A growl echoed through the cavern as the hurlock alpha warned a packmate to keep well away from his dinner, a particularly large and succulent crab. The genlock cowered and scurried away from the alpha to join the others in their small band, shuffling and wading in the shallows of the river where it widened out enough for the pale crabs to flourish in the gentler current. One uttered a grunt of excitement when it found a rope and began hauling on it, dragging a wire cage from the deeper waters. Pincers gripped the wires and beady eyes peered out at the pack of genlocks as they tore the trap open to get at the crabs inside.
Nearby, lurking in a crack in the wall a few feet off the ground, Latitia Brosca mouthed a silent oath of frustration. She'd come to Ortan Thaig to retrieve her trap and its contents herself, and now not only would she be going home empty-handed, she was going to have to make a new trap, too, because these sodding darkspawn didn't even try to open the lid.
She settled back against the rough stone to wait for the darkspawn to leave so she could salvage the ruined cage. She tried to ignore the clamminess of her coveralls, though they stuck to her skin in the river's humidity. The coveralls were necessary - at least, they were if she didn't want to smear deepstalker droppings directly on her body. She'd gotten used to the stink, and now found it oddly comforting; it covered her own scent, and meant no darkspawn would smell her as prey. But she still didn't want to rub the stuff on her skin, so she wore the coveralls.
Her face and hands were blackened with coal, and she kept her lids half-closed to prevent her eyes from gleaming in the darkness. If she stayed quiet, she was as safe as she was in her own home.
Safer, really. Her home was in Dust Town.
She dozed a bit, waiting, listening to the slurping and growling as the darkspawn squabbled over the crabs. Then a new sound came to her sensitive ears: Someone with armored boots was walking down the southern tunnel. She drew in her breath in surprise and dread. Dwarva! Here, of all places! And only one - did they want to die?
The darkspawn heard it, too, and perked up their scabby ears, notched and laced from bite marks where they'd fought amongst themselves for dominance. There would be no infighting now, though. Now, the pack was hunting, and they were a single unit, one mind and one goal.
The alpha grunted a few orders, communicating as much with gesture and body language as with the half-formed sounds that came with difficulty from the distorted mouth. His troops drew their motley assortment of weaponry, some holding swords, others axes, daggers, hammers. Then they moved off in the direction of the footsteps, trotting almost as silently as she did. Almost, but not quite, she though with a hint of pride. She squashed that feeling, bringing her mind back to the question of what to do now.
If she helped the stupid, suicidal dwarf, she stood a good chance of being killed herself. But if she stayed hidden, the stranger would die for certain.
Serves them right, coming out here alone.
The stranger had seen the darkspawn and she - for it was a woman's voice - roared the Aeducan battlecry, followed by the distinctive, silken sound of a sword leaving its sheath.
How stupid can a person get? Yelling in the Deep Roads! By Astyth's armored ass, she's going to attract every predator in a two-mile radius.
But despite her attempt to convince herself to stay aloof, Latitia's hands crept to her dagggers when the crash of a shield smashing a genlock to the ground echoed through the cavern. A wet crunch and the stranger let out a gasp of pain, and Latitia was on her feet, running silently in padded boots towards the knot of darkspawn clustered around the dwarven woman.
The stranger fought like an enraged bronto, trapped though she was, and Latitia's daggers had cut two genlock's throats and hamstrung a third before the pack could react to the new threat. The alpha, keeping his distance and letting his minions do his dirty work, barked a guttural command and two of the genlocks wheeled to face this odd-smelling apparition even as she stabbed the the hamstrung genlock in the face when he fell backward.
"Shut up," Latitia hissed as the warrior woman drew in her breath to hurl threats at her enemies. She danced back, bringing two genlocks and the hurlock alpha with her, away from the wounded stranger and the light from the torch she'd dropped. Then she turned and ran, making no effort to be quiet.
"What? Where are you -" called the stranger.
"Stay!" Latitia snapped. Her opponents broke into a shambling run to pursue, giving in to the irresistible lure of fleeing prey. She led them around and out through the north tunnel, relying on stone sense to keep her on course and her own memory that no spiders or deepstalkers currently called this tunnel their home. The darkspawn followed her into the absolute blackness and for a few seconds, they followed the sound of her footsteps, and then even that stopped. They scented the air and smelled deepstalker droppings, but everything smelled a little bit like them in this part of the Roads. One growled in pain when he ran into a wall in the dark.
Another let out an odd gurgle, followed by a splash and a thump, and the intoxicating smell of blood and death.
The alpha tried to lead his last packmate back out of this death trap, but the genlock, mad with fury and frustration and his nose filled with the scent of meat, roared and swung wildly with his axe, striking sparks off the stone walls. The flicker of light from the spark reflected on a dagger blade for an instant before the genlock's eyes widened and glazed over in death, and he toppled slowly forward.
The alpha fled. Perhaps he could yet salvage some of the genlocks he'd left behind. Behind him, Latitia cursed and ran after him. She should have killed him first, she knew, but... he was too tall to reach his throat or face, and she was afraid, too afraid to try to match him in battle alone. And he was fast and all she could do was follow, she couldn't catch up to him before he reached the warrior she'd left behind.
The alpha ducked around a corner, and tried to ambush her when she followed. She reacted instinctively, tucking and hitting the ground with her shoulder, rolling and jumping back to her feet in one practiced motion before she skidded and turned to face him, now between him and the stranger... and horribly exposed. She clenched her hands on the hilts of her daggers and balanced on her toes, trying to control her terror at facing off with a hurlock alpha. But sudden silence fell behind her, and the alpha looked over her head and snarled with anger at the loss of his last packmate. He spat fury at her, turned, and fled back the way his pack had come, back to the Dead Trenches.
Latitia spun and ran to the stranger, who leaned heavily on her shield, the point of her bloodied sword resting on the stone as though she lacked the strength to raise it. Genlock corpses scattered the floor around her. Frowning, Latitia took in the battered and mismatched armor, the ill-fitting helmet, the breastplate with a gaping hole in the chest where its previous owner had suffered a killing blow. What Deep Roads scavenger fought like the sword-caste and shouted the Aeducan battlecry?
"May I know to whom I owe my life?" the stranger asked, rough with fatigue and pain. She reached up and pushed her visor back, revealing a pretty face, smooth and unscarred, with large hazel eyes beneath a stern brow and braided auburn hair. She looked some years older than Latitia, but still in her prime of youth and beauty, curvaceous and well-muscled in sharp contrast to Latitia's own bony frame.
"I'm Latitia," replied the younger woman. "Are you bleeding?"
"Latitia who?"
"Brosca. Are you bleeding? Please, it's important."
"I don't know any House Brosca." The stranger frowned, leaned forward to get a better look.
Latitia ducked her head automatically, hiding the brand that marked her as casteless even though her skin was solid black from the coal dust. "That doesn't matter right now. Are you - oh. You are. Sod."
Fresh blood dripped steadily down the strange warrior's leg, pooling slowly on the gory pavement. She grinned unexpectedly. "Yes. I am. What of it?"
"We have to stop it before we can go. Wait here." Latitia started to jog back to her pack and its supply of bandages, but the stranger called after her.
"Don't walk away from me!"
Latitia turned and stared at her, incredulous. "Huh?"
"Do you know who I -" she began imperiously, then faltered. Her voice broke and her shoulders slumped. Latitia would have asked what was wrong, but they had other, more pressing concerns at the moment. She fetched the pack and returned to the warrior, who had sunk down to the ground, looking miserable.
"Where's the wound?" she asked gently. The bigger woman gestured towards her side, and sat silently while Latitia unbuckled the decrepit armor and pulled it off. She hissed through her teeth at the wound beneath, gazing in dismay at the torn flesh and exposed ribs for a moment before going back to her bag for water and washcloths. She cleaned the wound brusquely, doing her best to keep the stinking darkspawn blood away from it, before threading her needle and warning her patient to brace herself.
The stranger ignored her completely, staring stoically across the ruined thaig, her clenched fists the only indication that she felt the wound. Latitia did her best to close the skin and muscle, making some effort to match the flesh together so it would heal properly, but she was no doctor and she felt cold with guilt at the mistakes she must be making. If they didn't make it back to Orzammar soon, very soon, this woman would likely die. She'd be lucky to regain the full mobility of her torso even with the aid of the best of Orzammar's surgeons.
Gritting her teeth, she made herself accept that this was the best she could do, and cut the thread. As she tightened the bandage, pulling a short gasp of pain from the stranger as she jerked the last knot as tight as she could, she heard the tiny shuffling and scratching sounds approaching from the southern tunnel. Deepstalkers. Not normally her greatest fear, but with a bleeding and clueless stranger to care for...
"Can you stand?" she asked her patient, whose battle-ruddy cheeks had gone gray with pain. The woman glared at her and refused her offer of a hand up, forcing herself to her feet with one hand braced on the tunnel wall.
"Follow me," Latitia told her quietly, and started off towards the river. "We have to wash the blood off your boots."
"You really don't - you don't know me, do you?" the warrior asked after a momentary pause. She began to follow, her metal boots scraping roughly on the stone floor. Latitia winced at the noise and vibration.
"I'm sorry, I don't," she whispered, hoping to get the woman to be quieter by her example.
"My name is Vesta," the warrior told her in a stage whisper. Latitia suppressed a grin at the failed attempt to be quiet. She supposed Vesta must be used to giving commands, to speaking in a voice meant to be heard, and silence did not come naturally to her.
"Vesta who?" she asked instead.
"Just Vesta."
She instantly regretted having asked. She wouldn't, normally, not out here in the Roads where nobody ever went alone unless they had no house, no caste, no money and no soldiers to accompany them. Asking a duster's family name would only remind them of that. But... Vesta was clearly no duster. Never mind the fact that, a woman so strikingly healthy and attractive and battle-trained, Latitia would have known her if she lived in Dust Town. Everyone would have known her.
They arrived at the river and waded through the shallows until the water ran clear from both their boots. Then Latitia started to lead her new companion to the west tunnel, hoping to cut through the narrow darkspawn hole and go around the pack of deepstalkers, when she realized Vesta wasn't following her. She stopped and looked over her shoulder to see her leaning on her shield, breathing long, deep breaths through her teeth.
"Sod," she muttered, trotting back to the wounded woman's side. "Lean on me if you can. We'll hide and you can take a break. All right?"
Vesta nodded, and the two of them made their way to one of the ruined buildings. Latitia half-dragged her up the crumbling stairs and out onto the roof, then onto a second level dug into the wall, where the ancient home's owner had dug his master bedroom into the living Stone. She chased a pack of spiny rats out of the cave and did her best to brush their filthy nest aside so Vesta wouldn't be lying on rat droppings. Vesta knelt, then carefully lowered herself to the floor, wincing as she arranged herself of her uninjured side.
Latitia crouched at the top of the stairs with daggers in hand and waited, going over the situation in her head. Deepstalkers probably wouldn't come up here. Probably. They didn't normally climb so high, and the nest of rats confirmed her theory. Spiders would, but they were far from the nearest spiderwebs and normally they didn't scuttle around hunting, preferring to set their traps instead.
But Vesta was still bleeding, and the scent would bring darkspawn from an astonishing distance, given enough time for the air to circulate. Where did the ventilators blow again? Through the... Through the north tunnel? She licked her fingers and tested the air, but found it still and dead inside the old building. Good. They had some time.
"How did you know this was here?" Vesta mumbled from behind her.
"Please try to whisper as quietly as you can," Latitia breathed back. "And what do you mean, how did I know? Didn't you?"
"How should I?" Vesta whispered with a touch of anger. "I'm no cave rat. I've never been to this thaig before."
"No, I mean - you can't feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"Never mind." No sense making the stranger feel stupid. Latitia knew that not everyone felt the same about the Stone, and counted herself lucky that her own stone sense manifested as something useful. When she was younger, and still wondered about her pa, she'd imagined that perhaps he'd been a miner, and gifted her his tunnel vision. She had no idea if Rica had any stone sense at all, because her big sister had always been too busy keeping them alive and fed to bother trying to find out.
"What... What do we do now?" Vesta sounded beaten and nearly exhausted, and no longer had to work to keep her voice down. Latitia looked over her shoulder at the woman and frowned at her pale face beaded with sweat, and the stink of fear and blood so strong, even she could smell it.
This wasn't working. Her mind raced as she tried to work out their options. If they stayed, something would find them, possibly very soon, and she wasn't at all sure that rest would help Vesta when every minute that passed delayed her proper medical care. The most direct tunnel to Orzammar was now full of blood and gore, and thus too dangerous. The south tunnel had spiders in it. The southwest tunnel led to the Dead Trenches and had too many darkspawn patrols. The north tunnel... As far as she knew, nothing lived there, but that was because the lava had melted through its confinement and rendered the middle portion unbearably hot.
"We have to go soon. Do you think you can run?" she asked, though she thought she knew the answer.
"I can run," Vesta muttered, to her surprise. "But probably not very far."
"Can you climb?"
"Climb?" She sounded blank. That meant "no." Damn... So much for the south tunnel.
"We're going to have to try the north tunnel," Latitia told her quietly. "It's hot. Really, really hot, but everything else is too dangerous."
"North? Why?"
"To get you to Orzammar, of course."
Vesta was silent for a long moment, and Latitia ventured a glance her way, in time to see her swipe angrily at her eyes and stifle a sob. "What -" she started to ask, surprised, but Vesta cut her off.
"I can't go to Orzammar. I'm in exile."
Ah. That explained a lot... and left them with very few available courses of action that did not end in a painful death. None, actually, that she could see. Then she suddenly froze in icy dread. What had Vesta done? Was she dangerous?
"I didn't do anything," Vesta said, her words coming stronger with her conviction, as though she'd heard the smaller woman's thoughts. "My brother framed me in a bid for power."
Latitia spat off the edge of the balcony.
"I agree." Vesta grinned suddenly, her eyes dark and ironic. "But I imagine you've a similar story, my new friend and savior."
"Mm... Not really. I'm just scrounging food and stuff I can sell. I like to pretend I'm a treasure hunter. And it gets me out from under the Carta's thumb for a little while." Latitia stood and started to pick her way down the tumbled stairs. "I'll be back in a bit. Try to be absolutely silent until I come back, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am," Vesta said, and Latitia heard the same note of deepest irony and wondered at it.
Vesta watched the other woman, little more than a thin shadow in the unlit cavern, until she disappeared through the lower doorway. Then she settled back against the cold floor of the carved room the girl had somehow found, trying to keep her mind away from the boiling pain in her side and the deeper ache in her soul. But it was no use. Her best friend, her little brother, always there to laugh at her jokes and take her side against Trian and Harrowmont and anyone else who took offense at their pranks and constant little games... He'd betrayed her and thrown her to the darkspawn.
How long had he been planning this? How much of his laughter and love had been a lie?
She gritted her teeth and forced her mind away from the pit of despair. She would not give him that ultimate victory. She would not die here, in these rotting caverns full of darkspawn spume, like some lost duster. She was a Princess of Orzammar and by all the ancestors, she would make the whole world tremble with the force of her wrath.
Note: This is indeed the same Latitia Brosca as stars in my other story "The Great Escape." This short story takes place a few weeks before the other begins.
Vesta's adventures with Latitia will continue soon, though I recommend using Story Alert to keep track of it since I'm not sure what my schedule will be for this story. If people are interested in these prequel-type short stories exploring life as a Duster in the Roads, I have two more of them rattling around in my head and would be delighted to share them :) Thank you so much for reading!
