The slaver who had climbed after Rebekkah in a futile attempt to capture her had survived his fall. They found him on the path where he had landed, lying on his back, blood turning the dust under his head muddy, both legs bent in more angles than joints would allow. He lay perfectly still, eyes closed. It was not until Fenris knelt beside the man to routinely search him for anything of use that he noticed the rise and fall of his chest. Still breathing. Still alive. That opened up some potentially useful possibilities. But for those to be revealed… His eyes shot to Rebekkah. "We passed a cave not long ago," he said, feeling the slaver's pulse in the human's neck. "Go back and wait there until I'm finished."
"I don't want to leave! Why—"
"Go." He stretched out his arm in a straight line, index finger pointing along the path they had just come down from.
"But…"
The objection died prematurely, silenced the moment she met the elf's eyes and realized that these were instructions she could not weasel out of or downright ignore. Which did not stop her from trading a doomed battle of words for one of patience: Fenris had to endure a lot of shifting in place, pouting, pleading looks and dragging of feet before the girl finally made her way back to the designated cave. He watched her reluctant retreat until she disappeared from view.
A firm shove against one of the human's broken legs saw him brought back to consciousness. His eyelids quivered, revealing slits of white. The man's lips moved as if he wanted to say something; nothing passed them but the faintest groan.
"Give the signal for safety," Fenris ordered.
When the slaver's eyes opened more fully they were hazy and unfocused by pain. "Wh… wha'?"
"Your watchmen warned you with a mimicked bird's call and you responded in kind to let them know you were coming. Give the signal that everything's been dealt with."
"M-my legs…" Though still visibly confused and disoriented, the man also appeared to become more alert, eyes now flying left and right to take in their surroundings. "Ahh! I c-can't move my legs."
Fenris placed his hand on the break in the slaver's upper leg and pressed. "The signal. Now."
The man gasped and arched a little bit off the ground, as if he could escape from the elf's fingers, but collapsed again almost straight away. Lacking the strength to scream, he merely produced a chocked whine. "I don't—" Fenris pushed down harder "—Alright! Alright, I'll… I'll…"
The slaver's breaths came in short, rapid bursts. Broken legs and a head wound were unlikely to be his only injuries; Fenris assumed that multiple ribs had not survived the fall unscathed either.
Weakly the slaver lifted his right arm – attempted to, the movement slow and uncoordinated – and brought his fingers to his mouth. His left hand fumbled blindly on the sand at this side and around his waist. Judging by the way he stretched his lips with his fingers and spluttered he was trying to whistle but the sound was not nearly loud enough to be heard a few feet away, let alone in the valley below. After a few seconds gave up.
"I c-can't." Tears rolled down his temples and dripped onto the bloodied ground. "I'm sorry… I ca— Ahhh!"
Once more Fenris pushed down on the broken bone, harder than before. The slaver's eyes rolled in their sockets, showing their bloodshot white. "You are going to die," he said in a low voice. "Nothing will change that. But you're getting a choice I don't normally offer to men of your kind," he continued. "Your death is imminent, but how slow and how painful it will be is up to you."
A film of sweat coated the slaver's increasingly pale face. His throat moved as he swallowed with difficulty, left hand still clawing around at nothing.
"The signal," Fenris insisted.
The slaver managed to make a move with his head that could pass for a nod and tried again. After the fourth time he produced a shrill sound that for once was louder than a whisper.
Fenris waited, listened, then briefly increased the pressure of his hand. "Again."
The other man had no choice but to oblige. He wheezed, struggled, but finally whistled successfully for a second time, more loudly than before. The sound echoed through the valley, resonating in the air for a few more heartbeats after the man had already stopped.
Fenris made the slaver repeat the signal one last time before he was satisfied. He listened intently for a reply but none came. The mountain remained silent.
Since he could not know for certain what the correct signal was, he could not rule out the possibility that the whistle was actually another warning. Yet he was reasonably confident that the slaver was not duping him. It took a great deal of willpower to pull a ruse under such duress and this man looked ready to faint again. Slavers did not lack ruthlessness when it came to their victims but when their own lives hung in the balance matters changed.
"How many of you are left?" he asked.
The slaver did not reply. His eyes were half-closed, lips parted in pained, shallow breathing but he was still conscious: his left hand fumbled at his right side. Fenris gave one of his injured legs a shake, indifferent to the sound of protest this triggered. "You're not done yet. How many?"
"F-fif-teen." The word came out so softly that Fenris had to lean forward to catch it.
"Any more mages?"
"N-no…"
"And how many slaves did you take?"
"Don't know…" The hand stilled, resting on the man's hip. "Three dozen?"
"What is the best way to reach them? Any time they remain unguarded?"
These questions were met with silence. Fenris' first assumption was that the slaver had dropped back into unconsciousness, but then his eyes flew open and his arm shot up.
Fenris grabbed hold of the arm and twisted it so forcefully that the bone gave way with an audible snap. The slaver sucked in a pained breath, mouth opening for a cry as the elf wrestled the knife he had intended to plunge in the warrior's thigh from his weakening grip. Before the human had the chance to truly scream, his own weapon was jammed into his mouth and he was silenced for good.
Scowling at the corpse, Fenris withdrew the knife and wiped it clean on the slaver's armor before straightening. "That was quicker than you deserved."
He stuck the small blade behind his belt, where he had first carried Hawke's old knife, and headed to the cave he had sent Rebekkah to.
She awaited him barely one step inside the hiding place, the bare minimum to qualify as obedient. Fenris was willing to wager his few possessions that she had peeked outside more than once. Fortunately the path had a slight curve to it here and he did not think she had been able to see much of his interrogation.
She looked up at him; a conflict between the desire to keep sulking in indignation that she had been sent away and relief that he had come to get her playing out on her face. When the elf bade her to follow him, she settled for the compromise of hiding her satisfied expression by bowing her head and kicking away more pebbles and dirt than was strictly necessary as she dribbled after him.
When they passed the body of the last slaver, Rebekkah wanted to slow down and have a closer look, but Fenris guided her past it. He expected her to ask what had happened to the man but not a single question left her mouth.
Although they were no longer being chased, he maintained a fast pace. The signal for safety – if it had been correct – had bought them more time but eventually the people who had ventured out to deal with the intruders would be missed. Slavers venturing up from the valley or the watchmen who remained concealed somewhere on the mountain would find the bodies easily enough. Still, he just might have regained the element of surprise, which could prove invaluable. Perhaps the Maker continued to watch over him every now and then after all.
Their journey was blissfully uneventful from thereon. No bird sounds – nor of any other creature – used as warnings, no unexpected pursuers hot on their tail. The valley grew closer, her inhabitants changing from indiscernible specks into individual armed men and women. All too aware that this also meant that he and Rebekkah were becoming easier to spot, Fenris kept them away from the edge and started moving from the cover of one tree to the next. Four more turns and they would reach the foot of the mountain.
Three turns.
When the path only wound back and forth two more times, he stopped by a group of pine trees and crouched down, then sunk to his stomach and crawled forward. From the corner of his eye he saw Rebekkah immediately follow his example. He half-turned to face her, pressing an index finger to his lips to indicate she had to be quiet, and was rewarded with a highly offended and exasperated look – complete with eye-roll – which communicated "I knooooow" as well as when she had shouted the words. Fenris allowed himself the outlet of rolling his own eyes when the little brat could not see it before devoting his attention to the view below.
The sun had progressed her daily trip from east to west and left the valley in shade. Two tents had been erected on the grass; not nearly large enough to house the numbers mentioned by the slaver Fenris had questioned. He counted the figures moving about outside. Two stood near the tents and appeared to be holding a conversation; another duo was logs to a campfire and starting preparations for their afternoon meal. Four slavers patrolled the area, striding across the field in an organized pattern, stopping regularly to scan their surroundings – Fenris quickly pulled back behind a tree when one seemed to look straight to where he and Rebekkah were watching; his white hair could easily give them away – and then continuing on. Not alarmed, not yet, but definitely alert. Tricking them with the false signal must have worked.
There was no sign of the captives. He spotted at least three cavern openings in the opposite mountain but none of them were shown special interest by the slavers. Fenris waited for the ones patrolling to face away from him, then inched forward until two-thirds of his chest were suspended over the edge. Off to the right he found what he had been searching for: a pair of guards staying on their post. Although he could not tell whether they were standing in front of a cave, he could only think of one reason for their presence. He crawled back to the cover of the trees. That had to be where the slaves were kept.
He was still hoping to avoid the suicidal recklessness that would be a frontal assault. If he could enter the cave without being seen, if he could get to the slaves before fighting all of their captors…
Fenris moved farther back and stood up, offering Rebekkah a hand to do the same. He was aware of the child's expectant look as his gaze swerved over the path ahead of them, could feel the anticipation build in her to the tipping point of impatience. Of course she was burning with the question of what was next, how they would proceed, but he again signaled that she had to keep quiet and set off in a jog.
The cavern system penetrating the higher part of the mountain continued all the way down here as well. Sword firmly returned to hand, he ducked through the first entrance he passed. He looked over his shoulder. "We're going to look for a way down."
Rebekkah's cheeks, which had been puffed up in poorly restrained frustration because she had been kept in the dark about his plan for two full minutes longer, deflated. Nervously she glanced past the elven warrior into the shadowy tunnel. "In there?"
"They will see us if we stay on the path. Some of these caves and tunnels have to be connected, and not just horizontally. If we are lucky, we can reach the lower levels this way."
His explanation was not met with a lot of enthusiasm but, just like when he had taken her on his shoulders and climbed down part of the mountain, she did not complain.
Shadow quickly morphed into pure darkness. The only light came from the entrance, which they soon left behind. When the tunnel curved to the left they were enveloped by pitch-black nothingness. Fenris kept his free hand on the wall for guidance as he walked – now more shuffled – on. He felt Rebekkah curl her fingers around his belt to stay close.
"Fenris," her already high children's voice rose a pitch, "I can't see."
He considered unpacking the torch he carried in his pack but before he could decide whether it would be worth the hassle and potential risk, the rough stone under his palm verted off to the left. The gradually widening tunnel opened up into a cave. He followed the wall around the space, stubbing his toes on uneven rocks, and ended up back at the tunnel where they had come from. A dead end. Fortune was not so generous as to grant them a way through on the first try.
Determined to keep looking, he retraced his steps to the exit.
Neither time nor fortune chose to cooperate, however. The next caves and tunnels they explored all ended like the first one. Sometimes they quickly ran into a blockade; in other cases tunnels led deep into the mountain, connected to other passages, ended in caves of all sizes, making them lose precious time before discovering they had to turn back. Fenris had dug up and lit his torch after two more failed explorations to enable them to move more efficiently but the sheer expansiveness of the tunnel network introduced a third problem: to avoid getting lost he had to set the rule for himself to only turn left at forks or crossroads and to abandon the route if there was no indication of a way down yet after seven hundred steps. Slowly starving and dehydrating in the heart of a mountain was not how he wished to meet his end.
The lack of success in the caves forced them farther along the path, down to the next turn in the opposite direction. He had not been keeping count of the number of tunnels they had explored, did not care how many times it had been that he had stepped into yet another dark pit. He simply dove into the next one. By now the slavers must be wondering why their comrades had not returned. Time was no longer in their favor.
His torch banished the shadows around him and created new ones, dancing madly on the stone above, below, beside him. Smoke drifted past, its domineering scent irritating his nose. He kept an eye on Rebekkah. Even the warm light of the flames could not fully conceal the waxy paleness exhaustion had brought to her face. The intense journey down the mountain had clearly taken its toll on her. Remarkably, she had yet to utter a complaint; her lips were pressed together in a determined line as she walked on. For once she was not sucking on her hair.
There was no way back for either of them.
The tunnel split into a fork. Because they had drifted off so much he decided to go right this time. Bats rustled above his head, disturbed by the torch, then flew off. He counted his steps, simultaneously listening for the presence of other creatures than bats.
At step four-hundred-and-twenty-three he noticed something ahead. Light, in the exact same shade as his markings used to flare up in, shimmering in the rock. Tiny pinpricks of bright blue pierced the dull gray surface of the tunnel's walls.
"Do not touch the crystals," he warned Rebekkah.
"Why not?"
"It's lyrium."
"Oh." She stared at the eerie glow. "What is lyrium?"
"Magic." He did not try to keep the distaste out of his voice.
"I wish I could do magic! Then I could fight too."
Fenris decided it was best not to share his thoughts on that matter.
More specks of lyrium illuminated the tunnel from thereon. A vein of the magical substance had to run through the mountain here. He became aware of the passage sloping down. It was subtle at first, but eventually the descent got so steep that he had to lean back and strain to not topple forward. The tunnel split a second time and because the left one looked like it was descended more steeply he deviated from his self-imposed rule and went in that direction.
The ceiling got higher, the tunnel wider, until they found themselves in another cave. The small chips of lyrium protruding from the ceiling and walls made it seem like they were walking amidst blue stars. Despite her exhaustion Rebekkah uttered a soft "wow", head tilted all the way back for open-mouthed staring.
Fenris was more concerned about how to continue from here. Searching for a new passage he walked through the large open space. They must be at a considerably lower level than where they had entered. Such a waste it would be to have to return to the surface once more… But at the back of the room, off to the right, he saw light shining through a pile of rubble. Not the blue luminescence of lyrium but the same warm orange as his burning torch. He left the torch on the ground and hurried toward it.
Amidst the debris gaped a hole in the ground of about a foot in diameter. The source of light was not positioned directly under it but somewhere back in the direction he had come from. Knelt down by the hole he caught drifts of whispered conversations.
"– going on?"
"You heard what–"
"– guards still there."
"Don't hope–"
Would slavers feel compelled to speak in such hushed tones? From what little he could make out of the words, it sounded like he was right above the captives. Yet even if he miraculously found himself in the exact place he had been wanting to reach, there was a problem: one glance sufficed to know that he would not be able to fit through that narrow gap.
Abruptly the talking ceased. Slow, heavy footsteps chuffed on the stone below. Fenris flattened himself to the ground and could just spot a leg and leather boot coming to a halt. Whoever had arrived stood still for several seconds, then turned around without saying anything and left in the same direction they had come from.
A guard coming to check. Which should mean there was currently nobody keeping watch inside the cave. Perhaps if he moved the debris, he could create a large enough space to squeeze through. But at the same time he picked up a stone the size of a Qunari's head, Rebekkah clambered over the rocks and purposefully moved to climb through the hole.
Fenris dropped the boulder, which hit the ground with a not-too subtle bang and rolled away, and managed to get a hold of the girl's ankle. "Where are you going?"
"Down!" she hissed back. "Let me go!"
She tried to tear free but the elf maintained a firm grasp. "You are not going down there!"
"Yes, I am! You're too fat and can't fit but I can! Let me help!"
"There's nothing you can–" He fell silent at the sound of a third voice, a woman's, coming from below, light as the dust in the air.
"Is someone there?"
He hesitated, needing a moment to overcome the unpleasant discovery that they had given away their presence, but then replied: "Yes, we aim to free you. Are the slavers nearby?"
"I think they're standing guard outside but they've been coming to check on us frequently for the last few hours. They must know you were coming."
Unfortunately. But he had already been aware of that. "I need a way to get down."
Rebekkah again tried to pull her leg from his fingers but Fenris held on. Her previously pale cheeks were turning red from the effort.
"I don't know if–" The female captive abruptly stopped talking. Two seconds later Fenris also caught the sound of returning footsteps, faster, more urgent than before, she must have heard.
He pulled Rebekkah away from the hole by her ankle so the guard would not see her if he happened to look up. Her eyes shone accusatorily in the lyrium's light but she did not resist and settled next to him.
"What was that noise?"
The slaver's question was met with stony silence.
"Well?"
After several moments which had to be severely testing the guard's patience, another man spoke up. "I hit my head."
A skeptical grunt, then footsteps again, first forward, then from right to left. Fenris assumed the slaver was inspecting the captives for anything suspicious.
He did not appear to find anything, though, because eventually he warned them to keep quiet and left.
For a long time nobody uttered a word, even after the sound of footsteps had faded into silence.
"Are you still there?" the woman's voice whispered. "He's gone."
"We are," Fenris replied. "But I cannot fit through here. I will have to widen the gap."
"How are you going to do that quietly? If they hear you and come looking again and notice something's amiss, we're the ones who will take the blow! We can't defend ourselves while we're bound."
"Bound? You're not chained?"
"No, they used ropes."
"Let me help."
Fenris turned his head to look at Rebekkah. Perhaps she could indeed be of aid in this situation. It was dangerous, risky, but nothing qualified as safe in this situation. And this risk should be likely to pay off at least, increasing the chance of survival for the captives.
"Go," he agreed. "but only to cut them loose. No other daring attempts. If someone comes before I can join you, try to hide and stay back. Is that clear?"
She nodded with conviction, which he suspected to stem more from excitement that she had the opportunity to do something herself than because she took his words to heed. With that determined glint in her eyes in the face of danger she reminded him very of much of somebody else.
For the second time she climbed over the rubble and this time Fenris let his hand slip from the girl's ankle. He watched her swing her legs through the opening, holding herself up on her hands. After some testing, searching for the best position, she let herself drop. She landed safely on her feet, bending her knees to soften the impact. When she straightened and disappeared from view, Fenris set himself to removing more of the loose stones to create room to follow.
He moved carefully, producing as little sound as possible. Below everything remained quiet as well, safe for the occasional whisper he could not understand. It took longer than he would have liked to clear the space around the opening, and once that was done his task turned out to be far from finished. The debris had concealed more of the hole. It truly was this narrow. He would have to hack away at the stone, which was impossible to do quietly.
"How many more of you need to be freed?" he asked the invisible people below.
"Fenris, Stef is here!" Rebekkah let him know in an excited whisper. "I freed him!"
"That's nice. How many more?"
A woman with short black hair which formed strings of tiny curls stepped under the hole in the ceiling into his view and looked up at him. Her face was as pale as Rebekkah's, but it looked more healthy on her, as if this simply was the darkest her skin could get. "We're two-thirds in," she said. He recognized her voice as the one that had spoken before. "Twelve more to go."
"I will have to use force to get down to you. The guards are certain to be alerted by the noise. Be prepared."
Her mouth pulled to the right, lips folding in a testy line. "There's not much preparing to do when I don't got my bow."
"I was not counting on fighting assistance to begin with. Just stand back as far as you can and do not get in the way."
"Fine by me. But if you kill one with a bow, I want it."
Fenris hummed a noncommittal noise. "The light down there with you, is it coming from a torch?"
"It is."
"Good. When it's time, extinguish it."
He half-expected an objection, second-guessing, and for a moment the woman seemed to be considering exactly that. But then, after a final, measuring look, she gave a nod. "I hope you've got the skills to back up that cleverness."
With that she disappeared from view. Fenris drew the knife he had taken from the slaver earlier – he was not about to blunt his everite sword on the rocks – and searched for a good, vulnerable spot to start. A crack that ran in a jagged line from the edge of the hole looked promising. Experimentally he drove the knife's sharp tip into it and wriggled it around. The stone croaked in warning, new tears shooting off from the main one. He was standing on only a thin layer, likely the reason a hole existed here in the first place.
He spent a while longer carefully chipping away at the stone before instructing the captives to move back and extinguish the torch. Not everybody had been freed from their bindings yet but there was no telling when a guard would show to check on them again. He would rather stay ahead and see the last ones to freedom once it was safe to do so.
The light below went out. The same woman he had spoken to before, whispered: "Done."
Without the torch, the hole in the ground was reduced to a pit of darkness. No chips of lyrium nearby to illuminate the lower level.
Fenris raised the knife and let it descend on the stone where he knew the crack had to be. He hacked at the rock and after only a couple of times he could feel increasingly large chunks come loose and drop. Somewhere someone shouted in alarm, too far away to be one of the captives.
Rock continued to crumble even when he ceased his assault with the knife. Thundering footsteps vibrated against the walls of the tunnel below. He got up and stomped with the ball of his foot on the fragile area. The ground gave way and he came crashing down in a rain of dust and rocks, small and large. He coughed, then fought to suppress the urge to do so again to clear his throat from the irritating coating of sand and dust. Eyes stinging and watering, he turned around and drew his sword. Pebbles slid from his hair as he moved and took position by the wall on his left, facing the running footsteps that were coming his way fast.
He did not need to see the slavers to know they were getting close.
The footsteps slowed, reined in as the owners found themselves in unanticipated darkness.
"What in the Void happened to the l–"
Fenris' blade swung at the shadowed figure at the height where the voice came from. The slaver's sentence was cut off along with his head. He could hear the head bounce against the tunnel wall, followed by the heavy thud of the rest of the body collapsing. Boots ground over rock, skidding to a halt nearby. The elf struck again, before the second guard could make up his mind whether to stand and fight or run back toward the light.
Though his blow struck, it lacked the impact it should have. The clink of everite striking chainmail ran through the air. The slaver grunted in pain and stumbled, yet recovered enough to attempt to stab his attacker; Fenris dodged the dark silhouette of what had to be an arm wielding a sword. He could see better than his opponent, whose eyes had yet to adjust to the transition from the brightness outside to the darkness of being below ground.
"Damned cowards, the lot of you!"
This time Fenris did not even need to move to avoid being hit. Silently he stepped around the man so he was behind him. The subsequent blow of his weapon had the man fall forward and crash against the rocks. Finishing him off from there proved straightforward enough.
Silence returned to join the darkness in the tunnel. The blue glow from the traces of lyrium higher up barely reached here; there was only just enough to make the dust still descending from the ceiling where he had caused a collapse visible. Fenris listened for the arrival of reinforcements – he doubted the alarmed reaction of the guards had gone unnoticed by the other slavers – but did not detect anything yet.
Just as he was allowing himself to relax briefly, somebody stormed past him.
"Does any of them got a bow?"
It took a while for his mind to catch up and recognize the voice. Irritated he forced his tightened grip on the hilt to relax. "You are fortunate I did not strike you down."
"Not the first man to tell me that." The woman had sat down on her knees to search the body of the slaver he had just killed. "So did they bring a bow or not?"
He turned to the decapitated corpse and felt around for weapons.
"Crossbow."
"Ugh." He did not need a clear look of her face to know that noise was accompanied by a disgusted expression when he held the wooden weapon out to her. "I don't know if that's going to do much good."
"There is no need for you to use it. I already said–"
"That you were not counting on help in a fight. I remember." She jerked the crossbow out of his hand. "Andraste's grace, that thing is heavy! Why would anyone haul this unwieldy log with them?"
Fenris thought about Varric and his precious crossbow Bianca, which was a lot larger and had to be even heavier than the more simple version the slaver had carried, and had to bite back a smile. Not that she could have seen it in the dark in the first place. "I could not say."
"Does he got any arrows?"
"Bolts, and yes, but I fail to see the point in this," he replied impatiently. "My blade will serve me well enough and if you have no experience with crossbows, now is not the time to try them out."
"I do have experience with bows." She brushed past him again, shuffling over to the beheaded corpse while remaining crouched, and took the collection of crossbow bolts. "That you're clever and a good fighter doesn't mean I want to take my chances with you charging out of that tunnel on your own. I want to go home and this is going to be the only opportunity we get. How do I load this thing?"
"I have no intent of being needlessly reckless," Fenris said over the high-pitched noise of the crank mechanism of the crossbow being turned. "I am not one to charge blindly."
"Good. I like your idea of using the dark here against those knobs. Though you did use a word in there that lets you justify all sorts of risky actions." She grunted as she tried to pull the bow string taut. "So you swing your sword, I shoot?"
"Only if you do not try to shoot at some someone while I am in their vicinity."
"Whatever you say."
From outside they heard shouting and people moving about. The slavers must have decided their comrades were taking too long to return.
"I think they're coming." Fenris could see just enough of the woman to see her turning her head to the back of the tunnel. "You lot stay back till we've made it safe."
"I can fight them as well," one man objected. "We can't leave this to the two of you."
Fenris opened his mouth to make it crystal clear he had had his fill of meddlers eager to offer aid but the woman had her reply ready. "Ever held anything more dangerous than a pitchfork? Yeah, didn't think so. You're no fighters, that's the reason I went with you in the first place. Plus if they've got bows they'll just pick us off if we go crowding together near the front of the tunnel. If I can shoot them before they get close you won't even get to use a sword anyway."
"But…"
"Shhh! Don't be brave, be smart instead."
Clutching the crossbow with both hands she sneaked forward. Fenris pulled the strap of his pack over his head and soundlessly placed it on the ground before following her.
They found another torch once they turned around a corner. Fenris removed it from the crack in the wall where it had been placed in and smothered the flame with the thick layered leather of his armor. Before the light was extinguished he got a better look at the profile of his new self-appointed companion. A pointy face with sharp features, concave cheeks, thin lips, a nose which was perfectly straight but sloped into a slightly long tip. She was older than he initially might have thought: age lines had nestled around the corners of her eyes and mouth. She had to be in her forties. The angles of her face and the pale skin almost made him feel like he was looking at a bust carved from marble, like the ones the Tevinter magisters had made of themselves to preserve their features to be admired by feature generations. He saw her green eyes measure him up in a similar manner, and the surprise reflected in them when his appearance likely defied every expectation she might have formed.
Then the light went out and they were back in the dark, on their way to the entrance.
"Hello? Do you need help in there?"
They saw the owner of the voice that had shouted when they peered around the next berth. Clearly contrasted by the light coming from the tunnel entrance were the figures of three slavers heading towards them. One of them carried a torch.
"Not a peep," another said, more softly. "Something is definitely wrong."
Fenris shifted his weight from the balls of his feet to the front and back, gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands, but the woman flattened herself to the ground like he had done when he had wanted to look down at the camp, crawled forward and took aim.
With a click the trigger was pulled, the bolt loosened. It seemed the to be in the very same moment that the torch-bearing slaver clawed at her chest and fell over. The bolt had gone straight through armor and pierced her heart. The other two slavers jumped back in alarm.
The captive woman retreated behind the cover of the tunnel wall and started turning the crank again. Fenris leaned to the side to keep an eye on the remaining enemies. "Good shot," he muttered under his breath.
"I was aiming for the head actually," she whispered back. "This thing shoots mighty straight. And… takes… forever… to… load. What are they doing?"
"Getting reinforcements." He watched them run outside and return shortly after. "Seven, eight… There should be twelve left in total. They're carrying shields now. Bows as well."
"Hmpf." She did not clarify whether her annoyance was caused by the shields or the bows. Having finally finished reloading her crossbow, she curled around the corner, staying as low as possible.
A volley of arrows was loosened by the oncoming slavers but it was merely a precautious shot: concealed by the intense shadows their enemies had not spotted them yet. The arrows hit nothing but stone and clattered to the ground without doing harm.
Once more the sound of the crossbow being fired echoed through the tunnel. A man screamed, dropping to one knee, then on his side. He clutched his injured leg with one hand while continuing to try to protect head and body with the shield strapped to his other arm. The pale woman half jerked, half rolled to fully get behind cover and escape the arrows fired by his comrades in response.
She wanted to start the process of reloading the crossbow but Fenris knew she would not have enough time for a third shot from this position. "Head back to the previous turn," he told her in a hushed voice. "You can shoot from there while I hold them off."
He thought he saw her nod but could not say for certain. Either way, she got to her feet and disappeared in the direction they had come from. More arrows struck the stone next to him but he had no intention of stepping around that corner. As long as he stayed on this side, the archers would gain no advantage.
The first slavers crowded around the corner. The tunnel was wide enough for three men to stand side-by-side. Some of those standing behind held torches; Fenris' corner was lit up by flames which remained just out of sight, shadows of his attackers stretching forward, lurching at him. He parried, then hew at his enemies. It did not require a lot of precision to hit someone in this enclosed space. He thought he heard the click of the crossbow, knew he heard the impact of a bolt splintering bone and someone scream, fall, and scream again. His sword beat down on a shield, the impact vibrating through his arms. Then the shield bashed against him and he was knocked against the tunnel wall. Hit the already bruised back of his head and saw stars - not unlike the lyrium specks he had been surrounded by previously – dancing in front of his eyes. Saw a blade swing toward him despite that and twisted aside so it chipped stone. He let his own weapon describe a low, sweeping arc, slicing through the abdomen of someone unfortunate enough to not be wearing heavy armor.
Yet the fallen were immediately replaced by others. Bodies, dead or dying, were stepped over or stepped on to reach him, pressure him to be defensive. A torch wooshed past Fenris' face, blinding him. He felt the heat of the flames on his skin, smelled the stench of burnt hair. Blindly he lashed out at where the slaver had to be. His blow landed but was not enough to kill. The man or woman waved the torch at his face again but this time he evaded. A second slaver tried to crush his ribs with a mace. He evaded that too. Again the crossbow was fired and a bolt found its mark. The torch dropped to the ground, along with a body. The flames continued to burn and cast their light on the grimacing faces of those who were still standing. No more fighting in the dark now.
Fenris' mouth set in a determined grimace as well while he fought back. He had to push the slavers back, defend his advantageous position. The vanquished were beginning to pile up and made it difficult to advance. Someone cursed, tripping over tangled limbs, and met their own end at his blade. Weapons clashed, bones broke, people shouted, screamed in fury, screamed in pain, and the tunnel screamed back at them through their echoes. The clicking sound of another deathly bolt being loosened. All the noise blended together in the predictable chaos of battle, different every time and yet so very much the same. As long as it went on nothing else mattered - not the building strain in his muscles, the number of the fallen or the remaining, nor the suppressed ache of injuries – and in the moment it seemed to go on forever. Until suddenly, almost jarringly, no new enemies announced themselves and the last screams, groans, weeping and whimpers were silenced.
Fenris surveyed the narrow corner which mere seconds ago had been a battlefield. With three or so torches scattered amidst the fallen his surroundings were well lit now, the piled up corpses clearly visible in every grisly detail. There was no sign of movement. Only the steadily expanding pools of blood seeping across the sand and stone. He could feel the warm liquid against his feet.
He did not turn or raise his sword at the sound of footsteps behind, knew who had to be approaching. "It seems we are victorious."
The dark-haired woman came to stand next to him, taking in the sight. She was still carrying the crossbow. "Seems? Looks pretty certain to me."
"We should check the camp outside. There might be some left."
"Didn't you say there should be twelve tops? I think this is twelve dead."
"My information was shared unwillingly. It is not guaranteed to be true. I encountered at least two watchmen high up the mountain. I doubt they risked coming down here but we should be cautious nonetheless."
They clambered over the still warm corpses to get to the tunnel exit, feet slipping on uneven bloody surfaces. Fenris stopped briefly to pull a shield free from the arm it was still strapped to. A means of defense in case slavers were lying in wait outside with bows.
"Did you not count how many there were in total?" he asked the woman.
"Nah." She jumped down from the last corpse. "I stopped counting at about six when they ambushed us. Knew I could not take them out, so I surrendered."
"You did not fight them?"
"What good would that've done? They still would've captured me, only after roughing me up some. Or they would have killed me for being trouble."
He could not deny there was sense to her words and yet the thought of simply laying down arms, surrendering freedom to be enslaved made his mouth feel dry, his chest constrict. Had he not fought against insurmountable odds time and again during the long years of his escape, he would not stand here today as a free man. But all those times a part of him had known there was the possibility he would survive the encounter, that he would be the one living to carry another day. Could he have brought up the strength and will to fight when defeat was no possibility but certainty? Would he have been able to defy Danarius and fight him to the death, refusing to be returned to his Master's leash again, without Hawke and his friends backing him up? It was not a question he wanted to examine thoroughly but the part that had known there was a chance he would live was not convinced he possessed the bravery, strength, foolishness it would have taken.
Twilight had set in during the time he had spent inside the mountain and was beginning to suck the colors out of the valley, trading them for shades of dark blue, gray and eventually black. Using the shield to protect his face and chest, Fenris came out of the tunnel and moved through the quiet camp. Its tents turned out to be abandoned and in the largest one he freed his arm from the round shield and set it aside.
The leader's tent was sober, meant for easy and light travel. A bedroll took up the left side while the right was occupied by bags with supplies. He crouched down, rummaging through a small satchel, fingers finding leaves of parchment. The top one was the smallest and so thin he could see through it. He rolled out the strip to reveal the short message written down on it:
The ship has been attacked in the middle of the night. All the wares have escaped and my crew was killed. Be on your guard and make haste. The cunts who did this might be coming after you too. I will meet you at the selling point. Remember that Petrus' buyer requested undamaged goods. If there are troublemakers it's best to just kill them. We can't afford delays now.
Yusran
This had to be a letter from the ship's captain. The group who had attacked him on the mountain path had mentioned the name Yusran as well. It seemed the captain had luck on his side for another few days, but he would not remain so fortunate forever. Fenris would be there for him at the selling point, wherever it might be. Yusran, Petrus and the nameless buyer would join their accomplices in the Void.
The other sheets of parchment turned out to be notes of the acquired "goods" and a map. The satchel also contained a coin purse. Fenris weighed it in the palm of his hand.
"Not going to take all that, are you?" Going by the tone of the woman's voice an affirmative answer would see him pummeled on the head with a certain hefty crossbow.
"No." He took five silvers and a couple of coppers before tightening the strings and tossing the purse to her.
She caught it with her left hand but the measuring look in her green eyes did not fade.
He straightened. "Perhaps an introduction is in order. My name is Fenris."
"Flo."
"You are not one of the villagers, are you?" he asked, thinking back to what she had said to one of the other captives.
Now she did relax more. Side-by-side they left the tent and crossed the field towards the tunnel. "No, I live in Ostwick. Caught wind of some strange stories that had been going around for a while, relatives and friends of refugees saying they had disappeared. I thought, as a Friend of Red Jenny, I ought to help out. So I went with this group to keep them safe. Thought I could shoot bandits from a distance. Stupid, of course, but I never thought the ship's crew was part of the scum. They've been working right under the nose of all the high and mighty officials." She gestured angrily at the sky, as if the hated officials were looking down from there. "Which probably means they've been bought off. Fat surprise to nobody, I'm sure."
Fenris picked up one of the torches which were still burning amidst the corpses. "Friend of Red Jenny" sounded oddly familiar but he could not place it beyond the vague knowledge that it held – like all things, it seemed – a connection to Hawke. He was not certain what manner of friend a member of this group would be, but Flo's decision to leave her home and offer protection to those who might need it suggested a rare selflessness.
When he looked back at her he saw her staring thoughtfully at the crossbow in her hands. "You know, this thing is actually pretty good. I wouldn't mind keeping it if it wasn't so ridiculously heavy. And didn't take so long to load." She discarded the weapon, trading it for a longbow and quiver of arrows from one of the dead. After she had taken a torch for herself as well she nodded that they could continue.
He had barely turned around the last corner when a shriek pierced his ears. "Fenris!"
The next thing he knew, Rebekkah raced toward him, Hawke's knife gripped tightly in one hand. She collided with him, flung her arms around his waist and buried her face in his blood-soaked armor. The material could not completely muffle the sobs she let out.
For a moment he stood nailed to the ground, taken aback to an extent no foe had managed so far. Then he awkwardly patted the girl on the head. "It's done. We survived."
She released him and shuffled two steps back. Through the tears staining her cheeks she beamed up at him. "I know! We did it. We found Stef and rescued him!"
"Where is he?" Fenris searched the faces revealed by his torch for the one that could be her brother.
"Stef," Rebekkah called out, "Stef, come here! You have to meet Fenris."
At first nobody responded, nobody who stepped forward to greet them. Only after a second series of impatient encouragements from Rebekkah did a boy reluctantly inch forward from the group. His hair was lighter than Rebekkah's, closer to blond than brown. He had no mole on his round cheeks but his nose was the same as his sister's, as was his mouth, of which the lower lip was currently trembling.
Fenris stared at the child. Stef had to be even younger than Rebekkah, by two years at least. "Stef… is a little boy?" he managed eventually.
Rebekkah looked at him as if he had displayed the intellectual capacity of a ghast. "Of course he's a boy! I told you he's my brother, didn't I?"
That she had. Fenris had no idea why the mention of a brother had had him picture an older sibling, a strong, protective figure to whom he could safely entrust the care for his sister. It would have been far more logical to assume the sibling differed only a few years at most from the nine-year old Rebekkah. Despite the obviousness of it, it had not crossed his mind that she could actually be the older one of the two.
Meanwhile the boy in question regarded him with dark, fearful eyes and refused to come any closer. Fenris could not blame the child for his trepidation. His armor was red from the blood of the shapeshifting mage and his arms and hands bore similar stains. He was fairly certain that the right side of his face must have taken on a pink shade where it had been singed by the torch. Even without the marks of recent battle his appearance was hardly one to inspire trust in children. Or anyone, for that matter.
Rebekkah, however, was not so understanding of her brother's desire to keep his distance. "Come on, Stef! Don't be such a baby! Fenris is not scary at all."
Stef's eyes went to Flo, who had been standing back a bit. Quickly he moved to hide behind her legs, pressing his small face against her thigh to avoid both having to look at and be looked at by the elf. Tenderly she caressed his cheek. "He probably needs a little time to get used to you," she told Fenris. "Right, Stef? In a few days he won't be scary anymore."
Fenris rubbed the sole of one foot on the ground, cast his eyes down to his filth-covered toes. They expected him to act as their bodyguard on their journey back to Ostwick. Simply assumed he would deliver them to safety's doorstep while somewhere West of here awaited a selling point where Yusran the ship captain would meet the contact who had arranged for a buyer. His work was not yet done. If he agreed to return to Ostwick with these people he might very well rescind the chance to root out the remains of this slaver operation. This Yusran would remain free to continue to enslave innocents, or to find a new line of work. Relieved in either case that he had been so fortuitous to escape the fate his comrades had met. But could it be considered luck if his escape was thanks to Fenris' decision to postpone the hunt?
"Perhaps there will be no need for him to get used to me." He wanted to say these words, expectations and misguided admiration be damned, but made the mistake of letting his gaze drift to Rebekkah before he did so.
Her face, pale, pinched, tired, had the radiance over their victory ebb away in the wake of his silence. Nervousness hollowed out her eyes, like she suspected what his intention had been. The knife trembled in what had to be a white-knuckled grip. She must have been waiting here during the fight, holding that knife ready should the slavers reach them. As if it would have made a difference. As if she could have killed everyone who threatened to harm her and her brother with a small pocket knife.
The refusal was reduced to ashes in his mouth. Just a child. A brave one, maddeningly stubborn, but just a child. He had thought he would be able to leave her in the care of an older brother but as it turned out, she was the one who had to act as care-taker from now on. A child. He had brought her out here, under the promise of saving her brother and reuniting them. Perhaps his promise could be considered fulfilled; with the siblings standing in the same cave inside a mountain. Fulfilling a promise according to the cheapest, most bare-bones interpretation of it.
Slavers deserved to die. Every single one of them. But she deserved to live. He had spilled plenty of blood in his life already – more certain to come – and perhaps it was not such a bad thing to trade one moment of blood and death for something else.
So he shrugged one shoulder. "Perhaps. You should all get something to eat. I will check the nearby caves for stragglers. We leave at dawn tomorrow."