Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne

by David Gaider

  Maric shook his head. “There’s no way around that we saw. It’s either forward or it’s all the way back.”

  There was really no discussion to be had. Loghain moved forward, sword held cautiously in front of him as he stared nervously up into the webs above. “If we need to, we’ll have to burn them.”

  Maric stepped closely behind him. “Wouldn’t that be worse?”

  “I said if we need to.”

  They proceeded slowly, keeping their backs toward each other and blades out. Each step was carefully placed among the rubble, and they made not a single sound. They barely breathed. Each of them slowly waved their flickering torches in the air before them, trying to discern anything in the dark ruins. But all they saw was ruined archways and stone columns and more rubble. The shadows danced mockingly in the silence.

  They crept through what appeared to be a long causeway, cracked and crumbled between the towering walls of gutted buildings. One of the walls still had faded chips of colored paint, turquoise and red and the remnants of what might have been a face. The eyes were the only part of the face still discernible, eyes that stared out at them in mute surprise.

  Loghain stopped, and Maric almost bumped into him from behind. They were at the feet of an enormous statue, a giant warrior that reached up hundreds of feet into the air and could very well have been holding up the ceiling of the cavern. It was tarnished, and the details were lost in the shadows, but it was easily the largest thing he had ever seen in his life. It looked almost as if it had been made from pure marble.

  “Maker’s breath,” Maric breathed, staring up at it.

  The others turned, and Katriel walked up to the feet of the statue, her eyes wide. “Don’t touch it,” Loghain cautioned her, but she ignored him. The statue appeared to rest on a great square column, itself covered in dusty runes.

  Katriel held the torch in front of the runes and swept some of the dust off with her hands. “This . . . I think this is a Paragon,” she whispered.

  “A what?” Maric asked.

  “A Paragon. They are dwarves that achieve legendary status among their people. The greatest of their warriors, the founders of the houses.” She brushed off more of the dust, enraptured by what she was unveiling. “I think this one was a smith.”

  “Wonderful, it’s a dwarven smith,” Rowan muttered. “Can we keep moving?”

  The elf shot a glare with her green eyes. “A Paragon isn’t just anyone. They were the greatest dwarves that ever lived. The dwarves revere them as gods. This—” She stared up at the expanse of the statue above her. “—is something the dwarves would pay a great deal to know about.”

  “Then let’s tell them about it. Later,” Rowan insisted.

  Loghain nodded. “We need to see if there’s a way through.”

  Reluctantly Katriel nodded. She stepped back from the statue’s base, taking one last sad look and shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it. Only Maric saw the single strand of thick, glistening thread that dangled behind her. He was already leaping forward as she was suddenly jerked up into the darkness.

  “Katriel!” Maric shouted, grabbing on to the elf’s legs as his sword fell to the ground. She screamed in terror, and while Maric’s weight pulled her back down, they both dangled above the ground precariously.

  Excited clicking sounds suddenly erupted up in the dark webs above, as well as all around them. They echoed and circled, and many shadows began to move just at the very edges of their torchlight.

  “Loghain!” Maric shouted again, his legs kicking wildly. “Help me!”

  Loghain moved quickly, reaching up and grabbing one of Maric’s legs as it swung by his head. He yanked down hard. Katriel screamed again as a loud chittering erupted from high above, and with a wet snap, both she and Maric came crashing down to the ground.

  “There!” Rowan shouted as something ran into view. Her eyes went wide as she realized it was a giant spider, easily as large as herself. It was a thing of dark bristles and many wet eyes, a great and swollen abdomen rearing up behind it. Its hairy legs moved with startling speed as it scuttled to one side, nervous of either Rowan’s sword or her fiery torch.

  Loghain was already leaping back to his feet, spinning about to face more quick shadows that sped past out of sight. Rowan’s spider emitted several loud clicks and rushed toward her, two forelegs raised and dripping fangs bared.

  “Rowan!” he shouted in warning.

  The spider batted her sword aside with one of its forelegs, almost succeeding in tearing it from her gauntlets. It lunged forward with its fangs, hissing, and she succeeded in interposing her arm. The weight of the spider carried her back as its fangs tried repeatedly to pierce the metal of her armor. They didn’t, and black venom coursed along its surface, leaving a sizzling, smoking trail.

  Rowan grunted with the effort of keeping herself from being toppled, and she pushed back with her arm. The spider chattered in anger and tried to leap off her, but her sword swiftly chopped into the side of its head. White ichor spurted from the wound. The spider squealed, vaulting up into the air and smashing into a far wall. It spun about madly, almost seeming as if it was trying to get away from its injury.

  Another giant spider dropped down from above, nearly landing on Loghain. He leaped out of the way, spinning about at the last instant and slicing at the creature’s forearm. It deflected the blow, turning its head to stare down at Katriel right next to it with its many pairs of glittering black eyes. She screamed in terror.

  Maric plunged his sword into the side of the spider’s head, gritting his teeth with the effort. The blade glided past its chitinous armor with a wet, crunching sound. The creature’s body shivered, and then it whipped about more quickly than Maric could react, its forelimbs striking him in the shoulder and sending him tumbling back along the ground.

  Loghain leaped forward and kicked the giant spider solidly, flipping it over with a horrid squealing sound. Even as it scrambled to right itself, white fluid gushing from its wounded head, Loghain stepped on its thorax to hold it still and thrust his sword down into its body. He twisted the blade around with difficulty as the spider flailed its legs and screeched loudly.

  “Maric!” Katriel shouted with concern, scrambling after him. Rowan noticed as well and leaped to the spot where he lay. Even as she did so, another spider raced down the vertical side of a wall toward her. She slashed at it with her sword, causing it to jerk backwards and retreat.

  Katriel got to Maric. He shook his head, dazed, and she helped him stand. Then his eyes went wide as he saw something above them. His scream was echoed by hers as a giant spider landed on top of them, its fangs sinking into Katriel’s shoulders.

  She jerked away from it, spinning around and stabbing at the spider’s eyes with her dagger. The spider scrambled away instantly, but not before Rowan rushed it from the side and stabbed her sword into its abdomen. Fluids rushed out as it squealed and spun to face her. She spun at the same time, meeting its head with a great swing of her blade. The creature’s head was instantly decapitated, its body spinning and kicking on its own in reaction, ichor splattering everywhere.

  “No!” Maric shouted as he saw Katriel collapse, her eyes rolling up into her head. The vicious punctures on her shoulder were already swelling, black tendrils radiating out from it underneath her skin like a dark corruption. Maric scooped her up in his arms before she hit the ground and stared down in horror as she began to spasm uncontrollably. “Loghain! We have to get out of here!”

  Gritting his teeth, Loghain yanked his blade out of the dead spider beneath him and leaped off. He snatched up Maric’s sword and a torch that lay on the ground, threatening to extinguish completely. The sword he tossed to Maric, who caught it deftly even in the poor light, and the torch he reached up toward the strands of webs that hung down above him.

  It took a moment for the flames to begin to catch, but as they did, they began to spread upward rapidly. Very rapidly. “Brace yourselves!” he bellowed.


  The echoes of clicking around them seemed to rise even as the fwoosh! of the flames became a loud roar. The fire fanned out overhead, instantly lighting up the entire area of the ruins. Maric looked around, blinking in the sudden glare, and saw many spidery shapes skittering on the walls. An alarming number of them. One of the giant spiders scrambled down the wall toward Rowan again, and she sliced upward, hacking off part of a forelimb. Screeching, it retreated again, and Rowan backed up toward Maric.

  “There!” he cried, pointing at a nearby building that had been revealed by the light. It had a dome of tarnished gold, one of the few ceilings they had seen that had not collapsed.

  Rowan moved to help Maric carry Katriel, and they began to race as fast as they could toward the domed building. Loghain dashed after them, covering his head as great gobs of burning webs began to rain down from above. The giant spiders had halted their attack and were fleeing in every direction, their maddening screeches becoming a cacophony that threatened to drown out even the roar of the flames.

  The stench of charred foulness threatened to become overwhelming, and along with it came a sudden suction from above. It was as if the air was being pulled upward, only to be replaced a moment later with a thick oily smoke that belched downward toward them. It spread quickly, blocking their vision and choking them with its thickness. It seemed more dust than smoke, coating their faces and arms and reaching like little hands down their throats and into their lungs.

  Maric began to cough hoarsely and heard Rowan doing the same, even though he could barely see her right next to him. It was like stumbling through molasses. Rowan collapsed to the ground, taking the unconscious Katriel with her and pulling Maric along. He swore, forcing the inhalation of more of the smog and then gagging. They couldn’t see where they were going anymore.

  Something touched Maric’s shoulder, and his first instinct was to swing his sword at it. Whatever had touched him apparently counted on that move, and a hand grabbed at Maric’s wrist to stop him. It was Loghain.

  “Come on!” he shouted, his voice raspy from the effort.

  Loghain pulled Maric to his feet, and together they collected Rowan and Katriel and began dragging them in the direction of the dome. All they could see in the swirling blackness was the bright aurora of fire that blanketed the cavern roof and the great droppings of flame that rained down. The air continued to be sucked away.

  For a moment, Maric wondered if the entire roof of the cavern—with all its masses of webs and spiders along with it—was going to come crashing down on their heads. The searing heat was unbearable, and he was breathing it.

  And then he passed out.

  When Maric woke up, it was still dark and he was confused. He was lying down on something hard, and someone was wiping his face with a wet, cool cloth. He still couldn’t see anything. How much later was it? Were they still down in the Deep Roads? Was it safe? When he tried to ask a question, all that came out was a dry rasp, and he began to cough explosively, the pain racking his entire body.

  A hand pushed down on him to keep him from sitting up, and he heard Rowan’s calming voice urging him to lie still. “Don’t move yet, Maric. I’m going to give you something to drink, but you need to drink it slowly.” A vial was put to his lips, and in it was blissfully cool water. He wanted to gorge himself as he realized just how much of that inky dust still coated his throat, but Rowan pulled the vial away before he could tilt it forcefully. Even so, he began gagging on the water until finally he turned over and forcefully expelled a huge amount of vile blackness from within him.

  It came out in waves, leaving him weak and shivering. Rowan sighed and put the vial to his mouth again, letting him have a real draft this time. “That . . . could have gone better,” she muttered. “But at least it’s out.”

  The water felt good going down, and Maric lay back, feeling the coolness reach the deeper parts of him. Then he opened his eyes, alarmed. “Is Katriel—?”

  “Stable, but she hasn’t woken yet,” Rowan answered, annoyance creeping into her voice. “Loghain was able to suck most of the poison out. Lucky that she had wormroot in her pack, or that wouldn’t have been enough.”

  There were clicking sounds in the background, differing from the clicking of the spiders, however. It sounded like rocks being smacked together, and after a moment, Maric realized that was exactly what it was. He saw some sparks in the darkness, followed soon afterwards by a gentle flame spreading.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” Rowan asked.

  “There’s been no sign of spiders,” Loghain commented from above the tiny flame, “and we’re starting to get fresh air again. I think the worst is over.”

  Loghain was blowing on the flames to urge them to spread, and they did. The near-rotted pieces of wood he had piled crackled and popped as they caught fire, but as the flames got higher, they pushed back the shadows, and Maric could see again at last.

  They were inside the building, the dome barely visible high overhead. It was gutted, full of piles of rubble and stone that might have been crumbled walls or furniture that had fallen to dust. He could see long terraced steps that led down into the lower, center part of the chamber directly under the dome. Had this been a forum once? A theater? Maric had heard once that the dwarves held fighting matches called “provings,” matches where warriors battled for honor and glory. Perhaps this had been a proving ground? It didn’t seem large enough.

  Katriel lay nearby, her shoulder bandaged. She was nearly coated with black dust, turning her blond curls oily and dark, though someone had clearly taken pains to wipe her face. They were all coated with the same dust, he noticed, and it seemed to be layered unevenly over any part of the room that was near the gaps in the walls or the windows. Outside it looked far worse, like a sea of blackness with dust hovering in the air like a cloud.

  The quiet was near absolute, almost muffled like on the first day after a snowfall. All Maric could hear was the sound of trickling water somewhere nearby. He couldn’t place it due to the echo, but it was very clear.

  “There is water in here, believe it or not,” Loghain commented. He seemed satisfied at the size of the fire and sat back, wiping the smears of soot on his face once again. “There is a large basin in the back,” he pointed toward an area on the far side of the room where the wall was more crumbled than elsewhere, “that seems to generate fresh water on its own. It was turned over, and had made a creek.”

  “Magic, obviously,” Rowan offered. “But it’s fresh. Too bad we can’t take it with us.”

  “How long has it been?” Maric croaked, pulling himself up to a seated position. Rowan reached out a hand to steady him, but relented when she realized he was fine. “How did we get here?”

  “I was able to drag you in before it really started coming down.” Loghain grunted. “And then I passed out. I don’t know for how long. It’s impossible to tell time down here.”

  “Those spiders could come back.” Rowan shivered.

  “Yes, they could.” He turned away from the fire and faced Maric, his expression serious. “We shouldn’t stay here too long. If there’s a way to get back onto the road to Gwaren, we should find it. Soon. We’ll need to carry Katriel if we have to.”

  “Or we could leave her,” Rowan said quietly, looking at no one.

  “Rowan!” Maric said, shocked.

  She glanced at Loghain, who grimaced and looked distinctly uncomfortable. But he did not turn away. Maric looked from one to the other, saw the way they were sitting together, facing him, a united front. They had been discussing this. While he had been unconscious, they had talked about leaving Katriel.

  “Are you actually serious?” he asked, his shock slowly giving way to outrage. “Leave her? Because she’s injured?”

  “No, it’s not that,” Rowan said firmly. She held up a hand to stop Loghain from joining in. He frowned but complied. “Maric, we don’t think it’s wise to trust her.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “We’re sayin
g there’s a lot of things that don’t add up. You can’t say that this is the same woman who we found screaming for help in Gwaren.”

  Loghain nodded. “I was willing to accept her as a messenger, even one of Arl Byron’s agents . . . but these skills she’s shown, the knowledge she possesses. This is no simple elven servant, Maric.”

  Maric stiffened, feeling his anger growing. “And even if she isn’t, why is this a bad thing?”

  “Maric . . . ,” Loghain said uneasily.

  “She came to my defense,” Maric insisted, “when she could just as easily have helped those soldiers kill us. She’s offered her knowledge freely, when she could just as easily have led us into the usurper’s hands.” His eyes narrowed. “What is it, exactly, that you think she’s done?”

  “I don’t know that she’s done anything,” Loghain said truthfully. “All I know is that she makes me uneasy.”

  Rowan took a deep breath. “Consider that you may not be very objective about her, Maric,” she stated evenly.

  Maric paused, taken aback. And then he saw the hurt pride in Rowan’s eyes. She was trying to hide it, but it was obvious even to him that she wanted to be anywhere other than here.

  She knows, he realized. It made sense now. The day before they had embarked at Gwaren, the way she had looked at him so expectantly, and when he had asked her about it, she had stormed off. The anger. The slap.

  “Oh,” he muttered, his anger quickly dissolving. He had practiced a hundred times how to tell Rowan about Katriel, and it figured that when it happened, it would be like none of those times. He had wanted to tell her. He had wanted to say that Katriel made him feel capable, he didn’t have to prove anything to her. But how would that sound? It wasn’t that he felt the need to prove himself to Rowan, exactly. She had known him as a child, she knew his every fault and his every mistake better than he did. He loved Rowan, it was simply . . . different.

  Part of him had hoped that Rowan would understand. As teenagers, they had both complained bitterly about their parents’ arrangement, had secretly laughed at the idea that they would someday be married. Surely she didn’t . . .