David Gaider - The Calling

She didn’t look at him. “Maric, you don’t have to say anything.”

“I feel like I do.”

She looked like she was about to say something else, but her attention was drawn to Duncan’s return. The lad appeared out of the shadows, stealthily creeping back up the stairs in a crouch. He stopped several feet from them, rubbing his chin. “Well,” he muttered, “I won’t lie to you. It’s pretty bad.”

Kell nodded slowly. The hunter’s eyes were closed, and he looked pained. Patting Hafter’s head one last time, he put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. “Tell us. What did you find?”

“The stairway breaks off at the end, and opens up into a natural cavern. A big one. The darkspawn are all out there. Digging, I think.”

“Digging?”

“From what I could hear. I crawled around some, but I couldn’t go far. As soon as you step out into the cavern, you’re in full view of the darkspawn. There’s nowhere to hide, and they won’t miss us.”

The hunter nodded again. “And? Is there a way out?”

“I couldn’t see,” Duncan sighed. “It seems like it sloped upward if we turn to the left, but there’s no point. We’ll never get past that horde. All we’d need is for a single one of them to look up from their digging and we’d be done.”

“Then we find another way out,” Maric stated firmly.

“No,” Kell said. He turned and peered down the dark passage behind them. “I believe they have already discovered our disappearance and are looking for us now. We are out of time.”

“Then we’re done.” Maric felt frustrated, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “Then we go back and surrender ourselves, and find another solution. We talk to Genevieve, or her brother. Make them see reason.”

Duncan snorted. “You’ve met Genevieve, right?”

Fiona shook her head. “Maric, I don’t think that’s going to help.”

“So, what? You want to run out there and get ourselves killed?” He strode toward her and took her shoulders in his hands, made her look at him. She seemed dispirited, almost on the verge of tears.

“Maric …” She shook her head sadly.

“No! I am not letting you die! And I’m not going to die, either. I came here … I think I wanted to die. I think I welcomed it. I felt like I had nothing to live for, but that’s changed!” He shook her shoulders emphatically, but it only made her look at him more pityingly.

“Maric, it’s too late.”

“I refuse to accept that. The Fiona I know, the one who stood up to that bastard who enslaved her, so would she.” He set his jaw and stared at her, demanding that she not surrender, as if he could force her by will alone. Instead of wilting under his gaze, she grudgingly straightened and nodded. He saw the determination return to her eyes.

“Have it your way.” She scowled.

“What ever way you have it,” Duncan chimed in, “we need to do something soon. The darkspawn are all connected to each other, and word is spreading fast. They’re going to be swarming all over us in a minute or two.”

“Then we go back and fight,” Fiona declared. She pulled herself out of Maric’s grasp, blue magical energies beginning to crackle around the head of her staff. “We fight this Architect, and if Genevieve and her brother and Utha want to try and stop us, then we fight them, too.”

“No.” Kell said the word with enough force that Fiona turned and stared at him with wide eyes. Maric wondered, too. The hunter looked down the stairs toward the cavern with all the darkspawn ahead of them, his face grim determination. His hand tightened on the grip of the flail on his belt until his knuckles turned white. “You need to get warning to the surface. The Grey Wardens need to know that something has changed among the darkspawn. They need to hear it from a witness, someone who can tell them about this Architect and its plans.”

Fiona looked confused. “But—”

The hunter reached into his vest and pulled out the bright glowstone from their cell, its orange radiance filling the hallway instantly. He put it around his neck. “I will draw the darkspawn away. My senses are good enough that I can tell where they are, and evade them at least for a time.” He turned and met Fiona’s gaze, his pale eyes hard. “Time enough for you.”

The elf looked alarmed now, and she looked to Maric and Duncan for support. Duncan looked similarly alarmed, but Maric knew the man’s tone. He had heard Loghain using exactly that voice, when he spoke of something terrible that needed to be done without question. Worse, Maric found he couldn’t argue.

“Kell, you can’t!” she protested.

“I should have fought harder to turn us around while we had the chance. I should have known better.” Kell crouched down in front of Hafter, rubbing the hound’s head gravely. Hafter stared back at him with wide, confused eyes. He knew something was amiss. “Take him with you,” the hunter said, his voice raw with sudden emotion. “He has survived a long journey and many battles. I would like him to have a chance.”

Patting the dog one last time, he stood and gruffly nodded to Duncan. “I am leaving it to you to lead King Maric out. Fiona will help you. I know you can do this.”

The lad could only nod, dumbfounded.

Kell turned to Maric and offered his hand. “I am sorry it came to this, Your Majesty. You are a fine warrior, for a lowlander king.” The last was offered with a wry grin, as if it were a personal joke.

Maric grinned sadly back at the man and shook his hand. “Maker watch over you, Kell.”

The hunter turned and began heading down the stairs without another word. He drew his flail from his belt, the short chain rattling as its spiked head unfurled at his side. Already Maric could hear the stirring of the creatures in the darkness beyond. There was a whisper in the air, a humming that was slowly building all around them. They knew. They knew and they were coming.

Fiona lunged to grab Hafter’s collar to restrain him, but the hound was too quick for her. It bounded down toward Kell, letting out an angry woof . The hunter turned around, regarding the hound with obvious dis plea sure. “No,” he commanded, pointing back toward Fiona and the others. “Hafter, go with them!”

The hound hung his head low, folding his ears back in confusion. Hafter was an intelligent dog, but he was still a dog. Kell glared down at the animal, growing more furious by the second. “I said go!” he shouted.

“Come here, Hafter!” Fiona urged him.

Mortified that he had done something to offend his master, Hafter prostrated himself at Kell’s feet, nuzzling his nose in at the hunter’s boots and whining plaintively. Kell angrily grabbed the dog’s collar and hauled him up, physically turning him around and shoving him back up the stairs. “Go! Now! You go with them!”

Still Hafter wouldn’t go to Fiona, and quickly darted back to Kell, whining in agitation. Kell reeled back, tormented, the large hound whining at his feet like a lost puppy. Without warning, Kell stepped forward and kicked the hound in the side with a loud shout. “Obey me!” he roared.

The kick was hard, and though Hafter had stood up to far worse—he was a warhound built of little more than fur and muscle, after all—still the hound collapsed with a terrified yelp that echoed throughout the passage. Fiona covered her mouth in horror and Maric was speechless. Kell looked toward them, anguished and pleading with his eyes for help. He stared down at the dog trembling in fear at his feet and burst into tears.

“Oh, Hafter, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking with grief. He knelt down and took the dog’s head into his arms, patting his fur vigorously. Hafter looked up at him with his large brown eyes and uncertainly wagged his tail. Kell attempted a reassuring smile through his tears. “I’m so sorry, my old friend,” he whispered. “Can you ever forgive me?” The hound’s ears slowly perked up and his tail thumped against the stairs. There was no need even to ask.