Warnings: None. Well, other than over-use of DA battle tactics.
Author's Note: Honestly, parts of this chapter make me cringe. Apparently I was delirious while writing it. But some of it was salvageable enough that I didn't want to get rid of it altogether. I hope it is somewhat enjoyable, and I promise that Fenris has no more "alas, poor me!" moments in the future.
Walk Softly and Carry a Big Axe
Chapter Eight
It shouldn't have bothered him. Not really. He should have been happy about the situation. If Anders wanted to give himself to some Orlesian harlot, it could only be good for Fenris and Fenris' relationship with Hawke. Especially if Anders decided that his heart lay in Nevarra City and he never intruded on Fenris' life again.
That first night, though, listening to Anders stumble into the dormitory, a miasma of the Orlesian's strong perfume following him, Fenris had gritted his teeth on his anger. Then, waking and finding the mage still asleep, his arms around his staff like the embrace of a lover, a dreamy half-smile on his lips, Fenris was nearly overcome by the urge to disassemble the entire hated inn. With his axe. Instead, he kicked the side of Anders' bed with enough force to make it slam into its neighbour and bounce back.
"Wha-?" The mage fell into the narrow space between the two beds, tangled in the thin blankets and finally made it to his feet, staff in one hand and energy hissing around the other. His head whirled this way and that, loose blond hairs flying, as he sought out an enemy.
The room, apart from a very, very angry elf and the golden morning light, was empty.
"You over-slept," Fenris snarled.
Anders relaxed with a sigh. He looked at the rearranged beds in confusion. Then he looked at Fenris. He blinked slowly, obviously not quite awake. "Sorry," he finally said, his sleepy expression open and apologetic, fringed by his mussed hair.
Fenris choked on his rage and stalked away.
The Warden had already gone to fetch Marilyn, accepting the duty with a shrug. "I'm used to nobility," he had said calmly. When Fenris went to the common room, the Warden had returned and bore a bemused expression. He looked up at Fenris and smirked. "Where iz my Anderz?" he said in a heavily accented falsetto. "'E iz ze only one I want to see, elf! Zend 'im to me!" He snickered, but his humour swiftly died when he noticed that Fenris wasn't laughing. "You don't find this funny?" he asked.
"Hardly," Fenris replied. "It's a distraction. I don't want to be delayed because of Anders' hedonism."
The Warden quirked a red eyebrow. "A distraction for him or for you, my friend?"
Fenris couldn't even think of an answer that encompassed just how wrong that question was, so wrong that it didn't even deserve an answer. So he didn't bother. Instead, he straightened his shoulders and went to find something to fill his belly. At least he could alleviate one of his gnawing concerns.
Anders, his hair brushed and his stubble shaved away, entered soon after and spoke with the Warden. Fenris glowered at them from where he lurked near the kitchen door. He didn't want to talk to them, either of them. So he watched, instead, as the Warden repeated his impersonation for the mage's benefit and Anders rolled his eyes and grinned indulgently.
He loves this, Fenris fumed. Arrogant bastard. All he wants in life is some little chit to fawn all over him. "Oh, Anders, do some magic for me! Tell me about your adventures! Turn into an abomination and kill us all!" Dread Wolf take him. He didn't usually refer to the elven gods, but he made an exception in this case. He had asked the Maker often enough to knock the mage off of the mortal plain, it was time to ask someone else.
Anders didn't even notice Fenris' hostility. The mage summoned a servant, spoke to the girl for a moment, and then went himself up the stairs to the Orlesian's room. As he went, he tugged and adjusted his clothing, smoothed his hair, straightened his feathers like a preening jungle bird getting ready to mate.
Disgusting.
"It won't last," the Warden assured him as they walked out to the stables to ready their mounts and breathe in the fresh morning air, only slightly tainted by the stink of horse. Dog trotted with them, butting his head against the angry elf's hip. "You see this all the time; noble women taking advantage of their employees."
"That doesn't help."
"Then tell me what will." The Warden gazed at Fenris earnestly. "What do you want?"
"I...I want Hawke back."
The Warden nodded. "And thus an adventure was born. But that doesn't explain why you're ready to split that woman like a rotten log."
"Do I need an explanation?" Fenris snapped back obstinately.
"I suppose not. She's not especially kind or lady-like, and she's seducing your companion."
"Hn."
The Warden considered him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he shrugged. "Well, you obviously don't want to talk about it."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Just remember: we need the money. And when the woman is gone, you'll have Anders to yourself again."
"I don't want him to myself."
"All right, so you want to share him. That's fine." The Warden held up his hands magnanimously, apparently not realizing quite how much danger he was in. "To each their own, my friend. H-hey, wait!"
Fenris was already gone, storming out through the inn gates. Maker help him, he would walk to Minrathous!
The others caught up to him some time later, long enough for the red to have faded from Fenris' vision. The sun was already well-established in the sky on his right and the cool, damp smell of morning was giving way to the dry scent of day. Anders and the Orlesian went by at a brisk trot, her voice lifted in a delighted laugh by something Anders had said, and neither of them glanced at the dark elf. The Warden settled into a walk beside the warrior and released the reins of Fenris' mount.
The other elf looked unusually solemn. "I spoke out of turn, Fenris. I'm sorry."
"Hn." Fenris had no interest in accepting an apology.
The Warden waited for several steps. Then he sighed and sped his horse to a trot, leaving Fenris to follow as he would.
Fenris allowed the others to get far ahead of him. For a while, he walked on his own bare feet, focusing on the hard stone of the highway. His mind didn't form much in the way of coherent thought beyond vague sensations of anger and need and helplessness. He couldn't even begin to understand what was wrong in his head, why he was caught in such a stranglehold of fury. Up til now, he had hated Anders on principle and because the man was a prat. But now... Now it went deeper.
Finally, Fenris calmed, or at least tired too much to sustain the powerful emotion. He looked up and noticed that he could no longer see his companions. Suddenly, in the middle of that road, not a soul around, about a thousand hiding places in the surrounding scrub and stony hills, he felt vulnerable and exposed. He quickly mounted and urged his horse to a fast canter.
His anxiety was unfounded. He overcame the others without any trouble, already preparing to sit and eat. When Fenris found them and felt that heady relief, that they were safe and he wasn't alone, he hated himself for his need. He joined them grudgingly where they sat on blankets in the lee of some broken, crumbling walls, opting to perch on the stones nearby rather than sit with them. Anders and the woman didn't notice. The Warden, though, always vigilant, brought the dark elf a small meal, left over fare from the inn.
Fenris turned his back on the laughing couple (Would they ever stop laughing? What was so funny, anyway?) and watched the countryside as he thoughtfully consumed his food. As always, without outward distractions, his mind turned to Hawke. With every day that passed, the less convinced Fenris was that they would ever be together again. Even if they found the man, would he be the same? Would he be broken or changed in some way? Would Danarius' magic infect him, twist him, damage him beyond repair?
The elf shuddered. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about what he would find.
The day wore on and led them to another night in another servants' dormitory. Fenris barely slept, uneasy with the other people so close by, his hand always ready on his weapon. Again, Anders joined them very late and stinking of perfume. The next morning, though, Fenris felt numb. He moved like a golem, responding only automatically to the Warden's talk.
Another day passed, as uneventful as the last. Fenris started to feel like he'd been riding in this cloud of misery for an eternity, trapped in a nightmare with Hawke some distant goal and the mockery of Anders and the Orlesian maid's pleasure some immediate torture.
They found another inn as the world darkened around them and they took two rooms this time, one for the woman and one for her escorts. After they had eaten, and without a word to his companions, Fenris wrapped himself in a blanket and curled up on the floor, leaving the beds to the Warden and Anders. The Warden was wise enough not to argue and Anders was already in the other room with the Orlesian. Dog, intelligent and affectionate beast that he was, lay his great mass against Fenris' back and snored.
Fenris didn't think he would sleep. He was tense, waiting for the heavy step of the human mage, returning with the stink of the female on him. It never came, though, and Fenris passed into a fitful, dreamless sleep without realizing it. When the light changed and he startled awake, he immediately noticed that there was only one other breath in the room; the Warden. Anders never came.
Fenris slipped out before the Warden woke. Dog lifted his head to watch Fenris leave, but did not follow. The inn was barely stirring, beyond a yawning waif of a girl stirring the main fireplace to life. She didn't hear him go by.
He waited in the courtyard, in the first cold grey light of morning, the air thick and mysterious with moisture. As the sky brightened, there were more noises from the inn as workers and patrons alike woke and began their days. Once, the Warden emerged and looked about. He spotted Fenris, but something about the dark elf's face must have warned him away, for he did not approach. The scent of food wafted out of the building and turned Fenris' stomach. He felt sick.
Soon enough, the stable boy brought the horses around and Fenris' companions appeared, bright-eyed and ready for travel. Anders looked toward Fenris, his expression curious, and Fenris avoided his gaze. He didn't want to see the bloom of colour on the man's cheeks or the way he swaggered into his saddle.
The morning never fully dried out and the party rode through intermittent drizzles. That suited Fenris' mood just fine; he glowered out at the world from under sodden white hair. Anders, that arrogant abomination, was in his prime. He cast ice spells and fire spells with wild abandon, entertaining the Orlesian with intricate, frozen images made entirely with mist, hanging in the air like visions from other worlds. Lightning streaked across the dark underbellies of the clouds at his command, illuminating the shrouded landscape in bright purple, white and red flashes. She squealed and clapped and urged him on to greater shows of his cursed hubris.
The Warden interfered only once, while their party was passing another group of travellers. "It may not be wise to attract attention," he said mildly when the covered wagons came into view.
"How could you say such a thing?" asked the Orlesian. "Anders deserves no less than their admiration. They will tremble at our passing," she added to the mage.
Anders chuckled. "You have my thanks, dove, but my companion is correct." He reached out and tugged her white, oiled leather hood further down to cover her hair. "I much prefer a private showing, anyway."
Fenris felt like throwing up. He shook, whether from anger or from the cold that leached into his clothes and skin, he did not know.
Because of the rain, they didn't stop for lunch, but ate in their saddles instead. Fenris was grateful; this way the Warden wouldn't notice that Fenris didn't bother to eat at all. The dark elf's head hung down, heavy with misery, nodding along with the steps of his mount. He almost dozed, his attention wandering back to the past, to times when the rain was a chance to stop and huddle in some small dry, warm space with Hawke. His awareness dwindled to the bobbing neck of his horse and the sound of hooves on the damp stone, its rhythm like a heart beat.
"Oh, Maker." The voice roused him more than the hand on his arm. He blinked drowsily at the face of the Warden, at Fenris' knee, turned up and wet with rain. The man looked concerned. "Fenris? Can you hear me?"
"Yes." Of course he could. Not that he wanted to. He'd been sleeping, lulled by the motion of his mount. His eyes fell closed again, blocking out the sudden flare of lantern light.
"Fenris?" the Warden said, shaking the Tevinter's arm more insistently. "We're there. Can you dismount?"
Didn't they just set out? How could they be at the next inn already? Fenris squinted, shocked by how dark the sky was, even through the rain, surprised by the bulk of walls and building illuminated by the lanterns posted by a great double door.
"Come on."
Fenris nodded and obeyed, leaning and preparing to swing his leg over and dismount. His arms and legs, though, did not obey. They felt stiff and heavy, and his hands didn't tell him what they were doing. He slipped sideways.
The Warden grunted as he caught the Tevinter, and then swore. "Maker's balls, Fenris, you're heavier than you look."
Fenris almost smiled. Hawke used to say that.
"Lad! A little help, if you would?" Fenris could feel the Warden's grip, both arms cinched around the dark elf's chest, slipping. Then another pair of hands joined and the Warden levered Fenris arm around his shoulders. "All right, come on, one foot in front of the other, you've done this before."
They hobbled into the inn and out of the rain. Fenris winced as hot air blasted him, sank in and abolished whatever strength he had left. Without the Warden, he would have dropped to the floor. Even with the Warden, it was a close call.
"Too much to drink?" asked an unfamiliar girl's voice. Fenris couldn't even open his eyes to look. His head lolled on his neck, making every attempt to fall right off.
"Not enough," the Warden joked. "We'll need another room. Private, please. Bring up a tub and some water, if you would. Don't worry, I've got the coin."
Somehow, the Warden dragged and cajoled Fenris through a noisy and smoky room, up an endless flight of stairs, and finally into a dark and quiet place. He let the Tevinter fall onto a chair, off of which Fenris promptly slid and curled up on the wooden floor.
"Maker's balls," the Warden swore again. "What did you do to yourself? You're a grown man, Fenris, not a thirteen-year-old sheep girl."
"I didn't do anything," Fenris slurred. He pushed himself up and found the wall with his back. With effort, he opened his eyes and focused on the Warden. The red-haired elf was busy at the small room's one table, lighting a lamp and frowning his disgust.
"For all that you and that daft mage are willing to tear your throats out about your burgeoning love for Hawke, you're both doing your absolute best to ruin your own rescue." The Warden's golden eyes flashed in his anger. "You don't eat, you don't sleep, you slink around like a dog with his tail between his legs, and then you spend a day in the rain with no more protection than skin-tight black hide and a gloomy disposition?" His voice rose as he ranted. Then he rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Maker's giant, hairy balls, I should just leave you both here and get the Champion myself. Zevran would probably thank me."
Fenris cringed. "Hawke would, too," he agreed dismally, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the wall.
There was a span of silence. Then, "I have never wanted to slap someone as much as I want to slap you right now. And I know Alistair."
"I deserve it."
A knock on the door saved the Warden from answering. "Thank the Maker," he exhaled and went to answer.
Several of the inn's servants dragged in a small brass tub and set it on the stone alcove in one corner of the room and filled it with buckets of steaming hot water. When they departed, the Warden approached and loomed over Fenris' hunched figure.
"Get in the tub, Fenris," he ordered. "If you don't do it yourself, then I'm going to have to see you naked, and no one wants that."
Under the Warden's watchful glare, Fenris carefully made it to his feet. He felt stiff and aching, like he had aged eighty years in one long day. Using the wall to support him, he started to unbuckle his breastplate and remove his gloves. When he was down to the snug, flexible under-armour, the Warden finally departed, muttering something about getting Fenris a very greasy meal.
Alone, Fenris couldn't continue. He was so tired and he could justify none of this. The Warden was right; Hawke didn't want someone like Fenris. Someone so weak and stupid and caught up in his own misery. Hawke needed another spirit like his own, bright and courageous, lusty for life and love. He curled up on the bed, back to the door, still wet and cold and beyond shivering.
"Fenris?" It was Anders' voice and knock this time. Fenris couldn't remember the last time the man had addressed the Tevinter elf directly. Surely, it was before they met the Orlesian maid. "Are you in there? The Warden said you aren't feeling well. Are you ill?"
When there was no answer, the mage simply opened the door.
"Fenris? Are you... sleeping?" Anders sounded unusually tentative. "I should... I should go, shouldn't I?"
He didn't, though. One slow step after another, the mage drew near and came to the end of Fenris' bed. The elf saw him in the edge of his vision, but didn't move, didn't even look. He wasn't sure he could.
"You're angry," Anders said. "Silent angry. That's a bad sign. What did I do this time?" He came around in front of Fenris and frowned down at the elf. "Well? Are you just going to ignore me? The least you could do is swear."
Fenris squeezed his eyes shut.
"Come on—Andraste's lacy underthings, you're freezing!" Anders had gone to shake Fenris' shoulder, but now his broad hands moved with clinical speed over the elf's forehead, neck and wrists. "What did you do? You don't believe in suicide, remember?"
I'm such a failure.
"Here, just, I need your help, elf, I can't rescue Hawke without you." Anders pulled with surprising strength at Fenris' tightly curled arms.
"That's not what you said before," Fenris mumbled.
"Well, I was wrong. Without you I get stabbed by things and bleed a lot and you're cheaper than a mercenary." When Fenris didn't respond, the mage made a noise of frustration. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I can't do this alone. I need someone I can trust. I need you, Fenris." He sounded pained.
Hawke's voice echoed in Fenris' mind. 'I need you, Fenris.'
Slowly, so slowly, Fenris roused himself. For the first time in days, he looked at Anders, at the mage's worried expression. "You won't settle down with your Orlesian maiden?" he asked dryly.
Anders blinked. Then he laughed, the tone of it just slightly desperate. "Oh, Maker, no. I can't wait to be rid of her. Keeping her away from you and the Warden is killing me."
I'm an idiot. This wasn't the first time Fenris had come to this conclusion, but it was one of the more painful occasions.
"Though I suppose it has a few rewards," the mage added thoughtfully. "Usually when she can't talk."
Fenris winced, feeling a stab deep in his belly.
Anders noticed, but misconstrued the cause. "Sorry. You probably don't want to know about that part. Squishy girl bits and all that." He tugged on the elf's arms again. "Come on. Into the water with you. Hawke will never forgive me if I... if I let something happen to you." He said that last part with a strange, sad note, and glanced away guiltily.
"How many people can you lust after at a time?" There was no heat to his words. Fenris allowed the healer to help him up and over to the water. Then, instead of disrobing under Anders' eye, he simply stepped in with his clothes on. Though it was no longer steaming hot, the temperature difference was so vast from his skin, especially on his bare feet, that he hissed at it.
"Easy. Just take it slow."
"I'm not a child, abomination," the elf sighed.
"And I can lust after all of the people, of course. Or at least the pretty ones. I come from a Fereldan circle, remember? Everyone was kissing everyone."
"Ugh," Fenris replied, combination of disgust and discomfort. "Are Fereldan mages better or worse than Antivan Crows?"
"I don't know... Give me a couple more weeks with the Warden and he'll tell you."
"Maker help me." With a groan, Fenris settled into the bottom of the tub. The water lapped at his pointed chin. He closed his eyes tightly as he adjusted to the temperature. When he opened them, Anders was staring at him intently. "I have no interest in your twisted Fereldan fantasies."
The mage's lip twitched. "Are you going to tell me why a powerful warrior like yourself froze half to death in a summer shower?"
"No."
"Well, my first fantasy involves Hawke, Merrill, myself, two nugs and about twenty feet of purple ribbon."
Fenris stared, horrified. "Anders!"
The mage smirked. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about it." He reached out and dipped a finger in the water. "This should be warmer." His hand started to glow.
"No!" Without thinking, Fenris lashed out and punched the mage in his square jaw.
Anders fell back, hit the table and crumpled to the floor in a heap of damp robes. Fenris watched him, equal parts angry and worried, and felt some relief when the mage stirred and rubbed his chin, staring up at the ceiling.
"I suppose I deserved that." Green light limned his chin and fingers. Then he sat up, head moving side-to-side as he stretched his neck. "Like provoking a beast." His gaze hardened when he regarded Fenris. "No magic, right?"
"That's right."
Anders licked his lips and nodded. "Well, you seem to be in good health, despite your incomprehensible desire to die of exposure. I'll tell the Warden." He stood, brushed himself off, and left.
Fenris growled to himself and wiped his face with wet hands. He could move and think properly now, for all that that helped. Looking back on the last few days, he felt like kicking himself across Nevarra. He owed the Warden a rather large apology and several drinks for putting up with the distraught Tevinter elf.
Soon enough we'll be in Nevarra City and free of the girl. After that were the Silent Plains and then Tevinter, which would bring a slew of other problems. I can't do this again. He formed a fist, steeling himself. I can't be weak. I must stay strong or else Hawke is lost.
So thinking, he met the Warden when the man knocked, devoured everything given to him, and slept deeply through the night.
/.\./.\
The rain had passed on by morning, swept away across the rolling hills, and a bright sun shone down on a well-washed world. Fenris felt alert for the first time in days, and unmoved by the Orlesian maiden's poor treatment of himself and the Warden. He realized, with a jolt, that she reminded him of a young Tevinter Magister. It was little wonder, then, that he had felt haunted since they acquired her. Memories he was barely aware of were churning under the surface of his mind. Worse, still, that Anders acted the doting lover toward her, though Fenris was still trying to figure out why it distressed him that much.
This morning as they rode, instead of ignoring the elves, Anders tried to bring them into his conversations with the Orlesian. When her participation shrank, her disgust clear, she became a silent observer to the group's normal interactions, a small frown upon her face.
"These hills are just riddled with caves and passages," the Warden explained to the attentive mage. "They used to be full of dragons and other things. Some say that a wealth equal to the current Tevinter Empire's could be found here, unclaimed, lost underground."
"They say that about every empty field," Anders commented. "Can't anyone come up with a better story? I, for one, would love caves full of kittens."
"You would," Fenris muttered.
"Serah," the Orlesian interrupted. "Anders, is that a cave over there?"
Anders peered where she was pointing and nodded. "It certainly is, dear lady. With some stonework around the entrance."
The Warden, with his sharp elven eyes, shook his head. "It looks like it's mostly caved in. Abandoned."
"Oh, can't we go see? Please, serah?" She squirmed. "Look, there is a path through the grass. Surely we have the time? I have been trapped in a city all my life."
"Not a good idea," the Warden said. "There could be any number of things in there, treasure being at the bottom of the list, spiders and corpses near the top."
"I am not afraid of spiders!" she exclaimed heatedly.
"You don't have to be afraid of them for them to kill you," Fenris interjected.
She scowled at the elves and then turned wide, fluttering eyes on Anders. "Please, serah? I know you would protect me. I just want to see-"
"I'm sorry, dear lady, but my friends are correct. It's too dangerous. Besides, we need to get you to the city before they send the guard after us."
Marilyn opened her red-lipped mouth to make another plea. Then she stopped and nodded. "Yes, serah, you are correct, of course."
Anders smiled slightly. "Isn't this adventure enough, dear lady? Do your peers often travel with renegade mages, elven warriors and fabled mabari hounds?"
"No," she replied meekly.
Fenris eyed her, not quite trusting the sudden reversal. Anders didn't seem to think it odd, though, and he had more experience with young human women.
Apparently not enough experience, though. As they came upon the path that Marilyn had pointed out, she suddenly lashed her horse and urged it up the gentle, scrubby hill.
Anders swore and wrenched his mount's head around, trying to turn and follow, but the beast didn't appreciate the rough treatment and started dancing around. Fenris' horse reared and bucked when Anders' slammed into it, and it took a steady hand to calm it. The Warden, with the two pack horses tied to his saddle, couldn't manoeuvre around the other two.
By the time they got themselves sorted out, the girl was already halfway to the cave. Fenris went first, rising in the stirrups and hunching over his mount's neck to help it up the hill, but he couldn't urge it to any great speed for fear of it stumbling on the uneven ground. More likely than not, Marilyn in her recklessness would cause her horse to break a leg and break her own neck in the fall.
"Maker, no," Anders moaned when they reached the cave. Marilyn's white mare was there, breathing heavily and nosing at some ferns growing out of the crumbling masonry around the entrance. Marilyn was nowhere to be seen. The mage slid out of the saddle and sprinted for the crumbling hole in the low hill.
"Anders!" Fenris hollered. The mage was going to get himself killed running headlong into danger. That was Fenris' job. The elf activated the lyrium and ghosted partially into the Fade, hoping that would help him not start a cave in. Then, axe at the ready, he followed.
He found Anders easily enough; the man was on the ground being mauled by bear. With a silent apology for the bear-it hadn't asked them to invade its home-he shattered its skull. A great gout of blood followed his swing, spattering the walls and the mage, and the bear collapsed sideways.
Anders stood, coughing and pressing a glowing hand to his chest. "That was unexpected," he said.
"No it wasn't," Fenris replied sharply. "You're an idiot."
"Yes, I know, thank-you."
The mabari raced by, nearly bowling them over, and disappeared through another dark doorway, headed deeper underground. They ran after him, Anders hastily casting protective spells on himself.
The uneven passageway, hazardous with pools of water and thick tree roots, led them to a small room with two other doors, both closed. Dog scratched and whined at one of them, but it failed to open when they tried it. When the Warden finally caught up to them, muttering about tying up the horses, he examined the door and declared that it was un-pickable, and probably controlled by a mechanism on the other side.
The other door slid open with the impression of a stone panel, grinding faintly. "We'll just have to hope this one leads to the same place," said the Warden.
"Don't they usually?" Anders commented. "All these places have the same architect."
They allowed the Warden to precede them, his golden eyes wide and wary and hunting for traps. Dog kept to his heel, unusually quiet. Anders followed and continued casting spells to protect the Warden and the mabari, and Fenris noticed that he carefully did not cast any on the Tevinter.
Fenris padded silently behind them, keeping one eye to their rear.
"Fenris," Anders whispered.
"Hn?"
"I bet you five sovereigns that we find a demon. Ten if it's a pride demon."
Fenris, already aware of the faint skittering of spiders, readily agreed. "I'll take it."
"And you can't borrow the money from Hawke."
"...Bastard."
The next room was half collapsed, with a gaping black hole in the masonry leading into a damp cavern. Out of that hole boiled a a small army of giant spiders. Gloating, Fenris sprang forward.
"Hold!" the Warden shouted, going to one knee and fiddling with something on the ground.
Force of habit made Fenris freeze, as much as he wanted to leap into the fray. Two spiders came at him, their legs a blur of motion, and he turned them into sticky green goo. Bolts of spirit energy flew past him and unerringly struck more of the arachnids.
Finally, the Warden hopped to his feet and unsheathed his own long sword and dagger. He grinned fiendishly at his companions. "Move freely, my friends."
