David Gaider - The Calling

“And where is this Grey Warden?”

“He is dead.” The Architect’s tone was flat, perhaps even sad. Bregan considered the possibility that this man it spoke of had been a friend of some kind. Was that possible? It seemed perhaps it was. “By his own choice. He could not endure the transformation as you have. It was beyond his tolerance.”

“Ah.”

“I knew that one day you would come.” Now the darkspawn’s fervor returned, and it stared at Bregan intensely with its milky eyes. “And I knew that when you came, I would be able to bring you here, and that you would see the true purpose that lies before us.”

“You knew it?”

“I had a vision.”

Bregan shuddered, and he found himself growing even colder than he had felt before. Vigorously he rubbed his arms in the chair. Darkspawn dreaming seemed bizarre indeed. Was the Architect speaking of a prophecy? Did it believe in the Maker? He was almost frightened to ask, but the more he thought of the implications, the more agitated he grew.

Yet the thought of ending the Blights … according to the Chantry, it had all begun with the Maker. Mankind had intruded into heaven and destroyed it with his sin, and the Maker had thrown those men back to earth to become darkspawn. So was it not fitting that visions, the very handiwork of the Maker, be involved in the Blights’ end? Perhaps the Maker had forgiven mankind at last?

The very idea … could it be true? It made his heart beat quickly, made him nervously tap his foot on the floor.

“And, let us say I considered telling you where the remaining Old Gods were,” he said slowly. “How do I know this isn’t just some ruse for the darkspawn to do what you yourself say they are compelled to do: Find the Old Gods?”

“That is an excellent question. I do not know how it might be possible to convince you of this, but my intent is not to awaken the Old Gods. My intent is to slay them. Their call must come to an end.”

Bregan sat back in his chair, letting out his breath slowly. Kill the remaining Old Gods? Prevent another Blight from ever occurring? Set the darkspawn free from their compulsion? Were these things even possible? He didn’t know. Yet in his heart he knew he had already made his decision, when he had turned back into the Deep Roads with the Architect instead of escaping to the surface.

He didn’t even need to say it. The emissary watched him closely and was silent; he knew that Bregan was going to help him. Perhaps his vision had told him this and he’d known all along. Bregan knew a little of visions. He knew of the Fade, and what it meant to walk its roads. He knew that sometimes the Maker worked in mysterious ways. More mysterious than Bregan could ever have guessed, if there was truly some purpose to him being where he was and having suffered as he had.

“If we are to do this thing,” he sighed, “then there is something you should know. I believe my sister is coming. With other Grey Wardens. I think she knows I am still alive.”

The darkspawn didn’t ask how he knew. It merely nodded. “Yes, I am aware.”

“You are?”

“I am.” It leaned forward in its chair, staring at Bregan intensely. “We will need to prepare for their arrival.” It didn’t take long for Maric to discover what the murmur they’d heard at the underground lake had actually been. The sound arose again behind them as the group passed through a long and narrow cavern lined with stalagmites. Now that it wasn’t coupled with the echoes of dripping water it was much clearer, and sounded almost as if there were people hidden in the shadows whispering to each other under their breath.

“What is that?” he asked, stopping to look behind them. All he could see, however, was more impenetrable darkness and more rocks. The sound stopped immediately, as if reacting to the sudden scrutiny. He tried to peer into the darkness, half expecting to see bodies scurrying out of sight. But there was nothing.

Kell paused beside him, also turning to look. Maric wondered if the hunter’s strange eyes saw more than his did. Hafter stopped at the same time, sniffing experimentally at the air and uttering a low and menacing growl. Finally Kell pointed at one of the stalagmites just on the edges of the light given off by Fiona’s staff.

Maric watched, but didn’t see anything unusual about it. Just as he was about to ask, he suddenly noticed movement. The “stalagmite” unfolded, revealing a serpentine creature with a long and wormlike neck that ended in a maw full of sharp teeth. Its mottled skin was almost perfectly camouflaged to match the stone around it. It spun on them and hissed threateningly from afar, and then bounded off into the shadows with alarming speed.

Hafter growled again, eager to chase after the creature. The hunter restrained it with a small gesture. “The dwarves call them deep stalkers,” he whispered. “Were we fewer, or they more numerous, they would have already ambushed us.” He pointed to several other stalagmites nearby, and now Maric began to see the subtle differences. He noticed where the creature’s limbs folded up under its carapace, where it tucked its long neck under its body. Hidden in plain sight, the disguise was almost perfect. He could have reached out and poked them, they were so close.

“They’re just going to let us pass?”

“They will follow, for a time, hoping for one of us to stray. The sound you hear is them communicating to each other, telling of intruders to their domain.”

“We heard that back at the lake.”

The hunter looked at him with amusement. “Then you’re lucky you did not remain there longer. No doubt they were calling for more.”

“Lucky,” Maric repeated. Duncan had sat there by himself next to that lake, no doubt presenting an enviable target to these deep stalkers. He was the lucky one, probably.

They continued on in silence. A pall hung over the group now, and they all seemed eager to find their way back to the Deep Roads, if such a route existed. Utha stopped as soon as they left the cavern, kneeling and putting her hand to the ground. She had done this several times already, closing her eyes as if she could feel something within the stone that none of the others could. Dwarven stone-sense, Maric suspected, though he had never actually seen anyone use it before.

When she stood, she made a signal to Genevieve and led them down a new passage confidently. The Commander did not question her, and had said little of consequence since they’d left the lake. Nicolas, too, had been sullen and withdrawn, stumbling along without even a hint of preparedness should they need to fight. Duncan kept far away from the man, remaining miserably to the rear of the party, which Maric figured was probably smart of him.

He allowed himself to fall back to where the lad walked, and for a while they traveled together silently. Duncan refused to look at Maric, and though Fiona shot Maric a dangerous look of warning, he remained where he was.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asked.

Duncan seemed puzzled. “How should I be feeling?”

“I don’t know. That was quite the impressive outburst back at the cavern.”

“Yes, well.” Duncan shrugged, obviously hoping that Maric would simply let the conversation drop.

“You remind me a little of myself, you know.”

“Really? Maybe I should have myself fitted for a crown, then?”

Maric ignored the sharpness in his words. “When I fought in the rebellion, I wasn’t much older than you are now. I was never sure of myself, always questioning whether I was good enough or strong enough to be king. Every loss was agonizing because I was the one who caused it.”

Duncan snorted. “Seems like you made out well enough.”

“I know they call me Maric the Savior. I don’t know who started that. Probably Rowan, come to think of it. She always encouraged the adoration of the people, because she believed it was important.”