6.
"Wake up, elf! We're under attack!"
Fenris threw off his blankets as the explosion of sound bloomed around him. The Fog Warriors yelled between themselves, readying weapons and running towards the choke points around their forward camp. He could smell smoke in the air, tinged with the sharp scent of residual magic. He strapped on his armour as fast as he was able, picking up his sword and following his friends as they ran out to meet the attackers.
Sweeping his eyes over the field of battle, Fenris felt his breath catch in his throat. Tevinter soldiers. They had broken through the first lines of defence, leaving the bodies of their fellows impaled on the spikes that ringed the camp.
"Blasted Vints, how did they find us?"
Rushing forward to join the attack, Fenris loosed his sword from its scabbard; cutting through a soldier with the blade before lifting the sheath to block an incoming strike. Johan and Laurel converged on his location, the three of them spinning and striking together with familiar smoothness as they struggled to push back the onslaught. He saw Farah join the melee, using twin daggers like fangs to strike at the soldiers as she threw herself through the fray. The soldiers were armoured with the seal of the magisterium; marking them as members of the elite force devoted to the service of the magisters. They fought with far more skill than the bandits and Tal-Vashoth that Fenris had fought over the past months.
"Damn it Wolf, we could use some glowing right about now!"
Fenris withdrew his sword from the stomach of his last victim and inhaled deeply before drawing on the lyrium and illuminating his friends with the blue light of his markings.
Before he could phase into his ghostly form, a magical barrier sprang up between him and the advancing soldiers. Fenris and his fellow Fog Warriors were forced to stumble back from the strength of the wall of energy, clustering together and assuming defensive positions. The magically enhanced voice wafted lazily over the battlefield, making the warriors look around in alarm, and for Fenris' blood to freeze in his veins.
"How pleased I am to see you unharmed, my pet."
The light from his markings died away, and his friends shot confused glances at him before forming up into their defensive unit, holding their weapons ready. The Tevinters lowered their own blades and stood aside to make way for the magister who approached from between their ranks. Smoke drifted from the edges of his robes and his hair was slightly rumpled from the effort of battle, but Danarius' face was calm as his eyes found his slave.
"Come along now, I grow weary of these savages."
Fenris felt his sword drop from his limp hand. Farah took a step forward, raising her bloody knives as she faced down the mage.
"Don't know who you think you are, Vint, but you've got another thing coming if you think you can take one of ours!"
The other Fog Warriors roared in agreement, tightening their formation to keep Fenris at their centre. He felt his heart swell as he looked at them. They wouldn't let his master take him. Even Farah, who he had hurt so much. She stood at the head of the group, shielding him from the mage.
Danarius frowned. His hand lifted in his tell-tale fashion, and Fenris cried out in fear.
"No!"
Not fast enough. Farah had no mages and no magic to shield her. Danarius ripped apart her skin and the blood began streaming from her veins. She screamed, the piercing cry all too quickly cut off as her body collapsed to the ground. Her blood flew through the air to form a crimson sphere around the magister. His eyes shone with delight as the power infused him.
The warriors roared with anger and sprang forward. Danarius raised his arms, and the swirling streams of blood vanished. In the same moment, the warriors' muscles were locked mid-stride, held firmly in place. He lowered his hands, and they were forced to their knees. A few among them fought, grunting and trying to wriggle their muscles free of the mage's control. Their struggles were in vain. The magister held them firm.
Fenris seized his sword from the dirt where it lay, anger pulsing through his veins. The heat of the lyrium began to surge through him, but before he could act on his fury he felt the familiar tug of blood magic working upon his limbs. He was forced to walk forward; muscles moving against his will to bring him, step by step, to his master. Despite the smooth veneer of his face, Fenris could see the lines of concentration on his brow, and the drops of sweat beading near his temples. Even with the power of Farah's blood bolstering his strength, the effort required to immobilise the dozen Ash Warriors as well as move Fenris was immeasurable. Danarius drew him closer until they stood mere inches apart. Keeping one hand in the tight claw of command that held the warriors, he drew up the other to take hold of Fenris' face. He moved it side to side, examining it carefully.
"My little Fenris, you couldn't think that I would have left you here. You were far too valuable."
His grip tightened.
"You should have waited near the coast for me. It's inexcusable that you ran so far. And now look. It took me altogether too much time to track you down through this accursed jungle."
He let go of Fenris and waved his hand. The magical hold vanished, and the sudden loss of pressure was so sudden that Fenris dropped down to one knee. He panted heavily, kneeling before the magister.
"You belong to me, Fenris. How is it that these savages presume to think that you are theirs?"
His voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
"What is it they called you? Wolf? Such arrogance. They spit in the face of my achievements."
Fenris closed his eyes tightly as the magic took control again, raising his chin to look up at his master.
"Look at me."
He opened his eyes. Danarius fixed him with a burning gaze.
"What is your name?"
The dream had to come to an end. Who was he to think he could be anything else.
"Fenris."
"And who am I?"
Inevitability.
"Master."
"Very good. Now stand up."
Fenris rose to his feet. The tug of magic had long since vanished.
"Kill them."
He was tired. So very tired. He felt a weight bearing down on him. The inevitability of it all pressed against his heart. His eyes prickled. He squeezed them closed. Better to see the darkness than to see the betrayal.
He moved automatically, watching it all as if the actions were someone else's. He looked on blankly as his arms moved and the blood began to flow. His heart lurched as his friends dropped to the ground. They were killed cleanly, as painlessly as possible. But the pain in their eyes did not come from the edge of his sword. Laurel wept as he approached, held in place, unable to resist. Her tears mixed with the blood that coated his blade. Johan simply stared, eyes piercing through the walls he tried to hold around himself.
Why? Why did they have to die?
The last body fell to the ground.
Fenris exhaled shakily. The air was misted with blood, he could taste it on his tongue. Salt and fear. Betrayal. He looked down at the corpses of his friends, looking into the sightless eyes that he had been unable to meet in life.
"How very tedious."
Danarius brushed some ash from the sleeve of his robes.
"Now we must be on our way. Come along, pet."
Fenris' hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. Heat blossomed in his chest and seeped through the rest of his body. Anger. Rage. This was not inevitable. He could have stopped this. He didn't need to obey. He saw Farah's smile in his mind. Heard Johan's laugh. He had the right to be free. The fire in his chest burst out of him as an explosion of power. He roared in anger and pain, and the blue energy of his markings swirled around him like tongues of flame. The magister and his soldiers were thrown backwards.
Fenris phased into a lyrium ghost, sweeping over the bodies of friend and foe before disappearing into the jungle. His feet barely touched the ground as he ran. Away, away. He would no longer be chained. He would run to the ends of the earth to escape the bonds. He would no longer serve any magister. He would be a slave no longer. He would be free.