David Gaider - The Calling

Fiona bristled under his scrutiny. She made as if to ignore him, but finally she could take it no longer. “What is it?” she demanded.

“I’m wondering why you aren’t doing anything.”

“I am doing something.”

“Making it glow? Wouldn’t a torch suffice?”

She glanced toward her staff, doing her best to suppress a smirk. “No, not that,” she said. “That barely takes any effort. I’m keeping an eye on the darkspawn. Someone has to.”

“An eye?”

“So to speak. They’ve been getting closer. The brooches that Remille gave us seem to be working so far … it doesn’t look like they know we’re here. But we can’t take any chances. As soon as they spot us, they’re going to tell the rest of the darkspawn.”

“Couldn’t you kill them before they do that?”

The mage’s amusement grew, and she arched a brow at him. “They’re connected to the rest of the darkspawn through the taint. What ever one knows, they all know.”

“How inconvenient.”

“The brooches will keep them from tracking us, but if they become aware of intruders they will begin to swarm. It will be better if we can keep them unaware of our presence for as long as possible. Kell’s gone to see how many there are.”

“Won’t they see him?”

She chuckled. “No. They won’t see him.”

A few more minutes and the tents had vanished into the Grey Wardens’ backpacks, and the rest of the camp along with it. The smoldering campfire and the disturbance to the layers of grime and dust that covered the ground were all that provided evidence of their passing. Genevieve passed out torches to Duncan and Utha, and as soon as those were lit, Fiona allowed her staff to stop shining.

A good thing, Maric figured, as its brilliance would have alerted the darkspawn from miles away. He had to wonder just how many torches they had stored. He remembered there being phosphorescent lichen to offer light in some places, but that was irregular and difficult to count on. The idea of being stuck in smothering darkness down here in the depths was discomfiting, to say the least.

Genevieve wasn’t interested in discussing the state of their supplies, however, and with an intense look she waved to everyone to follow. The speed of her gait made it obvious that she wanted to make up for lost time, and knew exactly where she was going.

The hours that followed were exhausting. Time crawled by slowly, and it was all Maric could do to keep up with the torches ahead. They were two points of warm light, slowly bobbing in passages so thick with shadows it felt almost as if they were swimming in them.

It wasn’t anywhere near as cold as it had been up on the surface, but there was still a chill in the air that worked its way past Maric’s armor and made him shiver. Duncan was too distracted to complain about it, at least. The lad kept his eyes peeled nervously, as did the others, with one hand on his daggers. Maric supposed that if the darkspawn were closer, those daggers would very likely be in his hands rather than in their sheaths.

The stillness was as maddening as he remembered. Nothing moved in the darkness except them, and despite the fact that they tread quickly on hard stone they made very little sound. It was like walking on a field of snow; every whisper was absorbed and every step was hushed. The fact that no one spoke now made it worse.

Sweat poured down his forehead and his legs ached, but he didn’t fall behind. Genevieve pushed them through the long tunnels mercilessly, one hour blending into the next. On the few occasions when they reached a fork in the Deep Roads, she would irritably call for Maric to be brought forth and he would look around and try to remember which way they had come the first time.

He would have thought that after eight years it would be harder, that he would struggle to recall the path. Things had changed here, after all. The spread of the darkspawn corruption was worse, for instance. It didn’t matter. He had no trouble at all remembering the way. He might as well have been here last year, or perhaps a few months ago.

Fiona caught his eyes once. She noticed his grim expression, perhaps, or the way he looked off into the distance. She said nothing, though she appeared curious. He ignored her and turned away.

Eventually Kell returned, the hunter and his hound emerging from the deep shadows of a side passage so suddenly that Maric jumped.

“What did you find?” Genevieve asked, waving at the others behind her to halt.

The man’s unnaturally pale eyes almost seemed to glow from under his hood. He shouldered his bow and then gestured toward his leather jerkin. Maric noticed black blood there for the first time, splashed violently across much of the front. “I was forced to kill a few,” he muttered, obviously displeased with himself, “and the others I led away. None saw me, but they know something is here that should not be.” He turned his head and stared off down the passage, his eyes piercing deep beyond the shadows. “There are more coming, now.”

The Commander frowned, but did not seem upset. “That was inevitable.”

“It is worse. There is a large group directly ahead.”

“Then we will need to detour.”

Maric raised his hand. “Err … this is the route we went last time. If we get off of it, I don’t know that I’ll be able to bring us back.”

Genevieve scowled, staring off in the direction of the approaching darkspawn. She appeared to be weighing the options carefully, the torchlight making her face glow. Finally she gave a sharp nod. “We don’t have any choice, for now. Kell, we’re going to rely on your direction sense to find us a way around.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Oh, Maker’s breath,” Duncan swore softly. Genevieve pointed a finger at the lad without even looking his way and he clamped his mouth shut, looking sour as he did so.

They turned down the side passage, the hunter leading them now. All their weapons were out, and so Maric decided to follow suit. He drew his longsword, its blade pale dragonbone and etched with runes that glowed a bright sapphire. It drew the immediate attention of the others and they ground to a sudden halt, staring at him in surprise.

Utha stepped forward, eyes wide, gesturing sharply.

Julien frowned nearby. “She wants to know where you got that,” he explained.

“I found it here in the Deep Roads,” he admitted, “in the hands of a long-dead dwarf. I offered to give it back to the dwarves, but King Endrin refused.”

Utha nodded, and made another hand gesture that didn’t need to be interpreted. She was impressed. The others nodded approvingly, and turned to keep moving. Duncan hesitated, however. “Does it always glow like that?” he asked.

“No. It’s reacting to the darkspawn, I think.” He held it out toward the wall, something he’d done when he first found the blade, and watched the reaction of the Grey Wardens as the corruption covering the wall recoiled away from the blade like a living thing. The stone beneath was now bared, sapphire light shining over it.

“Sounds handy,” Duncan muttered.

“I used to be lucky that way. Magical swords lying around, people racing in to rescue me at the last moment, bumping into dwarven legions in the middle of the Deep Roads, that sort of thing.”

The lad stared at him, apparently assuming he was joking. “Well, let’s hope your luck continues, then.”

“Let’s hope.”

They pressed on, almost running now. The clinking sound of their metal armor was added to the thump of their packs and the tread of their boots on the rock … and off in the distance Maric could hear a humming. It was a deep sound that reverberated throughout the passage, a dread whisper that seemed to come from all directions at once.