp-smelling balm to her self-inflicted wounds. “Or her?”
“Could we save the debate on the ethics of the Templar Order until after we’ve left the festering pit of horror? Please?” Geoffrey interjected, holding his ground at Nimue’s withering stare. “I mean, far be it from me to insist on what your priorities should be, but we still got a great bloody passage to the Deep Roads here. Maybe that takes precedence?”
“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” acknowledged Sagramor. “Could we get some more light, Nimue?”
For a moment, he wasn’t certain Nimue would comply, so palpable was the anger that lingered around her, but at last she conceded, fresh globes of magelight emerging to throw the breach into stark relief. It was far larger than he’d anticipated, a great aperture hacked out of solid rock wide enough for five darkspawn to walk abreast, and cautiously, Sagramor stepped into its mouth, blade raised. A word of power from Nimue sent one of the magelights racing down the slope of the tunnel, deeper and deeper into the earth, exposing bracings of earth and timber at roughly even intervals, and at the very edge of his vision, Sagramor caught the suggestion of vast carved pillars down in the furthest reaches before the light faded to nothing. “It really does reach the Deep Roads,” Leliana marvelled, moving to the Warden’s side.
“Yes, and it looks like the darkspawn built this tunnel to last, too. Maker knows how many troops they planned on bringing through here,” said Sagramor, pausing to consider the matter. “Nimue? Geoffrey? Any thoughts on how best to take it down?”
“I can do it,” Merrill stated, drawing every eye towards her. “I have strength enough, I think.”
With her blood magic. The unspoken assertion hung rank in the air, and it was only sheer force of will that kept Sagramor from visibly squirming at the notion, the reminder of what Merrill had involved herself in an uncomfortable one. Benefitting from blood magic that she decides to employ without our input is one thing, but actively encouraging her to use it?
It was a particularly sticky moral quandary, and one he did not immediately have an answer for, so Sagramor was grateful for more reason than one when Nimue approached, clasping hands with the Dalish girl. “There’s no need for you to do this alone, Merrill. Tell me, have you ever cast a spell in unison with another mage before?”
“Once or twice, but only with the Keeper. I’ve never even met a Circle-trained mage before today.”
“That’s all right, we’ll manage. Now…”
Gingerly, Nimue took Merrill aside, only the barest fragments of their hushed conference reaching Sagramor’s ears, and after a moment, he gave up trying to follow the interplay of arcane phrases. Dimly, the pain of the small wounds he’d suffered over the course of the fighting made themselves known, but he stoically ignored them, fixing his attentions towards the tunnel, Warden senses reaching out for any sign of the foe and finding nothing. But for how much longer?
“Stand clear, everyone!” Nimue called out. “You too, Geoffrey; you’re worn down enough as it is.”
“You sure about this?” asked Geoffrey. “I know a little bit of Primal magic, enough to be of use, at any rate.”
“It’s all right, us girls have got this. Right, Merrill?” The Dalish girl nodded in answer, the first motes of light gathering at their fingertips. “Now, just like I said…”
Softly, the elven mages began to chant, Sagramor’s Templar abilities detecting the flare of sorcery almost immediately, and across the walls and ceiling, stone began to flow like water, funneling into the mouth of the breach. Sagramor caught a glimpse of the tunnel’s walls swelling closed, the darkspawn mineworks giving way with the snap of timbers, cutting off any glimpse of the Deep Roads beneath a shower of falling rocks. The incantation took on a new urgency, and a tidal wave of liquid stone gushed through the length of the tunnel, filling up every last inch of space and welling up through the breach. A few moments spent magically sculpting the flow before it set hard as Tevinter concrete, and the breach was sealed completely, their work so thorough nothing but smooth granite remained where it once stood.
The magic faded, and Merrill gave a small sigh, legs buckling out from under her as the full force of her exertions finally caught up with her, only Leliana’s hasty intervention keeping her upright. “I’m… I’m fine,” the Dalish girl murmured, wide eyes half-lidded in exhaustion.
“You did good, Merrill,” Sagramor exclaimed, receiving a grateful smile in response. “Nimue? You all right?”
“Just need to catch my breath, that’s all,” Nimue assured him, wiping sweat from her brow with a shaking hand.” Give me a minute, and I’ll weaken the ceiling of this cave when we go. Even if the darkspawn manage to hack out a new tunnel here, an extra few hundred tons of rock blocking their way might be enough to deter them. That is, if it meets with your approval, Sagramor.”
“Whatever you think is best,” Sagramor replied, forcing himself to remain civil at her snide tone. Ahead, Leliana was gently guiding Merrill out of the cave, her own sense of compassion likewise winning out over fear, and Sagramor resolved to follow that example. My fear nearly cost us victory today, not to mention Merrill’s life. I can’t fall prey to such weakness again, not with so much at stake…