The ruby in Celene’s grasp shone with sudden light, and the eluvian answered. The clouds across its surface flared, and then it was as though those clouds hid a blazing sunset, as the mirror’s surface turned to waves of purple and crimson.
“Interesting.” Felassan stepped past Celene and poked at the mirror’s surface. Purple ripples shimmered away where he had touched, and he nodded. “Well, I didn’t lose the finger. This may actually work.”
Without hesitation, he stepped through the mirror and vanished. It was as though he had passed through the sheeting veil of a waterfall.
Briala jumped. “Wait!”
“Are we supposed to just follow him?” Michel asked, glaring as he strapped on the last of his armor.
“Presumably,” Celene said, looking down at the ruby in her hand with narrowed eyes. “Bria, you and Michel should go first. If the mirror’s magic fades as soon as I leave, you would be stranded here.”
Briala nodded and gave Celene a small smile. “Then I will see you on the other side,” she said, and walked forward.
She tensed as she reached the mirror, despite herself. Then, aware of Michel and Celene behind her, she straightened her back and continued, half convinced that she would simply bump into the glass and feel like a fool.
She did not bump into the glass.
It even felt like walking through the spray of a waterfall, if waterfalls were made of light. For a moment, cool energy pressed around her, and then it popped like a soap bubble, and she finished the step she had started, blinking at the dazzling light.
“We didn’t die!” Felassan said, and then, after a pause, added, “I think.”
When her vision cleared, Briala saw that they stood on a path whose stones were carved with the same runes that had adorned the sides of the tunnel last night. Unlike in the tunnel, however, the stones shone with brilliant light. The light seemed white, but when Briala looked away, it glittered with rainbows at the edge of her vision. The path stretched off into the distance ahead. Behind her, it ended at the eluvian, which looked here just as it had back in the burial chamber, only without the elaborate decorations.
Beyond the path, everything was hard to make out. The ground looked like grass, but it was gray and dim, despite the light coming from the stones of the path. Briala thought she could see trees in the distance, but they were merely smudged outlines against the horizon.
“What is this place?” she asked Felassan, who was rocking back and forth on his heels.
“You know, da’len, I honestly have no idea.” He leaned over and poked at the stones. “It’s not the Fade. The runes are elven … If I had to guess, I would say that our ancestors actually created some sort of tiny world between the eluvians.”
“Can that be done?”
“Apparently.” Felassan stepped off the path and reached down into the grass.
“The demon said not to do that.”
“The demon says a lot of things.” Felassan focused his gaze, and the gray grass around his hand filled with color, one lone spot of lush green in the strange dim meadow. “And this little world seems to like us.”
Briala was about to ask him to explain when Ser Michel stepped through the eluvian and onto the path.
“Maker’s breath!” he swore, shaking his head and stumbling. Briala reached out and grabbed one armored arm to steady him. A moment later, Celene came through as well. She stiffened, clutched her head, and dropped to one knee with a low cry.
“Felassan, what’s wrong?” It seemed worse for them than it had been for her. Celene shuddered, wincing, and used Briala for support as she slowly pulled herself up.
“I suspect that this land was made for the elves,” Felassan said as Michel stood up, stiff and awkward, wincing against the light. “Which they aren’t.”
“Majesty?” Michel asked. “Are you all right?”
Celene took a deep breath, shading her eyes against the light. “I will survive.” She looked at Briala thoughtfully. “Though it seems this is more comfortable for you, Bria.”
“So it seems.” Briala looked down at the brilliant runes. “It seems strange, but that is all. What about you, Michel?”
“It feels wrong.” Michel’s posture was stiff, and his hand twitched as though he wanted to draw his blade. “There’s a noise at the edge of hearing, and the light from those stones seems to twist when you look at it.” He shook his head. “I’d hate to have to fight in here.”
“And on that cheery thought, we should be off,” Felassan said. “If the humans are ready?”
Celene nodded, and they set off, with Felassan and Briala leading the way. The path stretched ahead of them, bright and unchanging, curving gently one way or the other, though it always felt as though they were walking straight ahead.
“It is amazing,” Briala said, matching her pace to Felassan’s. “I would never have thought to see such a display meant for our people.”
“It’s a bit hard to take in,” Felassan said, “especially when almost every elf you’ve ever seen is a servant in secondhand clothes or a peasant in the slums.” He shook his head. “We had an empire. It was … everything one thinks of when one hears such a word. Do you understand? Take the richest district of Val Royeaux. That was our people.”
Briala smiled to think of it. “It must have been beautiful, if they had the power to craft a world between the eluvians.”
“From what little survives among the Dalish, it was.” Felassan sighed. “Take the richest district of Val Royeaux, and add the magic that was part of our everyday life. Every statue fountain could speak through the water that poured from her mouth. Every column glowed with runes that the fools in Tevinter copied by rote like children tracing letters. When night fell, the roads were lit by stones like these, bright enough to find your way safely, but soft enough that you could still see the stars.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Can you?” Felassan looked over sharply. “Can you, truly? Then tell me, da’len, who scrubbed the floors?”
She blinked. “I … if the stone is enchanted, then … perhaps it cleans itself. Or if our people had golems, like the dwarves…”
“We were an empire,” Felassan said again, and this time she heard the anger in his voice. “It was not the Golden City. It was not the peaceful afterlife of this Maker the humans have made for themselves. Take the richest district of Val Royeaux, and tell me how many fools are scheming against each other at every ball? How many servants are flogged for improperly arranging the silverware?”
“We were the nobles.” It hit Briala like a blow. She remembered a slow trickle of blood winding toward the spot where she had hidden in the reading room of Celene’s childhood estate, where her parents had died on the orders of Lady Mantillon.
“We were everyone. There were no humans, no dwarves, no race but the elves. Every atrocity you seek to avenge for your broken people in their alienages, elven nobles committed upon elven servants.”
Briala swallowed. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Your empress,” he said. “You trust her. You believe she will free your people.”
“I do,” Briala said without hesitation.
“Then who’s going to scrub the floors?” Felassan asked, and smiled.
“You distrust her because she is human.”
“No.” Felassan paused. “Well, all right, yes, but more than that, I distrust her because she has successfully ruled an empire. No one who does that cedes power. Even if they are wise. Even if it is for the best, in the long run. Even if failing to do so will ultimately destroy everything.”
It was too close to what the little voice in the back of Briala’s mind had suggested. She silenced it as it started again and glared at Felassan. “Celene is different.”
“She most certainly is,” Felassan said, and stopped.
Briala paused as well. The air around her still hummed with the soothing rainbow light from the runes on the path, and the air felt cool and clean with each br
eath.
She looked back and saw Celene and Michel far in the distance behind them, struggling with each step and squinting against what was, for them, the harsh light of the path.
Briala didn’t feel winded, even after the strenuous work of the last few days. She and Felassan had been walking normally, their pace relaxed. She would have sworn it.
“The path favors us more than it does them.”
“It does indeed. Even walking at their pace, we will reach in hours what would have taken us days in the normal world. But this magic touches us in a special way, as it can never touch them.” Felassan lowered his voice. “And if you wish to do more than scrub the floors, you will need that much more than the goodwill of your empress.”
“We will see,” Briala said, and smiled back at Celene.
* * *
Michel saw Briala turn and smile at Celene. Beside him, Celene returned it.
Michel’s empress looked tired, but the smile seemed sincere despite the lines around her eyes and the still-healing bruise on her head. She looked happy despite the discomfort of this strange world she and Michel now walked through, a woman in love.
He didn’t realize that he had been caught staring until Celene said, “You disapprove.”
Briala and Felassan were already pulling ahead again. They did not seem to be walking any faster than Celene and Michel, but each time Michel looked up, the elves were further ahead, shadows against the twisting purple light of the stones. He blinked and looked up and away, shaking the twisting light from his eyes. It was not as bad if he didn’t look at the stones themselves. When he stared directly at them, the whole world twisted under him like a ship in stormy weather.
“It is hardly my place to approve or disapprove, Majesty.”
“Stop, Michel.” Celene quickened her pace as the elves moved ahead of them, and Michel hurried to match it. “You need not fear retribution for speaking your mind. It might actually take my mind off this damned light.”
“Does your head ache?”
“Abominably.”
Michel nodded. “I confess a small and unworthy bit of satisfaction that it is not solely me.”
They walked on, and Michel thought.
Briala and her bow, and her obviously hand-tailored armor, and her silverite daggers. A whole side of the empress that he had never known about. Had they spent every night together? Surely the guards outside her room would have spread the word. Servants could never keep a secret.
Except that Briala clearly had.
“Briala has proven herself capable,” Michel said after a moment.
“She has been my eyes and ears for most of my reign,” Celene said, and again, Michel saw the fond little smile. “She has always been there for me.”
“And you have promised to free her people,” Michel said.
This time, Celene was silent. Michel looked up and saw Briala and Felassan waiting, shadows surrounded by the twisting light that hurt his eyes.
“We needed her,” Celene said, slowing her pace ever so slightly. “And she needed to know that I cared about the elves.”
“After Halamshiral.”
“Yes.” She said it without hesitation, but her voice was low.
“Which was necessary, Majesty, because the nobles were given to fear that you cared overmuch for the elves.”
Celene sighed. “We needed her,” she repeated. “I needed her, Michel. Without her help, we would have died in that Dalish camp.”
“They distracted a few guards,” Michel said, looking back down at his boots. “I could have freed you without them, Majesty.”
“Then perhaps I needed her trust, my champion.” Celene rubbed her eyes and grimaced. “I have fawning courtiers and scheming nobles enough, but she has served me since childhood. I needed her.”
“And when you return to Val Royeaux, and gather your strength to crush Gaspard…”
“We will have the element of surprise, thanks to the eluvians,” Celene finished, “and we will gain the peasant elves, who will know, thanks to Briala, that they fight for their freedom.”
“And you will lose the nobles who rule them,” Michel said bluntly. “I will fight for you until the blood no longer flows in my veins, Majesty, but how many lords will side with Gaspard to keep the elves under control?”
“Several.” Celene leaned in closer to Michel, still walking slowly. “Perhaps the elves will find their freedom once Gaspard has been dealt with. It may be spread among the elves in whispers. The nobles need not hear of it.”
“You think she will accept that?”
“Why would she not, Michel?”
“Majesty…” He paused. “It is—”
“It is your place to say.”
“You said that you needed Briala for you. I can only imagine she feels the same way.” He considered raising the possibility that Briala was using Celene, but that would almost certainly do nothing but anger his empress. “Now, though you need her as a person, you must trade promises and innuendos with her as though she were one of the nobles you strive to keep happy.”
Celene sighed. For a moment, she was not his empress, just a woman walking painfully beside him, trying to find her way through a dark land. “That is the choice I have always had to make, my champion.”
“This wretched place makes my eyes ache, Majesty, but for her, it is the dream of elven greatness come to life. Do you expect her to come out of this land and put her servant’s mask back on?”
“I do.” Celene spoke with confidence, but she squinted up ahead all the same to where Briala and Felassan walked far ahead. “Bria has helped me play the Game for years, Michel. I doubt that an enchanted path will change that.”
Michel remembered a boy from the slums of Montfort. After Michel’s mother had died, they had run together with a few others. It had been a pitiful gang, but he and the other boy had fought hard to keep their people safe.
On the day Comte Brevin had found him, Michel had found his friend being beaten by another gang. With nothing more than a large stick, Michel had fought the older boys back to save his friend.
Comte Brevin had seen it and been impressed. He had called from his coach for Michel to come over and tossed a pouch filled with coins to make it clear that he meant well.
Michel had gotten into the coach.
His friend, only then getting to his feet, had given him a confused look, and Michel had given a sort of half-wave.
He had never seen his friend again. He did not even remember the boy’s name.
“Majesty, people who find a chance for a new life, a new power…” Michel looked back down at his boots, ignoring the sting of the light from the stones. “They do what they must in order to keep it.”
“Celene! Michel!” Michel looked up at Briala’s excited shout. Not far in the distance, she and Felassan had stopped. Michel would have sworn to the Maker that the path ahead had been empty for miles ahead, but now it ended at another of the magical mirrors.
The elves waited while Celene and Michel caught up with them. Michel was annoyed to see that they both looked relaxed and calm, as though they had enjoyed a pleasant stroll in the park instead of a world of discomfort that had already given him a headache with its twisting light and its sound ringing in his ears.
As they approached, the mirror flashed like the one back in the first chamber had, and red light streaked through the clouds on its surface.
“I cannot wait to be free of this place,” Celene muttered, and Michel chuckled despite himself.
He stepped through the mirror without hesitation, walking right past Briala and Felassan. The strange prickling energy rolled across his skin, then slid away, and when it left, so did all the pain he had been feeling. The air was cool, and the room was dark and smelled of stone and dust, but it was normal, with none of the strange magic that had plagued him on the elven path.
The only light in the room came from the eluvian, and as Michel turned, Briala and Felassan walked out. Celene followed them a
moment later.
“Ah, normalcy,” Felassan said, and raised his staff. Light flared, and the rest of the room came into view.
It was a huge circle, at least as large as the throne room in Val Royeaux, and filled with row after row of sarcophagi. Runes in the ceiling picked up the light from Felassan’s staff and glowed gently, without the blinding pain of those on the path.
And spaced evenly around the walls of the great circular room were eluvians.
“Is this the central chamber?” Michel asked. If one of those eluvians led back to Val Royeaux, they could be back at the palace before sunset … although it would mean walking upon the damned path again.
It would also mean that his empress would have to decide how she would handle Briala, but that was for her, not him.
“Not quite,” Felassan said, “though this at least offers us a number of options. Each eluvian links to another by one of the paths, and one of them may lead to the chamber where all the eluvians may be awakened.”
Celene grimaced. “But with the gem the demon gave us, we can already awaken any we need. Can we not simply use it to go to Val Royeaux?”
“Certainly.” Felassan made a gesture that took in the whole room. “Which one of these will take you there?” Celene sighed, and Felassan smiled. “Ah, you see. Imshael said the ruby would lead you to the central chamber. Without it, you’ll be walking blindly along those paths for quite some time, hoping you don’t end up in the middle of Tevinter.”
Celene nodded irritably. “I know. The path was quite uncomfortable for some of us. You will forgive my momentary wish to limit the number of times I experience it.” She took the gem from the pouch at her waist and held it up. “I believe we are meant to go through … that one,” she said, pointing to one of the mirrors on the far side of the room. “Though perhaps we might rest first.” She smiled at Michel as she said it.
“I would not mind a few minutes of peace before we step into that world again, Majesty.” He shook his head, and something dim and uneven on the floor caught his eye. “Although it seems the path was even less comfortable for some.”
The others followed his gaze and saw the ancient skeletal remains lying on the floor in fine silks that time had reduced to rags. Some of the bodies were near each other, the ancient bones entwined as though the elves had held each other for comfort before the end. Others lay alone, curled in upon themselves like children.
Dragon Age: The Masked Empire Page 27
