Dragon Age - The Kill. Chap 20

I was Dafen, 'Wolf Cub' in the language of my people. I was a hunter in a clan that one day ran afoul of Imperial soldiers. They fell upon the aravel and slaughtered the halla. Our Keeper and his First brought down many with their arts, the rest of us fought with bow, blade and axe, until the dark magisters began to work their perverted craft and all turned to ruin. Trees twisted to life at our Keeper's commands were burned and destroyed by demons summoned by our foes, and that was only the beginning. The mages seized control of our flesh. Brother turned against brother, sister against sister, bonded slew one another then were borne down by their own children.

We killed many…of them, of our own…but the magisters were too well protected and their blood magic too potent.

We who survived, those who did not manage to flee, were carried to different destinations but ultimately the same fate: slavery. I don't know what has become of the rest of my clan, but I am no longer one of them. How could I be? My submission has become too complete, too a part of what I am, for me to be elvhen. I will never know freedom from the chains placed in my mind…even when I sleep I can feel the fetters.

As I feel them now.

I dream of the hunt. I dream of a forest like no other. I dream that one of the Creators runs by my side, in my shadow, in my heart…

…under the sun and the star, the leaves and the shade…

"The magisters," Zevran said once he, Xai, Ciela and Kamator had reached the relative safety of Airlia's lodgings on the fourth floor, "I overheard them say they were going to some vault upstairs for another phylactery. How many of them do these people make?"

Xai retrieved the woman's robe and shoes they had smuggled in for Ciela, the measurements for them having been dictated by her cousin, and handed them to her. "For a full thrall, I think three; one for his master, one for the Circle vault, and one for the Argent Spire. They didn't have you for long so you might not have to worry, but we'll have to move quickly all the same. They'll know something is wrong when they reach the sixth floor and see no one on guard, and if they realise Ciela is missing they might simply go for her phylactery. Who's this?" He nodded at Kamator, dark eyes appraising the swirling Rivaini tattoos.

"Someone who's wondering what he's gotten himself into," the slave muttered. "Kamator. Yours, I believe." He tossed the lure to Xai, who snatched the glittering humming thing from the air before glancing at Zevran.

"The one who assisted your escape from the tower?"

"In the flesh," Zevran confirmed. "I have offered him a way out since that is where we ourselves are headed, no?"

"By 'way out', do you mean 'early grave?" Kamator jerked his chin towards Ciela, who had turned her back to the men and was stripping right there in the same room. "A few words and she'll turn on all of us. She's a thrall."

"Not any more," the elven woman said without glancing back. She shrugged the new robe on, which Zevran couldn't help noticing was a rather flattering midnight blue. "And never again."

Kamator shook his head. "There are chains and whips in your mind that won't go away with a little defiance, woman."

"The glowing eyes," Zevran said suddenly, remembering, and shared a quick glance with Xai. "They were controlling you from a distance, yes? Can they do that while you are with us?"

Ciela wrapped the cloth-of-gold sash about her waist, working quickly. "I have to be asleep. I'm not positive how it works, but I was always made to fall asleep whenever they used me like that."

"What's the range?"

"I don't know."

"Can you resist it?" Xai asked.

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug and she looked over at him. "I'll have to work on that, won't I?"

The human's head tilted slightly to one side as he returned her gaze, and something like a smile…speculative? …approving? curved his lips.

Ciela's attention shifted to Zevran then, almost reluctantly, as though ashamed. "I'll have to work on a few things," she added, and crouched to put her shoes on.

Zevran frowned to himself, wondering if he had somehow earned some sort of obscure apology, but let it lie for now and turned to Kamator in his bright red, gold emblazoned robe. "I am thinking you will need no disguise, my friend."

The Rivaini elf shook his head. "Better credibility for you having a slave tag along," he noted dryly.

"We don't have the right shade of pigment to hide your ink anyway," Xai said. He tugged a sheathed blade from within his robe and tossed it. "Can you use a dagger?"

Kamator caught it easily. "If I have to." The elf's eyes flicked briefly to the pommel of the weapon, possibly searching for a distinguishing mark that would reveal something of Xai and Zevran's origins and purpose, but the former Crows had been careful—none of their weapons or armour bore the devices of their previous guild, nor of the Wardens.

"Ready," Ciela said. "Do I get one of those?"

Zevran produced a plain blade of his own and held it out in silent offering, left-handed.

She took it and slid it into her sash. Her head dipped in a brief but uncomfortable nod. "Thanks."

He gave her a grin in return. "Not at all, mi ciela."

"Keep up and keep together," Xai told them all. "Look like we're in a hurry to get somewhere. We're going straight downstairs and out the front door. Zevran, your arm?"

Zevran held up his left hand and wiggled the fingers. "This one works, yes?" He grinned humourlessly. "So long as no one bumps the other one I won't feel like emptying the contents of my stomach across the floor. I can keep up, have no fear."

It was as close as he was willing to get to an admission he was in a considerable amount of pain, and the former master knew it. The healing poultice Xai had slapped onto the bandages would reduce the swelling and bleeding, but it was a quick solution only, a patch job. Proper attention to his injury would have to wait until they had the tools and time, and that wasn't now. He would simply have to endure.

Kamator opened the door for them like a slave would his masters and proceeded outside with Ciela. Xai was on their heels when Zevran grabbed lightly at his robed shoulder.

"Wait. I wish to speak. What happened upstairs—"

Xai's expression turned to one of acute irritation. "We have no time for this, Arainai."

Zevran locked eyes with the other Crow, knowing he was correct. "Then you will explain later, my friend. Yes?"

He looked indifferent. "As you say."

The human turned his back and stepped out into the passage and Zevran followed, wondering to himself. He had fully expected to be abandoned. Crows did not abide by philosophies such as 'leave no man behind', the task was to get the job done and get yourself out alive. Stopping to assist a companion who'd gotten into trouble wasn't a good survival trait, and was doubly frowned upon if it jeopardised the mission objective—in this case, getting Ciela Tabris out. Neither he nor Xai were Crows anymore, this was true, and the Grey Wardens both of them had spent much of their recent lives with did things quite differently, but still. This was Xai Merras, no? He wouldn't stick his neck out for Zevran for no reason.

He hadn't even gloated about it.

I was Dafen, 'Wolf Cub' in the language of my people. I was a hunter of the Dalish...

I am running through the trees, speeding over patches of sunlight and drifts of leaves. It is no natural forest but a dreamscape, the perfect hunting ground, no dense undergrowth to trip me up and the trail of blood fresh, so fresh I can smell it, almost taste it when I breathe. I don't have to pause to look for trail signs, I just have to follow and so I do. And it feels good, almost…real. How long has it been since I ran in the waking world? I want to laugh with exhilaration and maybe I do, somewhere, but I hear it only in my mind…a sense of joy so sweet and thought forever lost I suddenly wish to weep that I may never feel it again, for when I wake I will be in that place once more, with stone all around me and no sun, no wind, no open forest. Just a shemlen prison. If I could stay here and never wake again, I would.

I keep running. There is a bow in my hand and a quiver across my back. Dalish leather wraps me in a familiar embrace, and all about in the gold-dappled trees I can see my people, elves who smile and shout greetings as I race by on my mission. I cannot stop for them; I want to keep running while I still have the scent. The dream tugs at me, insistent.

And then I see my prey.

Second floor.

The museum and magical items repository. Here people could buy, sell, trade, have objects appraised or enchanted, and it was thronged with mages and mundanes alike. Looking around, Zevran decided that if he regretted anything about this trip to Tevinter, it was missing out on a chance to browse the treasures this level held. On the way through with Xai earlier he had caught glimpses of majestically tooled leathers, wondrous swords and daggers, rings and amulets of gold, silver and other precious metals, some with precious stones and others wrought into intricate shapes. It was a trove he would have adored to spend some time admiring, maybe even purchase something from, but alas, business trips did not allow for luxuries like shopping.

He sighed a little, wistful at the lost opportunity, then noticed Ciela glancing furtively at some of the displays as she hurried to keep up with Xai. "Looking for something?"

"Wha—? Oh." She lowered her voice. "My boots and dagger. When slaves are brought to the tower anything they have on them is confiscated. I heard that valuable or magical items can end up here, so I hoped…" She faltered, as though realising something. "…but…then…I guess it's not like we could stop to buy anything even if…" She fixed her gaze on the back of Xai's head again. "Forget it. Boots and a dagger aren't worth it."

"I know the allure of a good pair of leather boots, myself," Zevran said conversationally, smiling, but kept his voice low. "Tell me of this magnificent footwear of yours. They were valuable, you said?"

For a moment he thought she wouldn't answer because she shifted her shoulders like the question had made her uncomfortable. But then she said, "My mother made them for me. She'd embroidered vines on them. They probably weren't worth that much really—not enough to be up here with all these…treasures."

Zevran glanced at her profile. "My mother…she made gloves. Leather, naturally, and embroidered like your boots but with Dalish designs. They were stolen from me a long time ago, alas."

She met his eyes and her expression softened a tiny bit. "I'm sorry." She swallowed, cleared her throat, then added in a voice that sounded deliberately lighter, "And I'm…sorry…for…you know…grabbing you in the library. And digging my nails in."

"Mi ciela…" Zevran smirked. "I am certain that one day we will look back on that day and laugh that within a half hour of first laying eyes upon one another, you had already straddled me on the floor with one hand up my skirt, 'grabbing', as you so eloquently put it, my pisello. Usually it takes me a little longer to have that sort of effect on a beautiful woman."

Her lips twitched as she suppressed another smile. "And I usually don't grope handsome men on the first day of meeting them."

"No?" Pleased by her response, he said, "What about the second day?"

A commotion behind them stopped her from replying. Both elves looked back and Kamator, directly at their rear, also turned. People were pointing and yelling, many moving aside as something approached fast. When a glowing-eyed thrall ran into view, an elven man with red hair to his waist, brands and blood on his throat, and clad only in a white shift, Ciela grabbed at Xai's robe.

"Ezio's followed us! That's Dafen, one of his slaves!"

"All he has to do is call the guards and we're finished," Zevran muttered, turning to confront this new complication. Kamator moved to stand behind them while Ezio's thrall stopped several feet away, looking from face to face as though marking each of them. "So why has he not?"

"He can't," Ciela replied, as quietly as she could while silence descended on the immediate area. "It's hard controlling speech in blood dreams, I don't think they've figured out how yet!"

Xai gave her a single startled look, then his expression snapped to one of angered authority and he stepped towards the thrall, pointing his staff at him. Arcanum began to flow from his lips like a challenge or threat, impassioned and dire. Guards who had begun to converge on the site, both of the mage and weapon-bearing variety, paused at hearing some of the language used and looked uneasy.

"He's bluffing," Kamator muttered, just behind Zevran. "And he's insane. Just like someone else I could name."

I was Dafen, 'Wolf Cub' in the language of my people…

He who I hunt is not alone as I'd expected him to be. It is a small and mismatched herd I have tracked. I feel caution and a desire to stop running, so I do, the better to examine my quarry.

The blood-scent clings thickest to the doe; the elaborate carvings in her silver horns are streaked with red. I had wondered if she would be here, and consider it a stroke of luck that I have found her. The Keeper will be pleased to have her back safely. I know in my mind she is confused and must be returned to the clan so she can be calmed and healed. I will be able to reach her mind with little effort, fresh from the run and afraid of her surroundings as she is, but the others might not be so easily dealt with so I will not waste my energies on a soft target.

There are two elves. The one with the skin, eyes and hair like gold I expected. He is the one I hunt, tattooed like us but not like us. I do not know him, but I know of him through the dream. He is responsible for spooking the halla from her herd. He must have panicked her to those kills. He stands by her now but he watches me. The second elf is flat-eared like my prey, but older and darker. His face I recognise; he has been with the clan for a long time and so I am unsure if he is being held against his will or complicit. I will find out later, but otherwise he is a known quantity and I have no fear of him.

The final figure is another halla, and when the stag pushes past the others and rears with a challenging bellow I feel astonishment at the sight of him! He is not a pure silvery-white like the first, but grey and scarred, his horns blackened, their carvings pitted and damaged, his body warped with…blight? I have never seen such a thing, but in the dream it makes sense and there is no mistaking that smell of corruption. Another lost guide? How long has he wandered alone and sick? Who was the master of his herd? What happened to him? When did he go astray? I try to see him more clearly through the dream and feel it waver, so I stop lest it shatter around me. I will learn the truth when I calm him.

He once dwelled with the People; all halla answer the call of Ghilan'nain.

Elves are coming out of the trees and surrounding us now, anticipating the confrontation, and despite my trepidation I do not wish to back away. I am a hunter of the clans, here to bring a rogue to justice, a kinsman to guidance, and two injured halla to safety. I am armed with my bow and the blessings of the Creators themselves!

The blighted stag rears a second time, thrashing the air with his hooves and roaring; around us the watching elves begin to murmur and stare at me, as though it has just accused me of something foul.

I do not speak. I know it is no use to try. In dreams, words make little sense and I refuse to bleat like a beast. But he is a halla of my clan and in obvious need, I am elvhen with the gods by my side, and I can make him hear me without words. I give him a calming smile and reach out a hand, projecting confidence, peace and promise. I feel the energies within me stir and flare outwards, Ghilan'nain come to my aid!

The halla flinches back and snarls, rebuffing the attempt. His horns, though broken, still look sharp and dangerous as he tosses them high in the air. A blackened hoof paws at the leafy trail and I reach out again as he begins a cautious approach, making him hesitate. I call upon Andruil for help, I pour more of myself into the effort and feel the blood pounding in my heart. It hurts, I feel warm liquid choke my lungs and cough it up reflexively, I want to stop, and abruptly it does.

Through the power of the Creators, I have prevailed. The blighted halla's great head droops. It comes to me, docile and trusting, and I smile reassuringly at him. I will him to sit and he kneels placidly at my feet. I stroke his proud brow, trying to convey that all will be well. We will return to my clan. We will find him a cure, or…and this thought is not mine…study his sickness and what benefits it might yield.

The stag shudders and sags.

He will be fine.

He knows he has come home.

Zevran put a steadying hand on Ciela's arm, guessing she was primed to flee but finding instead she was coiled to attack. Xai was on his knees before the smiling elven thrall, whose eyes and lyrium brands were suffused with an unholy red glow and whose bloodied fingers were running through the Grey Warden's short dark hair. The mages in the immediate vicinity were shouting and arguing with one another, or yelling at the thrall. Many were quitting the area entirely. Mundanes watched, agape, or fled clutching their purchases.

"Magic," Ciela was hissing, fingers curling to claws. "See how he bleeds? He's being channelled, Ezio's working blood magic through him! Dear Maker—"

"Ciela!" Zevran's fingers tightened on her arm. Whatever Xai had been saying in Arcanum, the mages were not looking favourably upon the actions of Ezio's thrall. He needed to keep that advantage and press it before they were all picked off one by one. He needed the guards on his side. "I need you to tell me what is being said! What is going on?"

But the thrall was lifting his hand from Xai's brow—

Zevran stepped quickly in front of Shianni's cousin, glared back into a snarling face locked halfway between horror and hate. "Tell me!" he snapped at her. "NOW!"

I was Dafen…

The elves are all shouting meaningless sounds at me for subduing the corrupted halla, but it doesn't matter. They know what I am. They have seen the gods are with me. They will not interfere. The doe is my next target, and she will be easier. She has not been long away from the clan, she wants to return but is just too afraid and blood-crazed to listen to her better instincts. I will help her. I lift my hand—

The golden elf intercedes. My true prey seeks to thwart me. In the excitement of discovery I had almost forgotten my goal. He stands in front of the doe, listening to her as she lowers her white muzzle to his ear and whispers, then he calls out to the elves around him. They look amongst each other uneasily but say nothing, and this time I am allowed to laugh.

…allowed…?

The dream trembles, blackness looms behind the crowd of elves and twists into monstrous forms, demonic in appearance. I start to feel afraid, but the powers guiding me, that presence I thought belonging to the Creators, expresses contempt for my fear and will not let me wake. The shadows expand and spread like a black flower blooming. Wings unfurl to blot out the sun. Blue flames spew from mighty jaws and chains of lyrium and blood bind me.

The golden elf shouts more words, nonsense, but he is cowed to silence as I extend my hand towards him, my hand which drips blood drawn by the dragon. Or is it the dragon that terrifies him? It bends over me, a great claw with scales of midnight reaching past my head and shoulder in mimicry of my stance, crimson talons spread to grasp and pierce.

But then another voice rocks me. The dragon whips around, swift as a serpent, maw gaping, and I turn with him. I behold one he considers an equal, a sister…a rival. Another shadowy dragon, accompanied by a pristine halla. My blighted animal rises to stand beside me, at my master's bidding but through my life blood, and the veil of the dream begins to tear as glimpses of reality intrude and Beyond collides with it.

We are so incredibly doomed.

Zevran tried hard not to show even a flicker of fear, but it was difficult when Ciela's terror was so readily apparent, Kamator was standing to one side with his eyes downcast and his face blank, and Xai, the only one who seemed to have had a hope of bluffing them out of this, was lost to them. His heart hammered with dread as Magistra Phaedra faced Ezio's thrall, flanked by one of her own who was just as underdressed. Phaedra's thrall was not under any blood magic influence; the brands encircling both eyes did not glow.

Zevran's hand began to stray to a concealed weapon. He could kill Ezio's slave, that would liberate Xai, maybe he could even strike Phaedra if his aim was true, but he did not relish the idea of throwing a blade left-handed at such a distance. There were mages aplenty in this room, though. As soon as he revealed himself and struck with steel rather than spell, the lies Xai had woven would come undone. Even so, if Phaedra intended to take them all, Zevran would rather make them pay for him a second time. And with blood, not coin.

"You dare this?" Phaedra demanded of Ezio in the King's Tongue, punctuating her words with small flourishes of her staff. "You have gone mad, brother! Our arts are not to be wielded so, especially not here. This is the Minrathous Circle Tower, not the Braeis Arena or a duelling ground! Release that mage immediately!"

The thrall merely tilted his head, but Xai got to his feet and faced the magistra. Slowly, as though impressing a point, the Warden held out his arms and let his mage staff clatter to the floor. The message was so clear Zevran couldn't see how Phaedra could possibly miss it, but she appeared unconcerned by the gesture. Was she playing along with the ruse, then? To what end?

"I don't understand," Ciela whispered from just behind him, and Kamator said nothing when Zevran shot a glance his way, merely standing passively as a slave should.

"Look at yourself, brother," Phaedra said, nodding at the red-haired thrall. "You bleed him too deep and reach too far. There is no one in your sanctum to lend aid or mana as you falter. If you don't relinquish your spell and your target, you will draw attention and perish."

The thrall flung out a hand to indicate Zevran, Ciela and Kamator, though he continued to glare at Phaedra.

"You are attacking guests of the Circle and foreign dignitaries." Phaedra struck her staff sharply against the floor and there was a soft fwoomph as crimson tongues of flame shot up the carved haft from foot to dragon-carved head. "As a Senior Enchanter of the Minrathous Circle I say again: release him!"

I…am…Ezio Enaros, Mage-Lord of the Cendrée Tower, Senior Enchanter of the Minrathous Circle, Master of Blood and Ice and Iron.

And I am betrayed.

My sister speaks truly on one thing alone: I have overextended myself. Had it only been Zevran and the escaped Ciela Tabris I would have succeeded, but I allowed my avarice to attain this other thrall who carries the taint in his blood to get the better of me. He is struggling like a caged beast, throwing himself against the bars locking his mind from his body, and the magic I stored in my elven slave wanes quickly as I tighten my grip, trying to choke the human into submission. My slave is also beginning to stir as the strain of my magic and the unreality of the situation turns dream to nightmare—his mind will crumble if I am not careful.

In the blood dream, my black wings flare and flames the colour of lyrium drip from my fangs; I am endlessly entertained by the images the slaves ascribe to us, themselves and their prison. It is fascinating to experience. Phaedra's form is just as intimidating as my own, as befits one of her rank and power.

If I meet her challenge she may strike at me through Dafen. It is a small vulnerability but a significant one that every thrall-lord knows exists, Phaedra better than most. When Zevran killed her slave in the library he almost killed her with the same stroke. Only her apprentices saved her life that day.

So I bow my head in agreement. I will withdraw, exercise patience, and come at this again from another angle. And as for Phaedra—my fangs grit together in a snarl—she will suffer for this insult. No doubt she intends to seize control of these cattle for herself the moment I am gone.

I cancel the blood control and feel the relief melt through Dafen's body. Then I call him to return to his cell—his clan, his Keeper, whatever his dreams depict.

The slave has not taken two paces before the tainted halla attacks him from behind, impaling him through the chest with a single skewering plunge of blight-blackened horns. The momentum of the blow propels slave and halla towards me. Dafen is pinned between beast and dragon, the dying breath of the elf sighing out as the animal's antlers pass completely through his body, pierce my scales, and I rear back—!

On the sixth floor in Dafen's white-draped cell, Magister Ezio arched up violently from the bed with a cry of pain and the Fade-sense of twin blades shearing through his body. His wards fractured, his mana drained, the field sealing his room flickered and fizzled and fell, but he escaped and staggered up from the mattress before collapsing to the floor.

This will not be tolerated!

His fingers scraped against the stone and his heart laboured. Mana. He needed mana or blood, it didn't matter which, he just had to make it to his other thrall and drain what he needed to recover himself, and then…then…by the Old Gods he would hunt them down and rend their minds.

Ezio stumbled to his feet and to the door, using his staff and infuriation to support himself.

As soon as he passed over the threshold and rounded the corner, one of Phaedra's thralls met him coming the other way with a dagger to the throat.

"For my mistress," the elf hissed, jerking the blade free and slamming it home a second time. "For my brothers in chains." And again. "For Shartan, Andraste, and freedom."

Blackness.

I…was…Dafen. 'Wolf Cub' in the language of my people.

The chains placed in my soul…they are rent. My mind shatters with the broken links. My heart pulses between and around the two horns (swords…?) piercing my chest. Dream or reality? It has bled together and I can't say. For every shard of myself that falls from the sky and stone ceiling, I seem to see another place beyond with green leaves and moonlight and music. Is it sanctuary for the dead or simple madness? Either one would be a blessing and release.

The halla withdraws in a sharp movement that drops me to my knees before its wrath, but pain is a distant thing. I am too distracted by the overlapping images, dream-forest, mage-tower, flashing fragments of Beyond.

It is to the last that my spirit yearns, desperate to be free before the other dragon can lay a claim to me, and the halla strikes again. My flesh feels the blow land, severing the last link keeping me trapped here, and I am suddenly flying…

… soaring into the sky as it breaks and falls around me.