***** Cool title is way better than the last one.
In the previous chapter we finally had a breather from all the peril. In this chapter we have tunnels and runes.
I edited this beauty rather last minute, so I apologize if there are more typos than usual.*****
Part 29
The God Seeker
Astlyr took her turn at the watch and the night was still and quiet as a desert could be. Distantly she heard the yip and snarl of foxes fighting, and the occasional grunt of a larger beast roving, but there was no sign of any further Venatori attack. She and Cole had a pleasant time simply being in one another's company. Little was said, but little needed to be. Cole seemed much less driven to share aloud every pain or worry she felt. It was enough for her to know that he sensed them. When her watch was over she curled back up with Cullen after waking Myfanwy for her turn, and the final shift of the night.
Some time later, in which Astlyr's slumber was dreamless with no images of the Fade or god-wolves within it, she was wakened by a different sound. Cullen had rolled away from her slightly and was obviously in distress. His eyelids fluttered and he muttered urgently, "No. No, leave me, demon! No!"
Some of the other sleepers began to wake as Astlyr moved to the man and gently shook his shoulder. "Cullen," she said, pitching her voice low and soothing, "You're alright. It's a dream."
At first he did not seem to feel her touch, twisting his head away from her as though he saw her through closed lids, "I will not. No. I will never-" His eyes snapped open and focused quickly. His breathing was rapid and panicked and he turned to look at Astlyr and flinched away from her as though she had bitten him, his eyes suddenly wide and filled with fear.
"Cullen?" Astlyr asked, removing her hand from his arm. She knew someone in a dream addled panic might strike out, and she'd seen Cullen kill a man with only an arrowhead the day before. While she suspected she could overpower him, she didn't want to have to.
Cullen exhaled, blinking several times. The whites of his eyes became less pronounced as he sat up slowly, pulling up his knees and hugging them. It took him another moment to finally grasp where he was. He looked to Astlyr then, with such a sorry expression she felt her heart melt at once, "Maker, I didn't mean to... when I woke I thought you were..."
"A demon?" she asked, giving him a lopsided smile.
"I'm so sorry," he looked like a kicked puppy and she wanted to scoop him up and hold him. It was not an urge she was used to experiencing.
"You alright, Curly?" Varric was up. Astlyr could see his weathered face lit with concern.
"Are you well, Commander?" Fen'Harel's worry joined the group.
"I'm fine," Cullen waved them off. "I imagined you would all see this eventually, and after the stress of yesterday..." he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. Some sand fell out onto his collar. "I get vivid dreams at times. Nothing more," he shrugged. "I am deeply sorry that I disturbed everyone. They come and go. I had hoped to make it through this adventure without issue, but it seems I cannot."
"Do not spare another thought for it," Fen'Harel said, standing and stretching.
"Chuckles is right," Varric smiled, turning to tidy away his bedroll, "you have all the scary dreams you want. We'll be right here to wake you up."
Cullen looked at Astlyr again, shame still written on his features, though he did seem somewhat cheered by the words of the others, "I'm sorry for pulling away from you. I was...I was dreaming of a certain demon that tortured me particularly. She...she had horns similar to yours and when I woke-"
"Cullen," Astlyr moved to his side and touched his face with a careful hand, "I know. I've had these horns my whole life, and I know how alarming they can be, how alarming I can be. If I took it personally every time someone-"
"But it's me," Cullen shook his head, golden eyes searching Astlyr face as though struggling to memorize it. "I should not be alarmed by them. Not any more. Not after all we've been through and what we are."
She had to admit to herself that she did feel a slight pang of sadness. As she had said, she had bore these horns all her life, and as many jokes as she made about them, and their frightening affect on people, there were still parts of her that resented the way she looked. Her father and mother had raised her proud, thick skinned, and confident. Their daughter would not be ashamed, ever, of her horns and her strength, yet, in that moment, she knew she had caused her lover distress simply by looking the way she did, and it stung.
She had never been good at keeping her emotion from her face, and Cullen must have seen the hint of it because he looked down, ashamed. Rather than letting him carry on with self loathing or worry Astlyr dipped her head and kissed him, forestalling any further words. This seemed to placate her worried lover as he smiled beneath her lips. She sat back, grinning as well. She couldn't tell if he was blushing now, or was merely sunburned from their trials the day before, but he still managed to look dashing, even covered in sand, messy haired and bedraggled.
Myfanwy stuck her head into the tent, surveying the group, "good, you're all awake. It's getting on towards dawn and if we're going to travel before it gets too hot I think we need to be moving."
"Right," Astlyr stood, though she had to keep her shoulders hunched so as not to aerate this tent with her horns as well. She opened the tent flap and stepped out into the dark morn. The sun was merely a suggestion of pinkish light on the horizon. The sand was still cold underfoot from the night and Astlyr let a shiver rush through her. She took in the haphazard, half toppled Venatori camp. Would it be worth her time to try to save any of their tents? Her practiced eye roved over the mound of cloth and metal that was the weapons tent, then to the smaller structure where the Venatori had been keeping their food.
As Astlyr looked on her men gathered before her. Not in anything approaching formation, but obviously ready to receive orders. Even Cullen, who was used to being on the giving end of such commands, stood ready. Astlyr obliged them. "Varric, Myfanwy, Gather all the food water we can carry. I'd rather not waste it. Focus on things that will be easy to store in saddle packs. Avoid the extravagant. These are 'vints after all so they are bound to have a more impressive store than we're used to." She thought of the fuss Dorian might make over her assumption about Tevinter, but also how he would inevitably try to make a case for some of the more frivolous foods such as rich breads or cakes.
"Cole, Cullen, please investigate the weapons tent. Find anything of ours we missed last night, and anything we might like to add to our collection," she didn't even try to suppress a smirk. At least the harrowing battle and capture had been worth their time in new gear and a refreshment of their supplies. "Fen'Harel, you and I will see to the bedding and personal supplies. Then, if we have time, we'll try to take down the big tent to bring along. It was nice having us all in one place last night, rather than spread apart in little tents."
"It won't do much good in a sand storm," Fen'Harel pointed out, already moving to walk with her. The others began their assigned duties with no complaint. Varric even seemed excited by the prospect of being in charge of the food.
"This is true," Astlyr agreed, opening the tent flap for her friend. "We'll have to play it by ear. If a storm did come up we'd have to abandon the big tent. It'll be ripped apart."
"It is also larger, more visible," Fen pointed out as he began rolling up bedrolls, tying each tightly with a cord and stacking them like logs.
"The Venatori found us when we were hiding out in our little tents," Astlyr said. "I think being visible is the least of our worries out here."
"As you wish," Fen gave her a half-smile as he set about gathering and stowing their friends' personal supplies back into bags and satchels. Astlyr's packing skills were excellent. She was always able to fold something smaller, to make oddly shaped objects fit into haversacks. Between herself and Fen'Harel the work went quickly. Soon their personal supplies sat in a neat pile outside the tent, waiting to be placed onto dracolisk backs.
The pair were silent as they worked on the tent. It felt nice to toil side by side with someone without the pressing need for conversation, Astlyr thought. Fen seemed relaxed (at least for him) and easy in her presence. She half expected him to bring up some new anxiety over their upcoming mission. What if the foci wasn't where he'd left it? What if they couldn't find a host for Dirthamen? Instead Fen'Harel carried on with a calm expression. Perhaps his turning into a wolf two nights before had made him feel more secure about himself. Perhaps some of his memories had returned. Whatever it was, Astlyr was glad of their silent, steady teamwork.
Varric and Myfanwy reported back with their findings. Dried fruits of all varieties that made Astlyr's mouth water. Salted meats, less impressive than the fruit, but still a good variety. Varric had also selected a few bags of nuts. "They're nutritious," he explained when she gave him a look. Astlyr knew that they were a particular favorite of his. Myfanwy hesitantly held out a small jar, no larger than a fist. "Honey," she explained, looking sheepish. "I took the smallest one, and I can carry it on my saddle. I know you said no extravagance but-"
Astlyr's sharp laugh startled Myfanwy into silence, "I think that little jar is just the right size of extravagance," she gave the elf a wink.
Myfanwy looked pleased and tucked the honey away into her pack, which was piled with the others on the already warming sand. The sun was making a bid for the sky with concerning speed. Astlyr knew they would not travel far that morn before they had to make camp again, but at least they could put this place behind them.
With her tasks finished and Cole and Cullen still working, Astlyr strolled casually over to the supply tent and peered through the ruined contents. Her eyes alighted on an unbroken bottle of wine. She hefted it, noting that the wax seal was still in place. She had no idea if it was a good vintage, but it was Tevinter, so she tucked it away. Dorian would appreciate a taste of his home land, even if it turned out to be a cheap one. She also selected a small bag of dried fruit and walked back to the others, munching on her prize.
"It still smells of demons here," Cole stated, walking up with Cullen to rejoin the group. Both were laden down with new weapons and Astlyr had to try not to laugh. Cole Especially was bristling with daggers, knives, a new tripwire and three satchels of sleeping powder. Also dangling from his belt from a tough looking cord were a pair of bolas. The young spirit looked quite pleased with his findings.
"I've got some more bolts and arrows for the two of you," Cullen said, passing quivers to Myfanwy and Varric.
The elf drew an arrow and sighted down the shaft, holding it to her nose. She raised her eyebrows, obviously impressed, "these are finer than I have ever used. So uniform," she selected another, checking it the way she had the first. "They're so alike I can hardly tell them apart."
"In Tevinter they have slaves to make arrows and ensure that they're all perfect," Fen'Harel said, making little effort to conceal the bitterness in his voice.
Myfanwy slid the arrow back into the quiver, looking uncertain. Then she seemed to make up her mind, pulled the strap across her shoulders. "I will not diminish their skill by refusing to use their arrows." she said.
Astlyr watched Fen'Harel's still features, but he showed no emotion in that moment. With weapons collected, food replenished, and water to spare, the group took to their mounts. Though Varric praised Myfanwy's riding skills to the sky, she was still unwilling to take Ague's reins. "I may have ridden these creatures in a time of crisis, but I did not enjoy a moment of it," she said, eying the lizard with obvious distrust.
"Fair enough," Varric chuckled, allowed Astlyr to boost him into the saddle before Myfanwy climbed up behind him. "You helped save our lives back there, so the least I can do is steer the drac for you."
Astlyr approached Thorn, who bit at her and hissed. "Cole, can you make them docile again?" She asked, feeling lucky to have gotten her fingers clear of the deadly sharp teeth in time.
"I can, but then they won't move very fast," the boy said, stretching up a hand and rubbing Ripper's scales. The drac actually leaned towards Cole, thrumming deep in her throat. "It makes them sleepy. Dull like old stones."
"Alright," Astlyr said, hurrying to mount before Thorn decided to try more violent tactics than merely biting. "We'll ride them as we normally do. Lead on, Fen."
Another dawn and dusk's travel saw the group standing before a large mound of sand. Astlyr was unimpressed. The studied the pale stones that jutted from it, and the tough scrub plants that clung to life around it.
"This place feels old," Cole announced. "Secrets upon secrets pile and hide, hope, hinder."
"This is where the foci is hidden?" Astlyr raised an eyebrow. In the burgeoning light of dawn she could see nothing to set this particular pile of sand apart from any other, aside from Cole's assessment. She watched the spirit boy as he stood, hands clasped, in the posture she had come to know meant he was reaching out with his gift.
"The place is well hidden." Fen'Harel assured the group. He took his staff from his back, sliding his feet apart into an elegant casting stance. Astlyr had to admit that while Dorian was very graceful, Fen had the capacity to be more so. It did not always manifest, and she had seen some sloppy, slap-dash casting from him to be certain, but now, as he wove the spell through the air like silk, she saw the other side of him and was, as ever, slightly awed. Her skin prickled with the thrum of old magic. The kind she had felt when Ghilan'nain had been restored, though it felt different as well.
The veil pushed in against her and her palm prickled. Cole moved closed to her. The old magic made him tense. The ancient spell that Fen now skillfully etched across the sand like strands of the spider spirit's great web was not as invasive as Ghilan'nain's had been. Instead it merely prodded, tickled, asserting itself without force.
Astlyr had imagined the sand would fall away, revealing a cave. Instead the opening in the mound appeared, as though an invisible curtain were pulled from it, not shifting the sand at all. There was not the ragged mouth of earth she had expected either. Rather the opening which had appeared was constructed with stone pillars as doorposts and well made stairs leading down a small distance inside. It did look very dark and old. The smell of depths long undisturbed wafted to Astlyr's nose.
"What is this?" Myfanwy asked, awed. She stepped closer, examining one of the slender columns forming the doorway into the earth. Astlyr could see that that pillar was covered with runes. They shone with Fade-light for a moment, before becoming dull again.
"The runes provide the concealment," Fen'Harel explained, calling the residual magic around him back to his hands and staff. With a coiling motion of his arms the glowing green of his casting vanished as if he had waved it away like smoke. "This is Eth Dirth-an. A place of secret safety. This was one of Dirthamen's haunts where he would store away the knowledge he had gathered, and the treasures he found."
"Treasure?" Varric raised his eyebrows.
"Treasure in the form of history, yes," Fen'Harel said, eying the dwarf suspiciously. "Only some of the items would be valued now. Much will likely have fallen to the ravages of ages below the sands."
"He's sleeping," Cole said, drawing nearer to the entrance. "I can feel him inside. Slumbering, solitary."
"You can sense Dirthamen, Cole?" Fen'Harel turned to the spirit boy, sounding excited. "This is excellent news! If you can sense him, then his foci must still be safe within."
"How safe are we talking here?" Varric asked, taking Bianca from her special holster on his back. "I've been in a few treasure caves and they're always bristling with traps."
"There will be wards," Fen said, turning to gaze into the darkness of Eth Dirth-an. "I personally placed much of the security here, after I had hidden Dirthamen's foci within. I should be able to easily disarm them."
"You remember this?" Astlyr asked, tensely. She didn't want to bring up her elvish friend's memory gaps, as she knew it pained him, but she also couldn't knowingly lead her men right into a deadly trap with no hope of disarming it.
"Yes," Fen dipped his head.
"Alright. If you're certain," Astlyr swung her beautiful shield from her back and drew her blade. No use walking into a cave, no matter how much her mage reassured her, without a weapon. If she knew one thing, it was that giant spiders found every crack and crevice in the earth, no matter how well hidden it was.
Carefully they stepped into the gloom. They had no need to light torches as Fen'Harel soon found several of the special sconces which could sustain veilfire. Even with this illumination Astlyr's superior low light vision was put to the test as the path slanted downwards, causing everyone to stumble periodically. The floor, once well made of fitted stones, was now buckling and chipped in places, causing more trip hazards for the group. Astlyr had to hunch low, as usual, to keep her horns from scraping against the ceiling.
Downward they wove. The path took several turns and Fen'Harel had to stop them frequently to check for, and eliminate the wards he had placed. Many had burned themselves out after long ages standing vigil. If Astlyr flexed the fingers of her left hand and prodded the veil she discovered it was quite thick, like a wool blanket pulled over her. Odd, for somewhere a god would frequent, she thought. Perhaps Dirthamen was not as fond of the Fade as Fen'Harel was.
The journey did not take long. Fifteen minutes at the most, but it felt protracted due to many stumbles and the frequent need to stop. The group finally came to what appeared to be a dead end. A square room into which they could all fit, if barely. Astlyr urged her company to stay back in the tunnel as Fen moved around the room, examining it. Each wall, the floor and ceiling where covered with runes and pictures. They seemed disjointed and abstract. Unlike the images on the walls of Skyhold's temple, these did not blend flawlessly into one another. It was obvious each rune and image stood alone, and meant something unique. Some were drawn at odd, slanting angles, and one picture of a woman appeared to be upside down.
"What does it all mean?" Astlyr questioned, watching the runes glitter upon contact with the Fade-light as Fen'Harel raised the torch to illuminate the room. "Are they dangerous?" She wondered if Cullen should take point in her place. He had more experience with magical threats.
"Some may be," Fen answered, squinting. This was not the reassurance Astlyr was looking for and she shifted uneasily. "I placed some of them myself, but many were painted by Dirthamen himself. Secrets he has stored away, never meant for other eyes."
"Should we even be here?" Varric asked, gesturing with a thumb to the group. "Most of us aren't elves."
"We shall focus on the runes that will help us free him," Fen'Harel reassured the group.
"Can you read them all?" Cullen leaned around Astlyr to get a better view. Poor Varric near the back of the group could only catch glimpses of the upper walls and ceiling.
"Many of them. Yes." Fen raised his free hand, twisting it in the air, almost like an artist with a brush might flourish before a canvas. Then, with a precise motion of wrist and arm, several of the marks shone with bright, blueish light. "These are mine."
"Are any of them clues?" Varric asked, folding his arms. "I don't see a foci. Where do we find it?"
"It is here," Fen'Harel raised the light again, casting the eery green glow over everything once more. He moved about the little room, scrutinizing the markings. He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "If only I could recall..."
"You don't remember?" Varric's tone was exasperated this time. "I know I'm a dwarf and I'm supposed to love being underground, but let me be the first to admit that this place gives me the creeps. Nothing has even attacked us yet, I'm ready to call it a day."
Astlyr realized that she agreed. The veil down here felt odd. Drawn tight and imposing over them. It made her breathing just the tiniest bit labored, and her mind feel sleepy. She wanted fresh air, even if it was desert air. She had assumed that inhaling the stale, magic laced oxygen of the tunnel was to blame, but perhaps it was something else.
"I can remember placing them," Fen'Harel answered Varric's question, ignoring his comments about wanting to leave. "Though the recollection is fogged with time, as any would be for one who has lived as long as I. The answer which lies in these runes alludes me, though I was the one to place them."
"Do you get any read on this place, Kid?" Varric turned to Cole, who was acting as rear guard, twin blades drawn in case something did decide to attack them after all, just to round out the day.
"It doesn't want us here. No one is supposed to be here but him. The one in the wall. This is his place and we're not supposed to see, but he wants us to save him, so he waits and watches, wondering. 'Why doesn't he remember?'"
"Dirthamen? He's trapped here?" Astyr asked, glancing over her shoulder into the gloom of the hall and making out Cole's pale face.
"The secret keeper, yes." Cole replied.
Astlyr turned back to studying the glowing runes. "Well, hopefully that means we're not in danger, if he wants us to find him, but who knows," She turned her attention back to Fen'Harel. "What do the runes you placed mean?" she peered at one which seemed to be a decorative swirl rather than anything approaching language or writing. She stepped a bit further into the room. It fairly buzzed with old magic and Astlyr wished that Fen could turn it down somehow.
"They mean various things. I believe we are intended to join all their meanings together to uncover the secret." Fen'Harel mused, rubbing his chin.
"So a code word?" Varric queried, trying to move forward for a better view. He pushed past Cullen and gave the runes a once over before sighing and withdrawing to the corridor. "When I write this part in the book I'll have to make it more exciting. Maybe have us trying to solve an ancient elf puzzle while the walls move in towards us."
"And the walls are covered in spikes," Cole filled in with Varric's unspoken plot.
"Exactly, Kid."
"Hush," Astlyr warned, "You keep talking like that and the whole place will start to fill up with sand or something."
"Nice," Varric raised both eyebrows appreciatively. "Can I use that? Puppy, how are you at drawing people drowning in sand?"
Fen'Harel cleared his throat and everyone stopped to look at him. "I apologize," he said, frowning, "but I believe I will need all of your assistance for this task."
Astlyr and company obliged, settling in to help puzzling things out, some leaning against walls, others sitting cautiously on the floor. Astlyr herself plopped down, drawing her legs up in a comfotable half lotus. Cullen sat beside her, resting his arms on his knees. Cole and Varric remained in the hall in case Varric's prediction about being attacked was correct, but they listened as Fen'Harel explained what the runes meant. Myfanwy remained standing, taking out one of her papers and a bit of board, not unlike Josie's writing board, from her pack, she began sketching the runes and recording their meanings.
"The ancient elvhen language often used runes as a type of shorthand, to express words or phrases in a quick and concise manner," Fen'Harel began.
"Not to mention they just look fancier," Varric pointed out.
A quick smile flitted across Fen'Harel's face. "So they are. They were read with the topmost runes being the most important. I believe those make up the riddle we must solve, but to ascertain what sort of answer we seek, we look to these for direction," he gestured to a smattering of elegant markings near the floor. "This rune means 'to know' or 'to recall', or sometimes 'to understand' This means 'to seek identity, or a name'."
"So we need a name?" Astlyr questioned, leaning forward. "It can't be Dirthamen because we've already said that numerous times down here. Did he have any other names?"
"Perhaps once, but his been lost to the ages," Fen'Harel's shoulders slumped.
Astlyr pressed on before he could become distracted. "Alright, what about that one? The last little one, in the corner?"
"Ah, this one puzzles me. It means 'the sister' or it can stand for one who is like your sister, though not in blood. A very close bond."
"Please tell me Dirthamen had a sister, and you remember her name," Varric implored testily.
"He has a brother. No sister to my knowledge. In obscure cases this rune can be used to indicate that two other runes are closely linked. Perhaps it is implying that the first two are to be read together." Fen'Harel pulled his hair free of its leather strap, then gathered it again in an attempt to get the messy curls under control. Myfanwy stepped in and pulled it back for him, abandoning her paper for a moment.
"Know or recall an identity or name?" Astlyr puzzled aloud. "A name, but not Dirthamen's. Did he have any nicknames?"
"Perhaps it is an identity," Cullen suggested, "less a name. He was the god of secrets, correct? What's the elven word for secrets?"
Fen spoke a word to the room. This had no effect. He clucked his tongue and tried, "Dirth!" When he received puzzled looks and explained, "I used both the ancient and modern words."
"What about the other runes? The ones up there?" asked Cole, peering into the room and pointing towards the ceiling.
"That one is 'Friend' or 'Friendship'. Closer than ordinary friendship than the sister rune. A best friend," Fen'Harel explained, extending a hand as if he might touch the rune, though it was too high for him to reach.
"Lethallan or Lethallin?" Myfanwy asked.
"Similar. Lethallren. We once had a word which encompassed both genders," Fen said, watching the runes as he spoke, in case his words might trigger something.
Astlyr noticed the word, Lethallan, had been the one that a weary Fen'Harel had used for her in the Fade. Did he think of her as a best friend? She almost smiled at the thought, but managed to keep her face under control for once. She watched the slender form of the elf god move about the room, scrutinizing each rune. She trusted him in battle, certainly, and for the most part she trusted that he would not abandon them without a word, as he had before. However, she had learned to take his words with cautious optimism, but never instant belief. Once a liar, always a liar. She would forgive, but not forget.
"This one means 'mother'. This one- 'joined', or 'bound'," Fen'Harel continued to identify runes. "And this translates roughly as, 'my enemy's enemy.'"
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Cullen quoted the old saying. "There's friend again. Is friend the word we are supposed to use?"
Fen'Harel once again tried the ancient elvish version, then the modern, to no effect. He sighed, then snarled in frustration. Cole crept further into the room. "Friend. Yes. She is a friend, and more," he said, his eyes looking distant.
"What is it Cole?" Astlyr questioned, watching the boy. His posture, the way he held his hands. She knew him well enough to know when he was sensing someone's pain. The rounded set of his shoulders, and his hands clasped and wringing before him indicated that he was, indeed, reading something, or someone in the room.
"I'm your friend," Cole looked directly at Fen'Harel, who stared back, blue eyes suddenly cold. "You forgot me?"
"I-" Fen began, but did not finish. Instead he drew back, seeming to fold in on himself. He looked at the others, finally settling his gaze on Astlyr's. "I believe Dirthamen and I were friends. I have...memories of us walking together, laughing. As I recall we were very close, though the memories are fragmented," the god admitted.
"So friendship is the theme, which I think we already knew" Varric spoke up, eager to lighten the mood and hurry things along. "But the word 'friend' isn't what we want. We might be looking for a quality that friends have?" he raised an eyebrow.
"Kindness," Cole volunteered. His hands had dropped loosely to his sides. He was no longer reading Dirthamen. He shot a tentative look towards Astlyr and gave her the briefest of smiles before his lips turned downwards again.
"Love?" Varric tried.
"Loyalty?" Astlyr took a turn.
Fen'Harel spoke each of these words to the walls. The first two caused no change, but when he spoke the last; 'loyalty' there was a distant sound, somewhere beyond the back wall of the room. A mechanical rumble and then a click. Astlyr and her people were on their feet in seconds, weapons in hand. Fen'Harel raised his arm, signaling them to draw back into the hall. Astlyr saw the familiar flash of blue around the mage, indicating he had thrown a barrier around himself as he remained in the room.
"Cole?" Astlyr asked instinctively.
"I don't sense anything new," the boy said. "Just the old pain that was already here."
The runes in the room had gone out liked snuffed candles. Astlyr was uncertain if Fen'Harel had done this, or if they had done so on their own. She watched the elf, her muscles tense, her shield blocking the much of the doorway. She could swing it aside like a door if Fen needed to make a hasty escape past her. "Fen?"
"Wait," the elf was looking at something in the far wall of the room, at approximately his eye level. "It cannot be so simple."
"What?" Astlyr tilted her head, trying to see around her friend. He was looking at one of the many pictures on the wall. Astlyr could not tell for certain what it was, with Fen'Harel between her and it, but she thought she remembered looking at it before. There had been two figures, walking side by side. Had there been others as well? Twin, ghostlike forms with each of the figures. She couldn't remember if it was that picture, or another she was remembering. "Be careful," she warned.
"It cannot be so simple." Fen repeated.
"Simple?" Varric snorted. "How many wards did you have to take down to get us here?"
Fen'Harel reached for the painting and seemed to pluck something from the wall. He turned around, holding the object up for them to see. It was a silver key, no longer than Fen'Harel's forefinger. Unimpressive would have been the word that Astlyr used for it. "What do you suppose it opens?" she asked, looking around to see if a keyhole had appeared in one of the other paintings. Would there be more riddle solving to find the door the key would open?
"Nothing," Fen'Harel said, stepping towards them. "This is the foci."
Once he had reached them Fen held up the key again so everyone could get a closer look. Silver, but tarnished, the key still looked as ordinary as it had from across the room. Yet, when Astlyr plucked her glove from her left hand and held it experimentally towards the key she felt a sharp prickle on her palm. A tingle of excited magic. She withdrew her hand and slid her glove back on. "It certainly isn't an ordinary key," she assured the group, who were all crowding around her to see.
Cole peered at it cautiously, "I had better not touch it," he concluded. "It might bite me."
"It might at that," Fen'Harel gingerly tucked the key into a pouch on his belt. He shot one more glance over his shoulder at the little room. "There are likely hundreds of objects hidden within, in just such a fashion. Though I suspect they will be quite difficult to obtain. As I recall, Dirthamen spent much more time on his riddles and puzzles than I. Though, in my defense, I was rushed," he gave a weak smile and the group turned to move back up the hallway.
Astlyr was a bit surprised that Varric did not protest, or urge them to seek more secret treasure, but then she recalled how thick the veil felt here, and how uncomfortable it was making them all. Perhaps Varric's dwarfish nature, immune as he was so much magic, made the pressing of the veil a particularly strange and unpleasant sensation for him in particular.
The group moved carefully back up the tunnel. The closer they drew to the surface the better everyone seemed to feel. Varric began to toss out more snarky comments and Cullen carried himself with an upright, soldierly stride once again. She suspected the feeling of the old magic all around had done nothing pleasant to his templar senses and instincts.
Finally the mouth of the cave was visible. Astlyr could see the bright and beating sun of full day. It had felt as though they had been in the cave much longer. As though it should be night already. Instead she had to blink tears from her eyes as the brightness and heat washed over her. At the cave mouth, as Astlyr braced herself to move out of the shade, Cole appeared in front of her, staying her with a hand to her breastplate. She raised her fist, signaling those behind her to halt.
"Fear," the spirit boy said, his eyes intense below his upturned hat brim. "They don't know if they're right and they're afraid, but they're angry too, and their anger is stronger. Dogs without leashes, still scared of the master's lash"
"Cole, what-?" her words were cut short as a ball of fire magic erupted from over the top of a dune and struck the spirit boy squarely between his shoulder blades. Heated links of his chainmail flew as he was propelled into Astlyr. She caught him easily, and instinctively pulled him to her, enfolding him behind her shield.
***** So...aside from a nod to the grandfather of Fantasy, Tolkien (Speak 'Friend' and enter) this chapter is literally swimming in hints. Hints everywhere. See something you think fits your theory about where this tale is going? Don't hesitate to share! I will neither confirm non deny your correctness, but know that the foreshadowing and hints are all over the place ;)
In other news, poor Astlyr and her horns, scaring her man. I didn't want to write a character all emo about the way she looks, so Astlyr usually handles the stares and comments with sass and good grace, but it does sting when you scare the one you fancy. Don't worry. I think that kiss smoothed it over.
But oh no! Is there more peril ahead?! Probably. Remember Astlyr's luck thus far in the story and cringe.
Tune in next week. Same DA time, same DA channel!
Next: 6/25/15
Fellow bibliophiles can keep up with my shenanigans here: pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991?ref=bookmarks ****
