Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights

by Patrick Weekes

  “They are lost within themselves, at moments when a choice was made.” Regret narrowed its many eyes at Sutherland. “What are you that makes you stand apart from them?”

  Sutherland had the creature’s interest now, and chose his words slowly, deliberately. “We thought we’d find a demon here. Didn’t count on you.” He paused. “But we liked our odds.” He gestured grandly at his frozen friends. “Voth envies no one. Shayd has seen pride defeated more than once.” Sutherland cocked his eye at the demon. “And me?”

  He walked to the right, arms open to the damaged fresco. “These events that you stole from? I lived them. Here, in Skyhold.” He turned to the opposite wall, stepping theatrically, owning the space between the demon and his friends. “You think you’re made of this?” Sutherland pointed at a panel—the intricate fall of the Grey Wardens. Next to it, the fate of an empress. He paused, suddenly thoughtful. “These things shaped me long before you.”

  Sutherland set his jaw with Pride and Anger—demons he didn’t need to avoid right now. He stepped back, carefully positioning himself to the opposite of where the gloved hand had been. “There is nothing here I regret,” he said, utterly certain. He stood defiant, raising his blade.

  “And you can’t fool me.”

  Regret snarled, stooping to grab the body of the caretaker, hefting it up like it weighed nothing. Voth’s ward caused a shock to ripple through the demon. It hurled the corpse across the room, slamming it into the wall with a sickening thud.

  “You think you are immune to me?” Regret screamed, its voice cracking like brittle pottery. “Think that you can take my toys? There is no place where you can hide from my will!” The demon curled its lips in effort, and a spasm shot through Voth and Shayd. There was no awareness in their eyes, but they raised their weapons.

  “Maker, no,” whispered Sutherland. He knew how demons manipulated, how they turned allies against each other. Regret had probably done exactly this to the caretaker and his staff. And Sutherland couldn’t help but think, that as much as he would’ve regretted it later, he’d rather nail his arm to a wall than hurt his friends.

  “Their regrets can only grow!” The demon laughed. “Cut them down and you are mine!” It gestured, and Voth and Shayd turned, their faces contorted, as though the spot where Sutherland stood contained something that terrified them.

  Regret smiled far too wide. “You know I’ve won, so how will you respond now?

  “Hey, nug-rutter!” yelled a voice from above.

  The demon growled and looked up to see two figures standing on the lip of the rotunda. On the left was Rat, Sutherland’s dwarven squire, her pale features obscured by a helmet worn low. She held a shrouded container nearly a third her size. Beside her was another dwarf in a short cuirass and long blacksmith’s gloves. She had mid-length red hair, and a headband that supported an odd face shield half-helmet. She and Rat grinned wide.

  “We’ve got your response!” smiled Dagna, former arcanist to the Inquisition.

  “Now!” yelled Sutherland.

  Rat heaved her burden—a large glass amphora—off the lip of the rotunda. It hummed as it fell, the contents a swirling mass of angry yellow and black.

  Sutherland tackled his friends.

  Regret raised two of its arms and successfully snagged the container out of the air. It laughed in triumph and glared upward, but its celebration was premature. A rune in the bottom, Dagna’s handiwork, sparked red and the amphora shattered, sending shards and angry insects into the demon’s face.

  And then all was chaos.

  If Sutherland’s strike had shaken Regret’s concentration, Rat’s bees obliterated it. The demon became a roiling mass, blinded and flailing. The debris that had blocked the entrances to the rotunda fell to the ground. Several cages also dropped from the ceiling, smashing on the desk and spilling limbs around the floor.

  “What in the—!” yelled Shayd, waking to find a dismembered foot in her lap.

  “Glad to have you back!” said Sutherland. He leaned in quick to kiss her cheek. Shayd grabbed him, her eyes closed. Like she needed to know he was real.

  Voth sat up behind them, holding his head. Regret was a mass of limbs and eyes surrounded by bees. Dagna tossed lightning runes from the lip of the rotunda. Rat had just tipped a bookshelf over the ledge, and he watched it land on the creature with a muted thud. Sutherland and Shayd were kissing. The two passages out were clear. The fresco was draining color.

  Voth got to his feet and lurched toward an exit. “It’s strongest here!” he yelled, focusing only on what mattered. “Lure it out!”

  “What?” yelled Rat, balancing a chair on the ledge.

  Sutherland jumped up. “Get it outside!” he yelled. “We’ll rally out there!” He pulled Shayd to her feet and started after Voth.

  They didn’t make it to the doorway. Voth stumbled, his arm over his eyes, as though he’d suddenly run into thick forest. Regret had recovered and was pointing at him, trying to worm back into his thoughts. Another arm extended toward Shayd. She shook her head angrily but couldn’t move.

  “You will stay and face your choice!” Regret reared up, twenty feet tall. “I am all that you have done! And my will is such that you—”

  A chair crashed on the demon’s head, interrupting its rhythm.

  “Hands off my knight!” yelled Rat.

  The demon righted itself. “Your mistakes are mounting here! Beg and I will—”

  Thunk! Another chair cut it off.

  Rat waved at the demon.

  “I am the regret of a god, you—!”

  A rune stuck to the bottom of the last chair exploded at the creature’s feet.

  “Pbbbbth!”

  Regret screamed in rage, slammed its arms into the walls, and heaved itself upward. Huge slabs of plaster and stone fell in its wake.

  “Oh, pebbles!” said Rat, diving backward through one of the upper corridors that joined to the main keep. The demon clawed after her, sending even larger stone fragments crashing to the floor. It scrabbled over the lip of the rotunda and was gone.

  “Language.” Sutherland smiled, and picked up his blade to follow.

  Voth stopped him. “We can’t just run out there,” he said.

  “It’s after Rat,” said Shayd. She stepped forward, glowering. “I owe that thing.”

  Dagna joined them from the stairs, immediately distracted by the fresco.

  “It’s in our heads,” said Voth. “We can’t let it see us.”

  “I didn’t come here to disappear,” said Sutherland, tapping his chest.

  He was annoyed, but not at Voth. Sutherland had suspected that they’d been sent here to fail. To confirm that Skyhold was a problem, and then just disappear. To give officials license to permanently erase the Inquisition’s legacy. He wouldn’t have it.

  “We have a plan.” Sutherland gestured at Dagna. “Rat brought the others in. We have to move fast.”

  Sutherland knew a demon would be trouble. But he couldn’t ask for reinforcements without confirming the problem. He needed more like him. Loyal enough to be quiet, small enough to go missing. They had crisscrossed the border, gathering people. The ones who had called Skyhold home. He’d told Rat to hold back, bring them in quiet while he distracted and assessed. They were all supposed to rally and take back the fortress. Be the response.

  “It’s not like you thought,” said Voth.

  Sutherland looked down. He’d thought being in Skyhold would be enough. Like old times. It was enough for him.

  He turned to Dagna. “Everyone knows what it is?”

  “They probably heard in Denerim. That thing is loud.” She paused. “Bees aside, I don’t think we know what to do.”

  Skyhold wasn’t enough. Sutherland turned to his friends. “I’ll go first,” he said, “but we need to get out there.”

  “What about Rat?” said Dagna.

  “Rat’s a runner,” said Sutherland. “She’ll run.”

  * * *

  Rat ra
n through the library, crossed the second floor of the great hall, and ducked out to the garden balcony. The garden was a walled square. It was large enough to provide the fortress with herbs and alchemical plants, but was mainly designed for contemplation and morale. The main keep loomed on two sides, and there were multiple doors on two floors. There were no stairs down on the east side. Rat’s side.

  The door behind her exploded, and the bulk of Regret forced itself out into the daylight. Rat hopped to the garden wall, edging forward. The demon followed, looming, smiling. It seemed more feral away from the fresco, less articulate. It extended an arm.

  “Pebbles,” said Rat, and she was in the Deep Roads, huddled behind a low stone mound. It was dark, and that was good. It meant she couldn’t see. But she could hear.

  “I smell you, little one.”

  She kept her head low. She always kept her head low. And she would run.

  And far behind her, darkspawn claws ended a paragon’s line.

  “Back, you toothy shite!” said a man’s voice, thick with accent and anger. A hammer arced through the air, hitting the demon in what passed for its shoulder. Three of its seven legs slipped into air and its head dropped, its jaw smashing on the garden wall. It scrabbled angrily, found no purchase, and slipped into the garden, out of view.

  Rat blinked and reeled away, falling in the opposite direction. She tensed and waited for the cobblestones of the courtyard. Muscled arms caught her, absorbing some of the impact before collapsing with her.

  “Easy there,” said Harritt, once-blacksmith to the Inquisition. His leathers now bore the mark of an Orlesian guild, but a trade with Crestwood had brought him back to Ferelden, and into the path of Sutherland’s company and Rat’s second group.

  Harritt smiled through his mustache, then grimaced. His knee had turned painfully beneath him.

  “Peb—” Rat started.

  “Little one!” roared the demon from the other side of the wall.

  Rat covered her mouth, eyes glassy.

  “Not going well, aye?”

  Rat shook her head. “It doesn’t like me.”

  “By the sound of it, it doesn’t like much.” Harritt stood them up, but once they were righted, he had to lean on Rat’s shoulder. Rat picked up his hammer and they moved slowly toward the main keep.

  “Let’s find your—” Harritt shook his head, muddled. The demon had mounted the garden wall and caught a glimpse of him.

  Rat tackled him into the darkness of the tunnel beneath the great hall doors.

  Regret deftly stepped down from the wall, learning its limbs. It prowled and sniffed, but something caught its attention in the Herald’s Rest. It paused, its face trying to look in two different directions, largely succeeding. Then it loped away.

  Rat kept her head low.

  * * *

  “Morris!” said Sutherland, his smile a mile wide. “You’re a sight!”

  Sutherland had raced out of the rotunda to the central courtyard, straight into a familiar face. Ser Morris, Supplier of the Greater Vals. He’d been quartermaster to the Inquisition and turned that honor into a network that armored southern Thedas. His mustard hair now had a hint of stressful gray, his lean torso a hint of luxury. He frequently traveled the border roads. Roads he now regretted.

  “You certainly know how to liven up a man’s life,” said Morris. “No, sorry, I meant shorten.”

  “It looks bad,” said Sutherland, “but we’re not done yet.”

  “Done? I don’t know how to start.” Morris looked at his pushcart. He’d wanted to help, but on this trip he’d traveled for trade, not supplying a hunt.

  Sutherland put a grateful hand on the man’s shoulder, then turned and whistled. They were joined by Voth, Shayd, and Dagna.

  “I’ll make it right,” said Sutherland. “We need to set up where it can’t see. Lob attacks.”

  “It won’t be enough,” said Voth, “this creature can—” He was cut off by a crashing sound in the west courtyard. Rat and Harritt hobbled out from under the ramp to the great hall.

  “It’s in the tavern,” Rat choked.

  “The tavern?” said Morris gravely. “Maker have mercy on it.”

  The Herald’s Rest had served many on the first day of their freedom, and the last day of their lives. It was not a place where doubts were allowed to linger. One man had seen to that, before he’d left to build his own border roadhouse.

  Regret smashed through the main doors, looking for the movement that had drawn it. It found a plainly dressed dwarf, bald, with a short dark beard and groomed mustache. He was calmly wiping the bar.

  The demon reached, feeling many threads of regret. It paused, considering its meal.

  “Casteless,” it said, “you have done things.”

  “Save it,” said Cabot, former operator of the Herald’s Rest. He raised a bottle as if proposing a toast, then stuffed the bar rag down its neck. “I’m a bartender. I drown regret.”

  Cabot lit the rag off a candle and hurled the makeshift cocktail at the demon. It landed by its feet, but the creature easily slid itself backward to avoid the low flames. It smiled and readied an arm, but hesitated when a tightly corseted elf stepped from behind the stairs. Her brown hair was long but tied severely, her features calm but sharp. She held a small pouch that she opened with a sharpened fingernail, revealing a sparkling silver powder.

  “Careful,” said Cabot, gesturing to Elan Ve’mal, former apothecary to the Inquisition. “She knows you, but she’s just a carrier.”

  Cabot dove behind the bar as Elan gently blew the contents of the pouch across the flames. The powder ignited into a gout of fire that left white ash across the seared face of Regret. It screamed as its surface cracked, sections of plaster glazed hard. The damage was superficial, but the creature was enraged that it couldn’t see.

  Elan skirted the flailing creature, and she and Cabot ran for the door.

  “Beautiful as always, my dear,” said Cabot.

  “Tsst!” Elan replied in her way, as he loved.

  Regret’s scream had rattled all of Skyhold. Especially the lower courtyard, where Sutherland’s plan was falling apart.

  “It’ll come out of there spitting mad,” he said.

  “We can’t just pile on,” said Shayd. “It’ll turn us against each other.”

  “Have we even hurt it?” said Dagna.

  “It’s Regret,” said Voth. “It finds your doubts, feeds on them. Gets stronger.”

  “Finds you? Like darkspawn?” said Rat, regretting mocking the creature earlier. The demon roared in the tavern.

  “That!” said Voth, pointing. “Don’t do that!”

  Rat cringed and tried to think of baked bread.

  “But I did hurt it,” said Sutherland. “By the fresco. I impaled it. That wound stayed.”

  “You chose Skyhold,” said Voth, “It attacked the one thing you’ve never doubted.”

  “We followed you here,” said Shayd. “It’s not the same.”

  Sutherland let the talk fade into the background. He looked around at the fortress where his life had changed so thoroughly. But it wasn’t Skyhold that had changed him. He’d have been in the kitchens if it hadn’t been for one person. The Inquisitor had taken a chance on his potential. But more than that, the Inquisitor had stood for him. For them all. Made them feel like they were worth it, and could help. Made them look forward.

  Sutherland swore under his breath. Of course Skyhold wasn’t enough. He’d brought people back, but that wasn’t the same as inspiring them. He’d looked backward, thought only of what he needed. He looked at his friends as they argued. He’d let them down. It felt awful. As bad as he’d ever felt. And then, he saw potential.

  “Shayd!” he yelled, shocking everyone into silence. “What did it make you see?”

  “What?”

  “Regret,” he said. “You were ready to attack. What did it make you see?”

  Shayd looked down, silent. Her lip quivered.

  “That b
ad?” said Sutherland.

  “The worst. My worst.”

  Voth and Rat nodded grimly.

  Sutherland looked across Skyhold. Regret roared. It would wear them down, pick them off. He had to show them they could win.

  “Right,” he said. “It heals fast, but it can be hurt. I need to hit it hard. Do you trust me?” He looked at all his friends in turn. “Do you all trust me?”

  They looked back, confused, as if to say, Why waste time asking, of course we do. All except Rat. She saluted.

  “Good,” he said, “because I need you. I need you to guide it to me. And no matter what happens, you work together, and I’ll stand for you.”

  Cabot and Elan looked down from the edge of the west courtyard.

  “Are we killing a demon?” asked Cabot.

  “With some help,” said Sutherland. “Think you can piss it off?”

  “Inevitably,” said Elan.

  “Right,” said Sutherland. He turned to Rat. “Get its attention. Run it to me at the stables. Don’t think, just run.”

  “It doesn’t like me.” she said timidly.

  “Fast as you can.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Trust me.”

  Rat looked down at Harritt’s hammer, still in her hands. She took three slow steps, then ran under the ramp, head down.

  Sutherland gestured up at Cabot and Elan. “Keep it off my squire.”

  They nodded and ducked back.

  “Arcanist,” said Voth, “join me by the gate?”

  “Save me a piece for study,” said Dagna, waving as she followed.

  “I’m a bit hobbled,” said Harritt, “but with a fast cart…”

  “We’ll throw what we can,” said Morris nervously.

  Sutherland watched them go and readied his sword. Shayd stared.

  “What about me?” she asked.

  “By the stables,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Where you can watch me.”

  She grabbed his shoulder, turning him so she could see his face. Her eyes widened. “You’re going to let it get to you.”

  “I’m taking a chance,” he said. Sutherland took her hands in his. “I’m standing for them. If it goes wrong?” He placed her hands at her hips. On the hilts of her daggers. “Don’t let me hurt them.”