David Gaider - The Calling

Before he could move, however, he heard Fiona cry out a word of power. A thunderous wave of magic rolled out from her, brilliant enough to cause the darkspawn to squeal in pain and cover their eyes, and the entire cavern shook violently from an earthquake. Maric and the darkspawn, and many of the others around him, tumbled to the ground. Rocks shook loose from the ceiling, several larger pieces barely missing his head.

As the dust settled, he looked up. The short elf stood there in her glittering chain armor, shoulders back and seemingly ten feet tall in her victory. Sweat poured from her brow, and her spiky black hair was plastered to her face. Her grin was one of excitement, however, and she was flushed. Her eyes caught Maric’s and she winked at him impishly. He found himself chuckling in response, almost despite himself.

Fiona lifted up her staff high over her head, the white light emanating from it suddenly intensifying as the mage gathered her concentration to deal with the darkspawn around her, who were just now beginning to recover their feet.

The staff’s light flickered suddenly as a pair of arrows sprouted from the mage’s chest. Her eyes went wide as she looked down at them, a bright red bloodstain quickly spreading on the chain mail.

Her face twisted into outrage. “Bloody bastards!” she swore.

Another arrow flew at her and only barely missed her head. She stumbled to the side, clutching gingerly at the arrows stuck in her chest with her free hand. Maric spun around and spotted the culprit: a pale-skinned genlock not ten feet away from him, standing on top of a large outcropping of rock and using a crude-looking, blackened shortbow.

Springing into action, Maric charged toward the creature. He swung his longsword in wide arcs around him, forcing a path through the melee. He saw Duncan, fighting expertly with his daggers, wounded with several severe-looking gashes. Red blood mixed with black on the lad’s dark leathers, yet he didn’t slow. Instead Duncan snarled, baring his teeth and assuming a savage countenance that Maric found surprising as he charged into yet more opponents.

He had no time to stop and help, however. A new darkspawn, this one a tall hurlock with heavy golden armor, lurched into his path. He parried a blow from its massive sword with his own, sparks flying as the blades met, and then began a series of exchanges with it. The creature was no true swordsman, however, and it wasn’t long before Maric outmaneuvered it and cut it down.

He moved on quickly. The pale genlock archer had unleashed several more arrows, and now noticed that Maric was running toward it with his glowing longsword raised. The first arrow it shot at him missed, and the second he deflected with his blade—accidentally, really, though he imagined it looked otherwise.

Watch as King Maric cuts shooting arrows out of the air! Nothing can stop him!

The third arrow caught him in the abdomen, landing with staggering force. So much for not being stopped.

Gathering his strength, he made a final rush toward the archer, leaping up onto the rock where it stood. The creature hissed at him defiantly, and he ran it through without a second thought. Gushes of ichor flowed down his sword blade and the front of his armor. The creature twitched, dropping its bow and emitting a harsh rattle from deep in its throat as it died.

As the genlock slid from his blade and fell from the rock, Maric turned and slipped on its blood. Rather ungracefully he bounced off the side of the rock and landed on the stony ground, a leg twisting painfully underneath him. He managed to hold on to his longsword, but even then he only barely kept it from cutting his own head off. More stars flashed before his eyes, and agony burned throughout his entire body.

Watch as King Maric tumbles to the ground like a fool! See him bounce!

A shadow reared in front of him, and he opened his eyes only to see a hurlock standing over him, ready to bring a battle-axe down upon his head. He tried to lift his blade to fend off the attack, but he was propped up against the rock and in completely the wrong position. He had no leverage.

Kell appeared out of nowhere behind the hurlock. With a shout the hunter brought his flail down directly on the creature’s head, half crushing it and sending a splatter of bone splinters and gore showering out over Maric and the stone behind him.

He felt stunned. He barely noticed the creature slump to the ground, and didn’t respond immediately when the hunter stepped forward to offer his hand.

“Your Majesty?” Kell asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Maric belatedly allowed himself to be helped to his feet, his leg threatening to buckle painfully under his weight. Looking around, he realized that the last few darkspawn were being dealt with. Both Utha and Duncan had come to Fiona’s assistance, although the mage was quite wounded and covered in blood. She seemed less weakened, however, than she was thoroughly angered by her predicament. Nicolas was nearby, being supported by an anxious Julien, though it was difficult to tell which of them was more wounded since they were both coated in black ichor.

Genevieve moved around to the few darkspawn on the ground still struggling, determinedly plunging her blade into their hearts and finishing them off. “We need to get moving,” she growled loudly. “The other group of them is coming this way.” After stabbing another darkspawn, the creature gurgling in pain and then collapsing into silence, she turned and caught Fiona’s attention. “Healing. Do as much as you can, and quickly.”

The elf nodded tersely, her face sweaty and pale. Duncan and Utha both helped her sit down on a rock, careful not to touch the two black arrows that still stuck out of her chest. The dwarf knelt down in front of her, concern evident on her face as she made several hand gestures.

Fiona took a shaky breath. “Do it.”

Utha put one hand on her shoulder, and with the other she grabbed the end of one of the arrows firmly. Fiona flinched and shut her eyes, but did not shy away. Duncan stood next to her, holding her shoulders to keep her steady even if he looked like he was about to be sick.

With a firm jerk, the arrow came free, its wickedly barbed head appearing along with a spurt of dark blood. Fiona cried out in anguish, a throaty and animalistic sound that made Maric shudder. She doubled over, only to be pulled back up by Duncan to keep her from bending the other arrow. She seemed even paler, if that was possible, and the red stain on the front of her chain armor was rapidly expanding.

Maric made to go over to help her, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was Kell, his hood restored and his flail back in its sheath. The hunter looked pained as he gestured to Nicolas. “Come, he will need our help.”

Hafter limped alongside them, filthy and with ichor literally dripping from his muzzle, but mostly unharmed. Lucky dog. Nicolas had collapsed back down to the ground, clutching futilely at his blood-soaked chest plate, and it seemed that Julien was too injured to properly get him up on his own.

“How bad is it?” Kell asked him.

Julien appeared frantic. He was kneeling down, trying desperately to get Nicolas onto his feet with only one arm, the other clearly broken. Nicolas, meanwhile, appeared dazed and barely aware of what was going on around him. “I don’t know!” the dark-haired warrior responded, looking up at Kell with panicked eyes. “We need to get him to the mage! He’ll bleed out!”

Pulling on Nicolas as he was, the man almost seemed to be doing more harm than good. Kell glanced at Maric, and Maric understood immediately what the hunter wanted. Crouching next to Julien, he spoke reassuringly and slowly removed the man’s hands from his friend. The words didn’t matter so much as their tone seemed to work, slowing down the warrior’s panicked breaths and urging him to collect himself as Kell dragged Nicolas away.