David Gaider - The Calling

“I don’t … she needs to help him!”

“She will.”

Maric’s words were punctuated by another blood-curdling scream from Fiona as the last arrow was yanked from her stomach. This time the mage did fold, clutching at her chest and shaking with exhaustion. Utha could do little more than look on in sympathy. Fiona gasped and spasmed as she attempted to control her agony enough to stand. Duncan stood back as she finally did so.

“I’m fine,” she gritted weakly through her teeth. With a wave of a hand, a warm blue glow suddenly suffused her entire body. She gasped out loud as the pain was lifted from her, arching her back as the magic worked its way through her body. Maric watched, impressed, as several of the smaller cuts along her arms slowly closed and healed. When the spell was finished, the glow disappeared and Fiona collapsed limply. Duncan rushed forward to catch her before she hit the ground, and with a grin he tapped her on the cheek.

“Hey there,” he said with a chuckle. “No passing out just yet.”

“I know,” she groaned.

Utha passed the lad a potion in a white bottle, which he immediately pressed to Fiona’s lips. The mage made a sour face but drank as bidden, and then coughed severely as what ever had been inside jolted her upright. She shuddered convulsively once. Then she opened her eyes and looked around, still splattered in blood and pale as a sheet, but the weakness seemed to have been driven from her.

“See?” Maric patted Julien on the back. “She’s fine. Nicolas will be fine as well, once she gets to him. I’ve been injured like that a few times, myself. Nothing handier than having a mage around to patch you up.”

The warrior looked embarrassed and allowed himself to be helped back up to his feet. “I apologize, King Maric. I must look like a foolish old woman to you.”

“It’s just Maric … and don’t be ridiculous. You two are obviously friends. I happen to know what that’s like, believe it or not.”

Julien paused, giving him a look that he wasn’t quite sure how to read. Perhaps he thought Maric was being disingenuous? Eventually the man smiled a bit sheepishly, reassured. Without saying anything further, he ran to help Kell with his friend.

Genevieve watched Maric carefully from across the passage. She wiped the gore from her face with a length of cloth, but her eyes remained fixed on him. Her look was tense, he thought, and perhaps dangerous. The others hovered near Fiona, helping the mage gather her strength for healing spells, and only their commander stood apart. It was just a matter of a few feet, but it may as well have been miles. Maric had to wonder if it had always been that way for the Commander.

Healing was doled out quickly, even as they listened to the sounds of the alien humming growing louder and louder in the tunnels. The other darkspawn were getting closer, and from the growing tension in Genevieve’s pacing, Maric assumed that there must be more on the way from other directions now, as well.

The magic that Fiona provided had its limitations. It could mend flesh and restore a degree of health, but severe wounds were beyond her ability to heal. Julien’s broken arm remained broken, and while Nicolas could walk, it seemed certain he had internal injuries that would continue to plague him. Fiona herself clearly was not fully recovered. Utha hovered around her, wringing her hands nervously the more the mage pushed her limits.

When the time came for Maric’s turn, Fiona was already shaking and coated in a fresh sheen of sweat. This was sapping what little reserves of mana the mage had left, he could tell. When she raised her hand to touch his forehead, he stopped her.

“I’m not badly injured. I’ll be fine.”

She arched an eyebrow curiously. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“It’s supposed to save your strength, actually.”

The elf appeared taken aback. She hesitated, her dark eyes meeting his for a moment, before touching his forehead despite his protest. “Let me worry about my strength.” Her tone was gruff but her fingers were gentle, brushing his skin lightly as the tingle of her magic began to wash through him. He tried not to stare at her, and instead concentrated on the aura of sapphire light that surrounded him.

His twisted leg felt better immediately, if not completely repaired. The puncture wound in his gut left by the arrow similarly stopped bleeding. While not whole, the spell left him feeling a thousand times better. He smiled his appreciation at the mage, and she shot him a dubious look and said nothing in return before moving on.

Genevieve had them traveling again within minutes. They moved almost as quickly as before, or tried to, as the various injuries served to slow them down considerably. They were also exhausted, Fiona most of all. Still, the Commander spent her time constantly urging them to move faster and faster. Despite the wounds she herself must have suffered, she seemed unimpaired and drove herself by sheer force of will alone.

Fear worked to speed them, as well. Maric didn’t need supernatural senses to tell that the darkspawn were closing in on them no matter how fast they moved. The humming was constant now, and he almost expected to spot a horde of darkspawn waiting around every turn.

They reentered the Deep Roads proper, dropping back into the dwarven passages through a great crack in the walls that could very well have been caused by some natural tremor. It looked to Maric like any other part of the Deep Roads did: dark and forbidding, with broken statues of the dwarven Paragons and the darkspawn corruption spreading over it all. How would they find their way back to the proper route now?

He didn’t have time to think about it, as it soon turned into a chase. Genevieve’s cries became frantic and they broke into a full run. Exhaustion burned his muscles as they pushed and pushed, taking one turn after the other. He began to hear more than the humming off in the shadows: Now he heard the hisses and clanging of metal, the shouts of true pursuit.

They left the Deep Roads again, though this time there was little choice. The passage simply seemed to sever—not neatly, either, but like a broken limb with the jagged edges of bone still protruding from the flesh. Beyond the broken stone lay only a wide natural cavern, the floor a sizable drop down. Whether the passage picked up ahead at some point again was impossible to discern through the darkness. Perhaps the entire thing had caved in here, but why?

They couldn’t turn back. Going down was the only option. With the sounds of the darkspawn still approaching, Genevieve led the way by making the leap into the cavern. She landed and remained crouched for a moment, her sword held at the ready as she scanned the shadows for any sign of life. Nothing moved.

The rest of them followed immediately after. Maric landed hard on his sore leg and hissed in pain. The others ignored him, remaining still as they scanned the shadows. The only thing that the light on the mage’s staff revealed around them was great chunks of rubble.

There was also the acrid smell of brimstone. Maric found it almost overpowering. Was there some kind of natural spring nearby?

“What is that?” Duncan complained.

“Quiet!” Genevieve snapped. Her sword remained out, her eyes at once so wary and so exhausted that they looked positively murderous. She obviously was convinced they were not alone. Duncan’s jaw closed with an audible click.

Her caution was infectious, and while they moved forward into the unknown darkness of the cavern, they did so only slowly. Fiona held up her staff and made it shine brightly enough to show where they were more clearly. This was definitely some kind of natural fissure, and they could see the jutting bones of other passages up above at several junctures. This great cavern lay between the Deep Roads, or around it. It was difficult to tell.