David Gaider - The Calling

She stared at Duncan accusingly. He wanted to look away, but he felt almost mesmerized by her alien appearance. Bregan looked at him, too, his face twisted into silent fury, and he wondered suddenly what she had told him. Did he know about Guy? Had he known the man? That seemed likely, considering how long Guy had been a Grey Warden.

“Remille!” Fiona shouted across the chamber almost as soon as they entered. “What is the meaning of this? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” The First Enchanter barely glanced her way and continued his quiet talk with the Architect.

Duncan and the others were led well into the room until they were almost in the beam of sunlight. Then a templar kicked at the back of his knees and forced him to collapse. He did the same to Maric and Fiona until all three of them were kneeling, Genevieve and Bregan towering imposingly in front of them in their heavy plate mail armor.

The templars passed a long wrapped bundle over to Bregan, which he took and opened. Duncan saw their weapons inside, Fiona’s staff and Maric’s longsword in par tic u lar. The blue runes on Maric’s sword glowed almost angrily, making both Bregan and Genevieve recoil with a sudden hiss. Bregan tossed the bundle aside onto the floor, where it landed with a dull clatter.

The Architect then nodded, agreeing to something, and the First Enchanter finally turned to regard the three of them. He looked triumphant, almost smug in his victory. “Of course I know what I am doing,” he answered Fiona with a grin.

“You’re allying with the darkspawn?” she spat. “Why?”

“Why, for the good of all mankind!” He spread his hands amicably, but his tone was so false that it was obvious he was lying. Even Genevieve glanced at the man, frowning. “Not to mention that the Architect has access to the most interesting magic. Do you know that the darkspawn possess magic that is quite different from ours? It is driven by the taint, you see, and yet it has a great many uses, even for those of us who are not corrupted.”

Maric stared at him incredulously. “But you know what the creature intends?”

“Of course! Don’t you?” He shrugged. “I had enough supporters here in the tower to stage my coup. Simply another step in the plan, you see.”

The Architect slowly approached, its translucent eyes flicking between Duncan and the others as if studying them curiously. “I apologize for the necessity, but allies were required. I had hoped, in fact, that more Grey Wardens would be lured into the Deep Roads. Even so, the majority of you survived. That is noteworthy.”

Duncan absorbed his words for a moment. “ Lured into the Deep Roads?” he asked. Genevieve’s eyes narrowed curiously at the statement, but the Architect only nodded. It walked forward and removed the onyx brooch attached to Duncan’s vest and held it up to the sunlight.

“The brooches hid you from every darkspawn but me,” it said admiringly. “I always knew where you were. And they also served to speed up the rate of your corruption.”

“My creation”—Remille bowed smugly—“thanks to the Architect’s knowledge.”

Genevieve turned sharply toward the Architect. “How did you even know we would be coming?” she demanded. “Surely you couldn’t have known about my dream.”

The emissary glanced back at her as if it found her anger curious, but Remille merely chuckled. “Couldn’t he?” he interjected. “You Grey Wardens dream the dreams of darkspawn all the time, do you not? It would be a simple enough matter to find you in the Fade through your brother, simple enough to—”

“I am sorry,” the Architect said solemnly, still staring at Genevieve.

Her eyes flashed in anger and she drew the greatsword from her back in one swift motion. The Architect did not move, merely stood there and continued to stare at her. “How dare you!” she roared, but before she could rush at the darkspawn, Bregan put his hand on her shoulder to restrain her.

“Genevieve, he is right.”

She spun on her brother, snarling at him in fury. “What do you mean, he is right? We were deceived! We were lured here and sent into the Deep Roads like … like … I thought that I …” She shook her head, unable to find the words.

“He is right that it was necessary,” Bregan assured her. “Remember what we are here to do. The Grey Wardens take what allies they can, in order to do what they must.”

Utha stepped beside Bregan, nodding solemnly in agreement. The dwarf stared up at her former commander with bloodred eyes, a look of compassion on her face, and she made a series of quick gestures that Duncan couldn’t understand. But she nodded as soon as she finished, as if to emphasize that she utterly believed what she said.

Genevieve seemed less convinced. “If it truly means ending the Blight …”

“It does,” Bregan stated firmly.

Fiona snorted. “You don’t really believe that! How many other things haven’t you been told? Why can’t you all see you’re being manipulated?”

Genevieve turned and glared at the elf coldly, her face stone. It was a look that Duncan was familiar with. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Fiona. We gave you the chance to take part in something very important, and yet you chose to throw it away. I know it must be very hard for you to trust in anything.”

Fiona spat at Genevieve’s feet, her face twisted into rage. “And what about Kell?” she demanded. “Was he just some silly elf, too? Someone who didn’t know what it meant to be a Grey Warden?”

Genevieve glanced at the pool of spittle before her feet. Utha turned to face Fiona, however, and made several gestures in sudden interest.

“He’s dead,” the elf declared. “He died heroically. That’s the only thing that’s asked of Grey Wardens. That’s why we drink the blood, not to do this .”

The dwarf nodded sadly, though she seemed unsurprised. She walked back to stand beside the Architect. It looked down at her with an expression that Duncan could almost have sworn was compassion. “It is unfortunate that one could not be convinced, I agree.”

“Enough!” the First Enchanter suddenly exclaimed. “Why are you even continuing to talk to this elf! Obviously she is stubborn! I could have told you that!”

“Perhaps,” Genevieve said quietly, still staring at Fiona, “I had hoped … no, I suppose you are correct.” She sheathed her sword and walked over to Duncan, kneeling down to look him straight in the eyes. He could smell the stench of foulness that clung to her now, like rotted meat. Yet still he couldn’t look away. She seemed angry, and yet also hurt, as if she couldn’t figure out quite what to say to him. He recalled their confrontation in the dream. She certainly hadn’t had any problem then.

But this wasn’t the same thing, now, was it?

“Duncan,” she began hesitantly, “please reconsider. It was really for you that I had them bring you here. I want you at my side when we go and face the Old God. I need you at my side.”

He felt mixed emotions. This was his chance to change his mind, then. He could rejoin Genevieve, stand at her side, and maybe even make some good out of what came from this mad plan of hers. He knew a part of her hated him for what he had done, but a part of him hated her, too. She had dragged him into this life he despised. Yet even so, he still found himself wanting her approval.

Then he saw the daggers on her belt. It was the pair of silverite daggers, the ones missing from the pile of their weapons he’d found back in the ruin. His daggers, the ones that she had given to him. The ones that had once belonged to Guy. And suddenly Duncan felt anger. It welled up in him with such force it almost staggered him, like it had been waiting there for so long biding its time, a fury he had nursed and hidden away but never acknowledged.