Dragon 9:29, Solace 12
Cullen
Cullen sat near the front of the chapel, where an emergency meeting had been called. All templars were required to attend, and the mages had been confined to their dormitories to prevent any mischief for the duration of the assembly.
Greagoir entered and was followed by the first-enchanter. Many of the templars glanced at one another in shock – it was not normal for the mages to get involved with templar business. Irving placed a spell on the door to prevent any prying ears from hearing what was said within. Nodding in thanks, Greagoir addressed the assembled men and women.
"This will not take long, but there is an important matter that I must bring to your attention." He looked around to ensure that all eyes were trained on him. "There have been rumors of blood magic in the tower."
A chorus of whispers broke out as the templars glanced at one another, most of them in disbelief. Warren, who Cullen sat next to, had the audacity to laugh at what the knight-commander had said.
When the chatter died down, Greagoir spoke again, a small frown on his lined face. "Now, most of you know that there has not been an incident of blood magic here in living memory, and may be inclined to ignore these reports completely." He glanced sternly at Warren, and Cullen held back a smile. "Though every rumor of blood magic that has been reported to me has been just that – a rumor, it is imperative that we maintain vigilance until the matter is resolved. Hopefully, as has been the case before, the troublemaker who started the rumor will come forward or be ratted out by others. Thus far, none of the instigators have actually been guilty of blood magic, thank the Maker."
Deep lines furrowed his brow and his expression became even more serious. "I cannot stress enough, though, that whatever you may be inclined to believe, you must be alert at all times. Should any of you see or hear anything suspicious, report directly to me. You are dismissed."
The noise of clanking armor and chatter filled the chapel as Cullen stood to leave. He was due to guard the main door soon. Before he reached the door, though, he was pulled aside by the knight-commander.
"Ser Cullen, one moment, please."
Cullen saluted his superior before standing at attention.
Greagoir lowered his voice so as not to be overheard by the men and women leaving. "There is a Harrowing scheduled for tonight. As you have already proven yourself capable in the few months that you've been at the circle, Irving and I have agreed that it is time you attended one to become familiar with the ritual."
Cullen's heart swelled with pride, but he kept his face serious as the knight-commander continued. "You will not be acting as the official Guard – the one to strike the blow should a mage fail – but rather as an observer. Pay close attention to what happens, and I will give you further training tonight. Meet me outside of the Harrowing chamber at the eleventh bell tonight."
"Of course, ser," Cullen replied, saluting once more.
"Very good, recruit. I will see you tonight."
The trembling mage was brought through the doors, half asleep and held up by the two templars astride him. Cullen did not recognize him, and breathed a sigh of relief that, should the worst happen tonight and the mage fail, at least it wasn't someone he knew.
Irving pulled the boy aside and began to tell him the history of the Harrowing ritual, and Greagoir leaned in to explain the finer details to Cullen.
"During the Harrowing, a mage is sent into the Fade with the assistance of lyrium – the same substance that gives the templars the ability to detect and combat magic. In the Fade, the mage will be tested by a demon. Those who are able to resist and defeat the demon are considered mature enough in both power and mind to become full-fledged mages of the circle."
Cullen nodded his understanding, and he and Greagoir turned to watch the mage approach the font in the middle of the chamber. The black pedestal's contents shimmered as the boy reached out a trembling hand, sending rippling patterns of light onto the vaulted ceiling. With a last glance back at Irving, he plunged his hand into the liquid. He stepped back, and moments later went completely rigid, his head thrown back with eyes wide open, a faint blue light shining out of them that matched the color of the lyrium.
Greagoir strode forward to approach the mage, indicating that Cullen should follow. "Contrary to the gossiping of the apprentices, mages are given as much time as they need to complete this task. Most average around two hours, although we've seen a range from as fast as three quarters of an hour up to six hours."
"Ser?" Cullen asked, waiting until the knight-commander nodded. "How is it we are to know if the mage must be struck down?"
"The key is to watch their eyes," Gregoir said, pointing at the mage in front of them. "As long as the blue light is visible, the mage is actively pursuing their goal in the Fade. The surest sign that something has gone wrong and the mage must be eliminated is when their eyes take on a red tint – that is indicative of demon possession. If this is seen, the guard on duty must act quickly and without second thought. An abomination is nothing to be trifled with, and could easily overwhelm two or three templars if it catches them off-guard."
"And what of mages who take too long?" Cullen asked. "I was always under the impression that the fate of a mage who did not complete the task within a certain timeframe was the same as if he were to make a deal with a demon."
Greagoir shook his head, but it was Irving who answered. "A common misconception, Ser Cullen. In years past, there was a limit on time, but a better method has been developed to prevent unnecessary killings. We have found that, if a mage has given up trying, or is too afraid to even confront the demon and are aimlessly wandering the Fade, the light in their eyes changes to white. At this point, I am able to sever their tethers to the dream world, and doing so renders them tranquil. This was determined to be a fair compromise, as these weaker apprentices are not strong enough to be entrusted with a staff. It is also unlikely that they would seek to bolster their power by becoming possessed, especially as they are too fearful to even approach a demon."
"Thus," Greagoir continued, "in order to ensure that their weaker minds will not be overtaken by a demon, Tranquility was determined to be the best option."
Cullen nodded, and asked a few other questions concerning the Harrowing. Greagoir had just told him that this was only their third Harrowing of the year so far when the first enchanter interrupted.
"I believe the boy has succeeded. Look."
Cullen turned to observe the mage once more. He was enveloped in a blue haze that brightened to blinding proportions before shattering into shards of light. The boy shuddered, then fell to the floor, his eyes closing at last.
"Excellent," Irving said, going forward to lay a hand on the mage's forehead. "Greagoir, if you would be so kind to have two of your men take Geoffrey back to the apprentice quarters? I believe that it is high time for this old man to get to bed. I'll make arrangements for him to move to the mage's quarters in the morning."
"Very good, first enchanter," Greagoir responded before turning to Cullen and Bran, who had been the assigned guard for the Harrowing. "Please take the boy back to the Creation ward, then you may return to your own quarters for the night."
"Yes, ser," they responded in unison. Nodding to one another, Cullen and Bran picked up the prone boy and headed for the first floor.
Amell
Solona stifled a yawn as the twelfth bell sounded. It was well past curfew, but she and Neria had gotten permission from the first enchanter and knight-commander to use a classroom to study in. For the last month, Neria had become more and more nervous about her impending Harrowing. She'd begun by staying up late and studying on her own, but now needed help from a friend to practice casting glyphs and spells and blocking attacks.
They'd heard clanking in the hall about one hour earlier, but hadn't made it to the door in time to see if it had been templars taking someone to be Harrowed. Solona stared out the open window, listening to the lap of waves on the shore, and wondered about what actually happened in that secret ritual.
The most logical thing, I suppose, would be to test our knowledge of spells and theory – if it's that, though, why would they do it in the middle of the night? Just secrecy? There's got to be more to it than that… plus, a simple practical examination sounds so dull!
"Solona!" Neria's irritated shout broke her from her reverie. "Did you hear a word I just said?"
"Sorry, Neria. I must be tired. What did you say?"
The elf wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow. "I want to practice my fire spells. Would you please put them out so we don't burn the tower down?"
Solona laughed. "Of course. Let's have at it."
As Neria cast a variety of flame spells, varying their distance, strength, and area they covered, Solona stood by and sent fine mists of water and ice to negate the heat. A combination of the heat and depletion of mana caused her eyes to grow heavier, and it wasn't until a stray flame singed the hem of her robe that Solona decided that she'd had enough.
"Neria, I've got to go, otherwise I'll be useless in classes in the morning," she said, batting at the blackened patch of her robe.
Her friend nodded. "You go ahead. I should go over my notes again, anyway."
Solona raised her eyebrows in disbelief, noting the dark circles under Neria's eyes. "You're not done yet? You keep this kind of schedule up, and when you're Harrowing finally does get here, you'll end up just falling asleep!"
"Ha, ha," mocked Neria. "I'll be fine. You just worry about getting yourself caught up so that they consider you for the Harrowing sometime in the next five years."
Solona laughed. "Good point. However, unlike some people, I actually need sleep if I want to be coherent enough to retain any knowledge."
"Go on, then," Neria said with a grin. "Thanks for the help."
Solona waved goodbye, and began the long trudge back to the first floor.
In a haze of fatigue, Solona turned the final, sharp corner that would open into the staircase that led to the ground floor. She smacked into something hard, and fell to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Giving her head a shake, she realized that it was actually someone that she'd run into, and that someone was a person she had no desire to see whatsoever.
Match.
He had become increasingly forward with his requests for her company since their last meeting, and the look in his eye tonight indicated that his patience was nearing an end. Still, Solona had no intentions of going along with his wishes.
"My, my. Haven't you been in enough trouble already, Solona?" His harsh voice was filled with amusement, and his tongue clicked in mock disapproval.
Solona narrowed her eyes at him before shooting back a sarcastic reply. "Oh, yes. Ever so much trouble, especially considering I have this note signed by the knight-commander and First Enchanter Irving giving me permission to be out past curfew."
Match stepped in front of her, and his dark eyes roamed over her sprawled out form. Solona held back a shiver of discomfort, certain she had only imagined the flash of scarlet light in his pupils.
"I've been thinking, Solona," he said as she struggled to her feet, not bothering to offer her a hand. "Some time ago, I asked you what I should do if I wasn't interested in other girls besides you, remember? I believe you said to 'figure it out,' am I right? Well, I think I've come up with a solution, but there's another problem I have."
"And what might that be?" Solona asked warily.
"While I haven't been able to even think about the other girls in the tower, it appears that you've wasted no time in forgetting me." He paused and fixed her with a piercing stare. "I saw you with that templar again – rather late at night, in fact."
Solona's heart stuttered and her throat clenched. How could he possibly know about that?
"He was simply escorting me back to my dormitory to ensure I didn't run into anything – or anyone… unsavory."
"And does a simple escort need to linger so long at the door?" he asked with a smile. "No? I thought not. Solona, let me make myself clear: if you finally agree to join me tonight – something I personally guarantee you'll enjoy – then I may just forget that I've seen you out of bed after hours, and with a templar."
Solona gaped at him. "No," she replied flatly.
He smirked and folded his arms. "No? Well, I don't think you really understand my meaning, Solona. You don't have a choice, anymore."
She went to push past him, answering furiously as she moved. "No choice? Are you mad? Of course I have a choice! And I'll have you know, you lecher, that I'd sooner become tranquil that join you willingly."
His lips curled into a grotesque snarl, and a red gleam lit his eyes once again. "Oh no? Well, in that case, you'll be coming along with me unwillingly. I intend for you to accompany me, Solona, whether you like it or not. Trust me, I have the power to back my promise."
Solona's breath caught in her throat. Her first and only instinct was to flee, and she turned to do just that. In her panic, though, she had forgotten that Match's cocky attitude was the product of something: he was one of the best mages the circle had seen in many years. Her headlong sprint away from the object of her terror was abruptly halted as invisible tendrils of magic wound their way up her legs before pulling tight, effectively rendering her motionless. More bonds stemmed from those to bind her hands behind her back. Her invisible cage drifted into the nearest room of its own accord. Match followed calmly at a distance, his hand held before him to control its path. Once he had crossed the threshold, he shut the door behind them.
She wracked her brain for ways to break out of a web such as this, cursing the exhaustion that fogged her mind. Reckless spells poured from her in an attempt to break her bonds. Nothing worked. With rising terror, she saw Match drawing closer. A chill ran down her spine at the tight smile that contorted his handsome face.
"I'm afraid that you won't be able to do anything to get out of that, my dear."
She ignored him. There was always a counter-spell to a web, and even if she didn't know that particular spell, some other form of magic would always cause the bonds to weaken and ultimately break. She switched to spirit spells, but realized that without knowing what class of magic he had used, it was likely that she would deplete her mana long before stumbling across the correct spell. With rising anxiety, she realized that she had no idea what type of web she had been encased in. Was it possible that Match had been taught some new type of spell she hadn't learned yet? In desperation, she opened her mouth to scream.
A torrential flow of magic silenced her. It's smothering presence seeped between her closed lips, leaving a bitter taste in its wake.
"You really shouldn't have even attempted that, Solona." Match's voice deepened, and it echoed unnervingly throughout the corridor. "I'm afraid that you've made me rather angry, now." His too-calm voice frightened her more than any shout of fury could have.
An eerie red glow suffused him, and his left hand surfaced from the confines of his sleeve, clutching something silver. Quicker than her eyes could follow, the object flashed across to his right hand, and he sighed in rapture as red blood welled to the surface of the shallow cut.
Maker, help me. The rumors were true, after all.
Solona's eyes went wide with panic and she renewed her efforts to get loose, even as she felt her mana stores growing dangerously low. Solona knew her prayer was probably in vain, and the likelihood of anyone traveling this route again tonight before the templars' dawn shift change was slim indeed. She was trapped with a blood mage.
Match laughed as he stalked closer, dark red drops splashing to the floor in his wake. "You've been defiant for so long, Solona. Always turning me down, constantly scorning me. Don't you realize how many women would die to be in your place?"
Before Solona could begin to fathom what he had planned, Match raised his right arm and backhanded her across the cheek, his own blood spattering her neck. As the warm spray of Match's tainted blood hit her, she parted her lips to scream in panic. Again, the acrid taste of dark magic flooded her mouth, preventing any such action. She struggled to hold back the stinging tears that threatened to fall.
"With my greater powers, all of you will bend to my whim. And it starts tonight with you – the talented Solona Amell." He gave a mock bow, and Solona hung her head in defeat.
Cullen
Cullen and Bran carried the boy through the quiet halls and deposited him back onto his bunk before quietly leaving the room.
"Ser Cullen, I'll leave you here. I have overnight watch in the entrance hall, and should relieve Ser Jace," Bran said once they were back in the corridor.
Cullen nodded, and turned to head back to the templar quarters, eager to reach his bed. It had been a long, but very educational night.
As he strode through the second floor, Cullen paused. He felt an unmistakable warm tingle in his spine, indicating that magic was being used somewhere nearby. Brow furrowed, he pulled the approval sheet for the evening out. Scanning down the short list of names, he ran into the only line that made sense this late at night:
Neria Surana, Solona Amell – Third Floor, Alamarri Room – Spellcasting Practice
He glanced at the door he had sensed the pulse of magic from, and shook his head.
What on earth are those two doing in the Maferath Room, and on the second floor? It's much smaller than Alamarri. They're going to end up ricocheting spells off the walls if they're not careful!
Putting the paper back in his pouch, Cullen removed his helm and approached the door. Deciding that some good-natured payback was in order, he decided to give the woman who'd haunted his dreams a stern reprimand for switching rooms. He smiled as he reached for the door handle, remembering how only a few days before, she'd whispered that he was 'far too serious' as she passed him in the hall, turning to glance back with a bright smile and spring in her step. He was looking forward to seeing shock reflected in her face tonight. Perhaps he'd even give them a hard time about studying too hard.
As the door swung open and he caught sight of Solona, the look on her face was not that of surprise like he'd been expecting – her sapphire eyes, normally so alight with life, were glassy with pain, and her brow was tight with panic. His smile fading, Cullen realized that she was caught in some sort of magical web, and wondered what Neria was playing at – surely she could see that her friend was more than merely uncomfortable?
He turned the corner to confront the blonde, but his gaze was drawn to Solona's face once again. Her right cheek was deeply bruised, with a thin cut slashing across the ugly mark. When he saw the crimson drops that dotted her neck, he stopped moving completely, a hot pit of ire bubbling through his carefully constructed layers of discipline. He was astounded that her best friend could even think to do something like this, and turned to confront Neria.
It wasn't the petite elf. Instead, a tall mage stood watching Solona, lines of red light swirling under the surface of his skin. Cullen stood frozen for a moment before years of training pulled him into action.
"In the name of the Maker, cease your actions!" His strong voice rang through the small room.
At his words, he vaguely registered that Solona looked at him, a mixture of hope and terror blossoming on her face. His eyes were fixed on the mage who turned slowly, pulling his cloaked hood down to reveal eyes that glowed with the same crimson hue that the knight-commander had taught him about only hours before.
The mage looked straight at Cullen. "I think not, templar. You are the one who should heed your own words." His voice built in volume, and as he finished speaking it trailed off into an unearthly wail. A silver dagger flashed in the dim light, and as he ground the tip into his left palm, the red light brightened. The mage clapped his hands together before pointing both of his wounded hands down to the floor.
There was a hard impact to the air, as though the force of thunder rocking a building had been compressed into one, circular area. That force just as rapidly converged directly back onto the mage. His back arched from the invisible blow, his head thrown back and arms splayed to the side. A vortex of droplets spun around him, lifting his feet clear off of the ground.
Fixated on the sight before him, Cullen did not move.
As the mage's body started to shudder, a ripping sound accompanied loud, sickening pops as the joints and bones in his upper body began to rearrange, forcing his robes to tear. His face was contorted in a mixture of agony and rage, and the tan skin of his face darkened further. Moments later, the transformation was complete. A hideous creature stood before Cullen. Humanoid in form, it now bore no resemblance to the handsome man the mage had been. Thick, sinewy tendons were wrapped around the creature's torso and head, as if to hold its impossible anatomy together. One eye remained visible through the corruption, the iris as black and flat as a starless sky.
Abomination.
The thing that Cullen had only been taught of, and that had stalked the darkest corners of his nightmares was come to life in front of his eyes. The stench of rotting flesh and burning pitch filled the air, and Cullen's hand strayed to the pommel of his sword, his off-hand ready to reach for his shield.
"You weak, pathetic mortal," the creature snarled at Cullen, its voice a disturbing mix of the man it had been and something far more vile. "Do you truly think you stand a chance against me? I will crush you first, then take my time with the girl. She was promised to me, and I will have my reward."
His training kicked in, and with a roar of fury at the abomination's threat toward Solona, Cullen extended a hand, forcing the power that stemmed from his lyrium consumption outward in a cold rush of wind. Though it did little to stop the creature's approach, dispelling the magic in the room had at least released Solona from her enchanted trap. Forcing himself to focus on the snarling thing that neared him and not on Solona's crumpled form, Cullen drew his sword and shield and prepared for combat.
The abomination reached Cullen and lashed out. Cullen stepped out of the way, but not fast enough to avoid the strike entirely. The glancing blow jarred his shoulder, but Cullen ignored the sting. He crouched low, his shield held out defensively – he knew that as long as he had correctly rid the creature of magical energy, its main weapons were now its near-limitless stamina and inhuman strength. The creature charged again, but this time Cullen was ready.
Just as the creature was about to run directly into him, Cullen lashed out with his shield and pivoted away, effectively unbalancing his foe. He struck with his sword, scoring a deep slash along its back. Ichor seeped from what would have been a lethal wound to anything else. The abomination roared its anger and grabbed Cullen's shield, ripping it from his grasp and tossing it away as though the metal disk weighed no more than a pewter plate. Both gnarled hands reached down for Cullen, and he hacked at them with his sword, unable to get the leverage for a decent hit at this short range.
Cullen was lifted off his feet by his shoulder plate, his sword hanging uselessly at his side. He saw stars as he was thrown backward into the wall, his skull cracking painfully against the stone. He felt something warm running down his neck, and blinked, trying to clear the fog that obstructed his vision.
Through the haze, he saw the hulking creature advancing on Solona's prone form. With a heave of effort, Cullen pulled himself to his feet and stumbled forward, breaking into a clumsy run. Ignoring the searing pain in his head and forcing his arms to lift his heavy blade, he grunted with effort and brought his sword clean through the abomination's corded neck.
Only after the creature fell did Cullen allow himself to sink to his knees next to Solona. He gently rolled her over, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her still breathing.
Thinking to close his eyes just for a moment, Cullen began to back away.
"Cullen…" He froze, unsure if the voice that had been as soft as a whispering breeze had been real. Glancing at Solona's face, he saw that she remained unconscious. He reached out a tentative hand to brush her hair away from her cut cheek, but a clamor in the hall stopped him short.
Greagoir burst in, followed by two other templars and the first enchanter.
"Maker's breath," Greagoir breathed, his eyes wild. "So the rumors were true, after all. Cullen, are you hurt?"
Cullen blinked, trying to focus on the knight-commander and his echoing words. "Not much, ser."
Irving had moved swiftly to Solona's side and checked her over. "Apprentice Amell seems to be fine, thanks to you," he said to Cullen, who could only nod weakly.
"Irving, would you and one of my other men get her to the healing wing? As soon as you've done that, please meet me in my office. I must speak with Ser Cullen, first."
The first enchanter nodded, and Cullen watched as Solona was taken away, uttering a silent prayer to the Maker that she would be all right. He turned and, standing as straight as he was able, faced the knight-commander.
"Cullen, once we get to my office, I want you to tell Irving and me exactly what transpired after you left the Harrowing chamber," he began. "But, before you do, I must commend you. Not many templars – even the veterans – would have been able to take down an abomination on their own. Had you not stopped this creature before we had arrived, Maker only knows the carnage it would have unleashed on the rest of the tower."
Cullen remained silent. Greagoir had spoken the truth. Both he and Solona could easily have died this night. His heart clenched painfully as he remembered the scene he had walked in on. Had he and Bran not taken the apprentice back to the dorms… had Cullen not taken this particular path back on his way to bed… were he moments later than he had been… Painful images of what might have been tore at Cullen's heart and soul.
Solona Amell – the mage that had inexplicably captivated him – had almost been lost to him forever.
Warning: Long A/N: This was probably the most fun I've had writing a chapter in some time! I hope that you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did creating it! Note that I have decided to change the rating to M, just to err on the safe side.
Delicious cookies are due to the ladies who helped me clean this chapter up… thank you! Shout outs to Apollo Wings, kaysue18, Eve Hawke, Artwo.D2, FenZev, Marlene101, RikaHara, Jaden Anderson, the Guest reviewer, B4lk4n, Mclawliet, and emzat0r.
Also, please forgive me for constantly flooding my thanks on all of my reviewers, followers etc., and for saying how overwhelmed I am by your support… it's very true, though! In the spirit of thanks, a huge one goes out to Swooping is Bad… she's not only reviewed every chapter of Duty and Devotion, but was also my 100th reviewer for this story… a feat I didn't think I'd ever reach when I started this! As a thank you for being #100, I've written a gift fic for her, entitled Kiss of a Wolf. Check it out if you feel so inclined
Thanks again to every one of you for making this journey an incredibly special and rewarding one for me!
Hugs,
-Kyla