David Gaider - The Calling

They pressed on, entering a new portion of the Deep Roads with tunnels that looked higher than he remembered. They trudged through portions that were flooded with shallow, brackish water and others that were so thick with the corruption they needed to cut a path through the black film. Maric’s sword was particularly suited for this, its runes glowing brightly as he forced the foulness to part before him. At one point they passed a hall lined with dwarven statues, most of them crumbled or covered in lichen and moss to the point of being unrecognizable.

Just when Maric felt like he was about to collapse from fatigue, he noticed a set of runes on one of the walls almost covered by dust and debris. “Wait!” he called out.

Genevieve ordered a halt and turned, concerned. He ran up to the wall, scraping it clear with his gauntlet, and smiled as he recognized a number of the markings. It had been years since he’d seen them, but he remembered them clearly. “I know these,” he exclaimed. “We passed by these! I mean, I did, when I was here before … we came this way!”

“Are you sure?” Genevieve asked skeptically.

“They could just look similar,” Duncan added.

Utha stepped forward and inspected the runes carefully. She made a series of motions at the others, and he didn’t need a translation.

“It doesn’t say anything about Ortan, right? It mentions another thaig?” At the dwarf’s cautious nod, he turned around and studied the tunnel carefully. There was more overgrowth and corruption here, but that had been the case ever since they’d entered the Deep Roads. The layout tweaked his memory, but he couldn’t tell if that was because he actually remembered this place or because so many of the passages were similar to each other. “If I’m right, there should be a crossroads ahead, with even more runes on the walls.”

The Grey Wardens blinked at each other, uncertain what to make of Maric’s pronouncement. Without another word they turned and began marching ahead. Within minutes, they reached the crossroads he remembered. There were lava flows here, channels in the walls carved by the dwarves and at one time filled with glowing lava to provide light. The area was covered in random debris, much of the roof having collapsed, and, as he had predicted, more large runes were carved into the walls.

Maric smiled broadly. “See? Just like I said!”

The exhausted relief on the faces of the others was obvious. The idea that they might not have simply been wandering aimlessly all this time was a welcome one. Only Genevieve seemed more disturbed by their luck than reassured. She eyed the pillar suspiciously and regarded Maric with a raised brow. “Do you know the way to Ortan thaig from here?”

It took only a moment of thought. “That way.” He pointed. “I remember we came the other way, and then Katriel … we saw those runes. That’s how we knew where we were going.”

She pondered carefully. “How long?” she finally asked.

“Less than a day.”

With a curt nod, she unshouldered her pack, tossing it to the ground. “Then we rest here.” When the others hesitated, staring at her in disbelief that she didn’t intend to push on, she shrugged. “For what ever reason, the darkspawn are not near. We must take advantage, while we can. Don’t bother setting up tents. We won’t remain long.”

Considering he was ready to collapse, Maric didn’t offer an argument.

Duncan felt like he was little more than a pile of bruises as he walked alongside the others. They’d had barely a handful of hours to rest, enough time to strip off some sweaty leathers that he felt like he’d been wearing for weeks and to rub magical ointment on his wounds. Fiona had passed it around, and they’d all taken a turn by the fire. It had been a litany of painful hisses, grunts, and relieved sighs.

His arm remained stiff and sore, but Kell had inspected it and declared that it was no longer broken. Fiona’s spell had done the trick, and the ointment had managed to relieve much of the ache that had been plaguing him since the battle. He experimentally flexed and unflexed his hand, frowning at the fact that it seemed difficult to make a proper fist. But he could, and that was what mattered.

Hafter was the only one of them who’d slept well. Almost as soon as they’d set up the fire, the hound had curled up at his master’s feet and was snoring within minutes. Duncan liked how the dog’s feet twitched, and how he would occasionally huff like he was about to bark in his sleep. A dog’s dreams were probably about running through sunny meadows and barking at squirrels, which was the sort of dream that Duncan wouldn’t mind having himself.

Then he remembered that Hafter was tainted just the same as the rest of the Grey Wardens. Perhaps his dreams were just as dark, and when he ran, he ran away from the frightening shadows that always lurked at the edges of a Grey Warden’s mind.

He hoped he was wrong, for the dog’s sake.

Genevieve led the way down the passage, tense and quiet. She was eager to get to Ortan thaig as quickly as possible now, and would brook no further delay. The others tried to keep up, but even so she pulled farther and farther ahead. They exchanged glances with each other, clearly wondering if she even cared that she was putting such distance between herself and the rest of her party.

Probably not, Duncan suspected.

He edged closer to Fiona and walked at her side for a time. The mage looked marginally less pale after some rest. Genevieve had strictly forbidden her to use any more magic to speed up the healing of the others, and though Fiona had complained, Duncan had to agree. All their major injuries had already been dealt with. She needed her strength, especially if Ortan thaig was as dangerous as Maric claimed.

He had told them all what had happened the last time he’d gone there eight years ago. Giant spiders, deformed by the taint, had swooped down upon them from a sea of spiderwebs that had obscured the upper reaches of the thaig. To defeat them, they’d burned the webs down. Duncan wondered if there would still be spiders there. He shuddered at the thought. He didn’t like small ones, and the thought of meeting ones as big as he was, poison dripping from their mandibles, was downright revolting.

“I need to tell you something,” he whispered to Fiona.

Nearby, Nicolas shot him an annoyed glare and sped up his pace to pull ahead. There was going to be no forgiveness there, Duncan saw. The warrior had been sullen and bristly by the campfire, barely attending to his own wounds and not even removing his soiled armor when he had the chance. He’d elected to take the first watch without question, stiffly walking off as the others looked after him in pity.

The elf was regarding him with interest. “What is it? Is it about Maric?”

“No!” he snorted. “What is it with you two?”

She sighed in exasperation. “Fine. What do you have to tell me?”

“It’s about Genevieve.” He glanced toward the Commander, and could barely see her off in the shadows ahead. It was as if the thaig were drawing her magnetically, and the closer they got to it the faster she was compelled to move. “She left the camp during the night. Not to go on watch, either. I mean she snuck off.”

Fiona looked puzzled. “Snuck off? What for?”

“That’s what I wondered. So I followed her.”

“And she didn’t see you?”

“I happened to be a very good thief in Val Royeaux before you lot came along, you know.”