"I'll get the mage first," he shouted, gesturing at one of them carrying a staff covered in manacles. The mage blinked at the threat, then raised his hands as if the mana should be here. Unused to a true templar in their midst, Cullen cut him down before he thought to use his staff, his blood slicking up the grass. Alistair smashed through another guard, the body count piling up quickly, but even as they sliced through the unexpected mass, there was no way they could defeat the reinforcements running towards the commotion.
"Darius?!" Cullen called. The mage looked stricken having been caught in the same blast from Cullen as the rest, but he rallied.
"We need to find Massimo first. This can be dealt with later."
"Any ideas on that, oh wise one?" Alistair called. Blood coated his arms but if it was from himself, he bore no pain, only exhaustion creeping up as another dead guard heaped onto the pile. "Maker, I haven't done this many since the blight. I miss being twenty."
"I..." Darius glanced around as if an idea would present itself, but someone else was way ahead of them.
While the rest of his group handled the guards attacking them, the glowing elf knocked one of the magisters to the ground. Rather than slice his head off, the elf lit up bright and somehow shoved his fist through the magister's chest. "That's gotta sting," Alistair whined, watching the same display. "Can all of whatever he is do that?"
Squeezing inside and past the magister's ribs, the elf grunted, "Tell me where Massimo is."
"Ah! In the staging area, to the east. Please, please!" the magister shrieked, sweat pouring off his brow.
The elf yanked his hand out of the man's chest and sneered, "If you're lying..."
"I'm not, I swear."
"Good." He lobbed off the man's head with one thrust of his giant blade, and took off alone towards the east.
"Let me guess, we chase the fisty, chesty, head chopping guy. Today's been such an adventure so far," Alistair spoke in such a way Cullen couldn't tell if he was sarcastic or serious. Perhaps the king wasn't certain. Darius didn't bother to respond, he was already in pursuit of the elf. Despite his smaller stature and over the top armor, the elf moved through the screaming hordes with ease running towards what must have been the staging area.
Together, the pair of them hoofed it after both, swiping away guards and other magisters trying to stop an inevitable insurrection. "If they release the cages now, all the slaves will be put in greater danger," Cullen shouted, watching as the elf's pack filtered towards the mechanisms, arrows bouncing off the ropes holding the doors in place.
"You can go tell them that if you want, but I don't think they're the listening to humans type. Maybe if you sang it." The king tossed his shield at Cullen -- who caught it despite no warning -- and he rolled his fingers up his side. "Maker, I don't think all this blood is vintage Vint. Uh, go on ahead without me," he pointed towards the retreating pair.
"You expect me to leave the king of Ferelden alone and unprotected in the middle of a slave revolt in Tevinter?" Cullen asked. Hate him or no, he couldn't let the man risk his life so foolishly.
"Hold that thought," Alistair tossed his sword to his right hand, swung around to catch a blade from behind him, and punched his left fist flat against the guard's face. Blood splattered along with the crunch of the nose as the man tumbled back. Kicking him in the side of the leg, the king thrusted his sword deep into the man's chest as he plummeted to the ground. Tugging the blade free, he turned to Cullen. "You were saying?"
"I... As you command, your highness," Cullen bowed. His muscles slotted the shield in place, raising the sword slightly higher while protecting as much of his arm as possible. It wasn't a conscious thought he knew, because his mind was busy echoing the same complaints as Alistair. A few years on the sidelines watching the drills instead of participating were all wearing on him now. Maker, how embarrassing would it be if he had to stop for breath before reaching this staging area?
Screams and the scamper of pampered feet were all Cullen had to go on as both the elf and Darius vanished in the distance -- a trail of bloody grass wafting in their wake. Cries out of a massive tent went from ones of shock to pain and agony. He had to be drawing close. Situating his shoulders back, Cullen stepped through the crimson curtains and stumbled into a massacre. Blood splattered off every trampled blade of grass while the few surviving Tevinters groaned, nearly everyone missing a limb, and some without heads. The whirling bringer of death stood stock still as he glared upon the man of the hour.
Cullen expected this feared Massimo to be hulking, with a mass that could be attributed to muscle as easily as fat, from a life of excess; but he was reed thin with gaunt cheeks and a face as clean shaven as the elves he traded in. It was the eyes where the true corrupted heart lay. Burning with contempt at what the elf was instead of what he did, the magister raised his hand about to cast some spell upon his foe. Cullen dipped down to dampen his mana, but there wasn't time.
Fire burst against Massimo's barrier, a few sparks scattering behind to land upon his house banners. Darius waved his fingers, prepared for another attack, but it was enough of an opening for the elf to leap forward. He didn't bother with his gigantic blade. With skin glowing like lyrium veins buried deep inside the deep roads, he smashed his shoulder into Massimo, the pair of them tumbling into the slave dealer's chair, that upended backwards to the ground.
The elf's hand pierced the man's chest and he snarled, "I know what you did to them. What you thought you could do. Never again, mage." A pop as if someone broke open a water skin echoed through the tent and Massimo's body slumped back the life snapped. The elf slipped his hand away, a tremor across his shoulders and down his murderous arm.
"You are the wolf," Darius began, stepping closer to him. Without taking a breath, the elf swung around his clawed fist and closed it around the mage's throat.
"Another one," he hissed, dragging Darius to the ground.
"Stop," Cullen shouted, "this man assisted you."
The elf didn't turn away from his prize as he growled in that bottomless pit of a voice, "He sensed an opening to take down the big fish so he could fill it. That's what they do, let others accomplish their dirty work, then rush in to fill the gaps."
"I..." Darius struggled against the grip, his soft fingers unable to take hold against the elf.
"He's not a slaver, he works for the underground that frees slaves," Cullen tried to slide closer to stop him, but the elf increased his grip, cutting off Darius' air.
"Ha! That's what they all say when they know their time's come."
"By all the..." Cullen leaned back about to smash his shield into the elf's head, when the memory struck. "Fenris." The elf shuddered, his head swiveling back to look at him. "Your name is Fenris, you used to travel with the Champion of Kirkwall."
"Many people know my name," he said, but by the sneer in his lips from the revelation, that didn't seem to be the case.
"I'm, I was Knight-Captain Cullen."
He slackened his grip on Darius' throat and the mage gasped for air. "A templar? What are you doing here?"
"Assisting the underground with destroying Massimo, freeing the slaves. That man, the one you're about to kill, he is friends with Isabela." It was a long shot, but surely they knew each other through the Champion. Whether they were friendly was another story.
Cullen expected Fenris to either glare at him for the insinuation, or break off his attack, instead he pushed both thumbs deeper into the mage's throat. "That's a lie!"
"She..." Darius coughed, his words barely coherent through the narrow gap of his trachea. "She said your underthings are green."
The elf's murderous eyes widened and his sneer fell slack. Both hands slipped off Darius' throat and the mage rolled to the side struggling for air. "You, you know her. Why would you...?" Fenris jabbed a finger at the coughing man, "I have seen him before. He purchases elves often at these things."
"To free," Darius gasped. "I buy the ones I can to free them."
"Ad
miral Isabela," Cullen continued, "we..." he began to point to the lack of a king behind him. "I arrived here on her ship, theSiren's Echo, and she left with a good dozen elves once under this man's care. She's taking them to the south."
Fenris growled, his strung body pacing through the tent like a caged wolf while he took in the facts. "Then why did you pursue me?"
"I was ordered to kill Massimo," Darius croaked. "They were afraid he would stop you, end you."
The lack of faith in his skills got another snarl, but the elf extended a hand to the man splayed on the ground. Darius watched it for a moment, then he grabbed it. Fenris lifted the man he nearly killed to his feet.
"Turns out the Vints really don't know what to make of a templar's skills and..." Alistair skidded to a halt beside Cullen as he stared around the carnage, "Did I miss the strawberry jam explosion?"
The wolf, bringer of death to the slavers, slapped Darius on the back once and grunted, "I'm sorry."
"It's quite all right, I understand. Sort of," the mage pulled at his collar trying to keep anything away from his bruised neck.
"You look familiar," Fenris said turning to face Alistair.
"Ah, I'm the face of the Little Lord Leapin' soaps. Little Lord'll get your noble ass clean every time," the king threw out with a forced grin on his face.
Cullen groaned at the terrible lie. "We're pursuing a matter, looking for a mage."
"What do you want with this mage?" Fenris asked. He grabbed onto the dead Massimo's silk robes and wiped his blade clean.
"Oh, that is really not something any of us need to think about," Alistair responded getting a sneer as powerful as the elf's off of Cullen.
"We fear there is something that could break apart the veil. The plan had been to travel this Massimo's slave routes to get to the Anderfells." Cullen glared at Alistair and mimed, 'Was that so difficult?'
Fenris didn't react from the information, his fingers carefully tending to his blade. Cullen heard bits and pieces about the man over the years, but after the chantry explosion all of Hawke's companions vanished into the night. His face looked worn, the pores as deep as eroded sandstone, but there was a spark that gifted a preternatural youthful glow to him as if he had much to accomplish before he could grow old. "Cullen, you said your name was. I remember you from the Gallows." The elf glanced from the pair of Ferelden men coated in blood already seeping into their clothing under the armor, to the Tevinter unrolling a silk hankie to dab a spot off his nose. "Ha," Fenris snorted once, "how does it feel mage knowing you were rescued by a templar?"
"I..." Darius glanced over at the man he'd argued with not an hour earlier. "Thankful."
Nodding as if he didn't care about the response, Fenris kicked the heel of his boot into the bottom of Massimo's throne. Scrolls tumbled out, which the elf snatched up to pocket away. "I will help you reach the Anderfells," he said turning to them both, "as long as you agree to put down the slavers found along the way."
Cullen reached out a hand to shake the elf's, but it was Alistair who spoke up. "That was already the plan anyway, so sure, why not. Hey, if you don't mind my asking, how does that whole glowing thing work?"
Both Fenris and Cullen groaned.
Chapter Fifteen
What's In A Name
?:?? ?
Green light warped around her body, distorting the creeping chill inches beyond her consciousness. She could feel it leeching through her shut eyelids but not see it. No, that wasn't right. There was an image, a hint of something lurking in the distance beyond the wobbling light. Lana thought she could make it out if she just screwed her eyes up tight and...
The dream faded away and she snapped awake, her heart pounding against her ribcage as if she'd stabbed the archdemon again. Lana reached for her staff always laying at her right side, but found her hand shaking too violently to obey. Numb and useless, her fingers batted at the staff, unable to pick it up. Okay, this is not a problem, she breathed, trying to steady away the anxiety burning behind her eyes. She merely slept on it funny. Having a rock wedged into her spine would do that. Shaking her hands to bring back feeling, Lana tipped her head back and screwed her eyes tight. She wasn't going to cry, she wasn't going to scream, she was going to hang on to reality, rise, and find food.
Pins and needles rose up her arms as blood flow returned bringing with it dexterity. As she reached for her staff, fingers finally closing around it, her eyes opened. The Black City hung suspended above her, the closest she'd seen it since entering the fade.
"It's a rather tempting sight, isn't it?"
Lana jumped in her seat and spun around to find Wynne perched upon the top of a column. The spirit carefully sanded down her nails without a care, then gestured towards the downfall of man. "You must be curious about it."
"The last people to tread there blighted the world," Lana repeated. Grit stuck to her teeth and she fumbled for her water skin to try and wash it away. Checking twice to make certain it wasn't the poison bladder, she drank the stale water while Wynne watched her.
"All the more reason to want to see it for yourself. Think of the truths you could learn."
"You sound like White," Lana sighed. She dropped her head into her lap, her fingers pulling back at the skin of her cheeks as she tried to calm herself. Waking grew more laborious with each passing day, shattering apart her psyche with an ice pick after each session, and she couldn't understand why. She also didn't understand what Wynne was doing here.
"Where's Jowan?" Lana asked. That was the spirit who waited beside her while she slept, usually with the promise of breakfast and the request for another memory.
Wynne dismissed her request, "Wherever leeches of his type squander off to. Probably flouncing in a puddle. I'm certain he'll be back like any bad copper." She finished sanding down her nails and placed the cheese grater in her pocket. Coy eyes turned to Lana. "You remember it, don't you? Your dreams."
"Except," Lana lightly bit down on her tongue, willing away the horror gurgling in her veins, "they can't be dreams." She'd thought upon the old spirit's words for days. It wasn't as if she had anything else to pass the time. Every morning -- or what passed for her mornings -- when Lana woke, she knew she'd dreamed but couldn't dredge a single image or memory of it to her consciousness. It was as if her eyes were closed and her ears shut, but she felt the dream happening around her, knew time was passing beyond her deaf and blind body.
Wynne crossed her legs at the ankle and placed both hands upon her knees. "Now we come to the crux of the situation. If they are not dreams..."
"What are they? Yes, I am ahead of you on this question," Lana sighed. She used to love this -- quick banter back and forth with mages, scholars, anyone who could catch her curiosity. Now it exhausted her. The spirit never gave anything back, it didn't care about the answers; all it wanted was to pick at the questions like a scab never allowed to heal.
"Well, you must have postulated a theory."
"About my dreams?" Lana rose to her wobbly legs and reached for her belt laid out on the ground. "I am no Rivaini seer. I cannot predict the future from my dreams, the placement of the stars, or what month I was born in. If you're looking for someone to read your palm, you'll have to try elsewhere."
Wynne didn't rear back from her admonishment. The old spirit only waited, primly smoothing down her robes as if she had all the time in thedas. In the fade, Lana corrected herself, all the time in the fade. This wasn't thedas at all.
"Very well," Lana smacked her hand against the broken forearm of an old bird statue, unable to withstand the spirit's withering gaze. "There was a green light, not emanating from an obvious source but surrounding me. And the world beyond it was off, like staring at someone through a water glass. Or...a barrier!" Yes, that was it. Exactly like staring through a heavy barrier. Not the typical fighting one, but a powerful blockade placed so no magic came in or went out. How had she missed it?
"Now you're on to it," Wynne snapped her fingers. "Was there anything else?"
>
"No." Even thinking about the green place exhausted her. She knew she'd slept for at least a good eight to nine hours but her brain felt none of it. Instead, it was as if she stayed up the whole night cramming in chantry history before an exam. "Wait...I do remember something. There was a-"
The ground rumbled below her feet and Lana reached out to catch herself against the statue's stomach horns. By the void, what? In all her time, she'd never experienced an earthquake in the fade. Rocks often shifted off their precarious perches, some of them sliding properly to the ground while others floated up higher into the air. Things like that used to bother her, now it got an at most confused shrug. But there was never a full on earthquake before. At least she had someone to ask questions of here.
"Since when do...?" Lana began, turning towards Wynne, but the spirit turned a literal white - all color vanishing from the once human body as a glowing haze skirted around the edges. Before she could shift her question, the spirit vanished. "Great," Lana dug a line in the sand with her staff for wards and she rolled her shoulders preparing for an attack. The spirits only spooked when a demon approached.
For all the time she'd spent in the fade, there hadn't been many demons to cross paths with. Lana gingerly touched the vibrant scar across her eye. There were enough to keep her ill at ease at all times, but she'd anticipated droves of them stampeding across her the moment the breach closed. Swallowed by the horde should have been her end in either the deep roads or here. Instead, only a handful of demons slipped into her range. The hunger demons were almost her reminder she needed to eat, though she'd never consume them. They tasted of charcoal and spicy peppers. She'd certainly raised her pride demon quota since before the fade, thirteen and counting. But whatever was coming raised the hairs along her body, the air thickening to a paste dampening all sound to a crawl. It was no pride demon. Lana gripped tighter to her staff, worried that it was the one demon she barely scratched the surface of.
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