The Warden's Rose

Chapter One

The Circle Tower

Lake Calenhad, Ferelden

She stumbled, the vibrations through the Tower becoming more violent. The clash of steel and the thunder of magic in the floors above no longer seemed so muffled. She threw herself into the stairwell, losing her footing in a pool of gore. She felt the slick of blood on her hands, but her fear drove her to her feet.

She reached the library, her breath heaving from her lungs. Her eyes darted, as fast as the frenzied thoughts in her mind as she sought a way to freedom. She averted her gaze from the corpses that littered the floor, not wanting to notice familiar faces scattered between the bodies of demons.

She made it only as far as a table before she ducked beneath the heavy frame. Armour clad men and women stomped past, a voice calling from the front.

'This floor is clear, head to the next and spread out. Exterminate all abominations.'

She held her breath, watching as steel-clad feet filtered past her vision. One pair remained, motionless.

The fighting had darkened the room. She slowly clamped her hands over her mouth, hoping her dark robes would obscure her into shadows.

She squashed the panic that rose inside her as he took a step towards her, but he faltered when screams echoed in the stairwell. He turned, sprinting in the direction of the Templar force. She waited only long enough for him to get out of sight before she sprinted out from under the table. She scooped up the nearest staff, ignoring the blood that soaked the grip.

Escape.

She sprinted through the library, almost sliding into another pool of gore. Her thoughts raced, her ears straining for the sound of armour, but the fighting seemed to be behind her now. She focused on her goal, knowing she neared the basement stairs, but she was forced to duck into the shadows once more. She hid in the nearest room.

She only heard one set of heavy, armoured footsteps, but softer steps sounded. A tall, heavily armoured soldier passed first with a sword and shield, his armour and blade splattered with blood. She could not see his face behind his helmet, but she could tell that he was broad and strong: the weight of his heavy armour did not slow his determined steps.

Were there more demons on this level?

She could not tell, but they had certainly been fighting.

'We must hurry,' a voice called, and a face she recognised passed. She hardly knew the older mage, despite their confinement in such close quarters, but she knew her name.

Wynne...

Two more mages followed. One wore a ragged belt-lined skirt, her slim figure bared around the dark fabric that draped from her neck. Her black hair shone in the firelight, her staff at the ready. Beside her was another mage, the mage who had become a Grey Warden shortly after her Harrowing: Lilara. Her pale hair was tied in her customary bun, a few strands escaping. As an apprentice, her features had been soft. Now, she wore a hard, determined glare, but it did not mask her beauty.

Pieces fell into place quickly. Demons were loose in the Tower, and the Grey Wardens were here to clean house. She did not want to believe that fellow mages would be prepared to wipe out their kind, their friends, but she knew the Templars. They would not be above manipulation.

When their footfalls disappeared into the distance, following the sounds of battle, she made her way to the basement door. The normal magical barriers were damaged, the Tower slowly crumbling in places from the battle that had raged in the room, from the battle that still raged above. She heaved at the door, the hinges grinding as she gained purchase. The gap was small, but her petite frame slid through easily. Although she was only an apprentice, she knew what she sought.

What they stole from me.

All the magic barriers that would have hindered her before were broken or fractured enough for her to destroy. She dared to hope as she reached the room she had dreamed of for so many years. In the shelves, shining among the rest, was her goal. She leant the staff against a shelf.

As she reached to grasp the phial, she paused, waiting for some invisible force to fling her backwards, but none came. Her fingers grasped the small glass phial. In her hand, the phylactery glowed brighter, blood recognising blood. She reached into her pocket, retrieving a length of leather cord. She secured the phylactery to it, then deftly tied the cord around her neck, tucking the phial and leather beneath her robes.

She gripped the staff once more, sprinting back up the stairs. Little stood between her and her escape. Her feet carried her on the route she had planned for months, her lungs burning with effort. Through a door, then another, her goal in sight.

As she reached for the handle, a heavy force crashed into her side. She slammed into the stone floor with a broken cry. She heard something crack inside her, blistering pain searing her right side. She gasped in a pained breath, looking up to see the rage demon approaching her.

Without a thought, she threw her staff up. Lighting cracked above, and the demon exploded, spattering her with gore. She held her side, her ribs aching as she stood. She gripped the staff for support, her hand finally touching the heavy handle of the external door. The turn was the most satisfying movement she could remember, a gust of fresh air filling her lungs as she heaved the heavy door open. She stumbled into the light. Her vision blurred, the pain in her ribs spiking as she stepped onto the bridge.

So close.

Dark spots danced in her vision, and she stumbled. Despair rocked her. She had never thought she would make it so far, and now she had, her bruised and broken body was failing her.

She gripped the stone support of the bridge, her blood encrusted hand leaving a blotchy print. She gasped desperately for air, but each breath was more agonising than the last. No breath seemed to sate her lungs, and the dark spots spread. She lost her balance, plummeting into the cold embrace of Lake Calenhad.

A stab of pain woke her. Her teeth chattered loudly, the sound almost deafening. She dragged her eyes open, wincing, grit from the lake scratching beneath the lids. She pulled herself from the water, collapsing on the muddy shoreline. Her breaths came in sharp gasps, her body heaving, bringing up the water she had swallowed. A new wave of agony washed over her exhausted body. She knew she had to have at least one broken rib, and by the throbbing in her hand and wrist, the fall she had suffered after the demon attacked had damaged her already broken body further.

She dipped her hand back into the water, the remains of the blood washing away. Dark splotches were slowly blooming on her wrist.

The cold water probably helped, she thought wryly, not daring to flex her fingers.

She slowly knelt at the edge of the water, washing her face. Some of the grit cleared from her eyes, and although it was painful, she finally settled her breathing. Before her, a dark cloud surrounded the Tower. She thought she could still hear screaming from within, her mind flashing to recall the bodies that littered the floor. A strange calm settled over her. The horrors within had finally given her the chance she had waited for, becoming more desperate with each passing day.

She looked at her surroundings, hoping to see the staff washed up on shore. When she made it to her feet, she staggered along the edge, finding it a short distance away. She had to reach the docks. From there, she could hide in a cart. Traders travelled nearby regularly, the Circle Tower part of their standard route, and with their regular patterns, one should be at the docks now, waiting for daylight. She could end up in Denerim, Redcliffe, Orzammar: she didn't care. She needed to get as far away from the Tower as possible, as fast as possible.

She moved as quickly as she could. The Templars were occupied in the Tower, but she had no way to know if one remained at the docks. The frigid wind chilled her to her bones in her soaked robes, but a renewed rush of hope spurred her on. She would hide behind The Spoiled Princess, watching for the trader to return to his cart. The sun would rise soon. Once they had strapped the horses and climbed on, their focus on the road ahead, she would climb into the back.

As she neared the Inn, a voice called out behind her. She turned, knowing that in her drenched robes, an outright lie would fail her.

A Templar approached. She felt her veins fill with icy fear, her grip on her staff tightening.

'You, what are you doing here?'

His hand gripped the hilt of his blade. Although he moved slowly, the intent was clear. Carroll wasn't the brightest Templar in the lot, but all Templars were known for their distrust of mages.

'The Tower is under attack. The Grey Wardens are inside now,' she said, 'I got out, but I'm hurt. I fell from the bridge.'

'Hurt?'

'A rage demon. I think it broke my ribs.'

'There are demons in the tower?'

She heard the soft sound of his blade rising a fraction from the sheath. Her eyes darted down, eyeing the glint of metal revealed.

'Yes, in the upper levels. I was on the second floor with a friend. I hid in a room and then got out through the library.'

'And where is First Enchanter Irving?'

'He was in the higher levels. I… I have no idea if he is alive, but he is a powerful mage.'

'Powerful mages still fall.'

'What does that mean?'

'I have seen even the strongest of mages fall to the embrace of demons. I know you. You're only an apprentice. The Templars will be preparing to purge the Tower.'

Her fist tightened on the staff. 'I'm not in the Tower.'

'But you will return there. I cannot let you leave.'

'I'm not going back, nor will I be the first mage murdered in the name of the Right of Annulment.'

Carroll pulled his blade, but she was faster. Fire crept from the Templars armour, engulfing him. He screamed, his blade clattering to on the dense earth. His body landed with a heavy thud.

She moved quickly. There was no time to strap the cart herself. She limped to the gate behind the Inn, coaxing a richly coloured black mare over. Her grooming marked her as a Templar horse. She would be fast and strong.

The horse eyed her wearily as she unlatched the gate and approached, but soft strokes down its face calmed it. She found the standard Templar gear and grabbed the leather harness. The horse protested with a huff as she strapped it on, but it did not fight, even when she set the saddle on its back. Using the fence as a ladder, she eased herself up, gently soothing the mare as it whinnied.

'It's ok, you take care of me, and I'll take care of you.'

She gripped the reigns, riding into the night and away from the Circle of Magi.

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of The Warden's Rose.

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