The walls rolled past at a plodding pace. Wherever they were going, the dwarf in the driver's seat didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to get there. Not that Valyn was in a hurry either. He had no idea what their captors had planned for them, but it surely wasn't anything good. Hard labour, most likely. Mining, or tunnelling, or both. Though if that's what they wanted, they would have been better off capturing dwarves or humans. Elves wouldn't last long down here. They all knew it, too. His fellow prisoners were weeping, or praying, or plotting their escape, but Valyn had left off all that days ago. Pointless. What would be would be.
The wagon juddered and bumped along, the steady rattle of the wheels almost putting him to sleep… Until an ear-splitting shriek rang off the stone, and a horde of darkspawn fell upon them like a pack of blight wolves.
Everyone started screaming at once.
The driver shouted and twitched the reins, but the brontos ignored him; they were too busy bellowing in pain, their knees giving way beneath them. Peering between the bars, Valyn saw that their legs had been slashed just below the haunches, crippling them.
What the…? The darkspawn haven't touched them…
The dwarf started to jump down from his seat – only to be grabbed from behind by a hooded figure, his throat opened before he could even shout a warning. Valyn watched in astonishment as the hooded stranger vaulted over the top of the cage and dropped down behind the wagon, lock-picking tools in hand. The next thing he knew, the door was open and everyone was pouring out and the stranger was grabbing Valyn by the scruff of his neck and shoving him in the direction of a branching tunnel – Go, go, go! Don't look back! – but he did look back, just long enough to see the stranger face off against a trio of pursuing darkspawn in a flurry of flashing daggers.
Valyn ran, following the others through a dark, twisting passageway. Nobody knew where they were going, and when they reached a fork in the tunnel, some of them started to panic.
"Stop!" An older woman raised her arms, commanding everyone's attention. "Quiet. He said to wait here. He said he'd be right behind us."
"Who?" Valyn demanded. "What in Andraste's name just happened?"
"Keep your voices down." The stranger appeared out of the shadows. He no longer wore a hood; what was left of his cloak hung in tatters from his shoulders. The man underneath was filthy and ragged, but his armour looked expensive, and he'd handled those darkspawn with ease. The vallaslin peeking through the smudges of soot on his face marked him as Dalish. An escaped prisoner, perhaps? Whoever he was, it looked like he'd been down here a long time. "Listen carefully," he said. "There isn't much time." He waited for the murmurs to die down before continuing. "Follow this tunnel until you reach an underground lake. You'll find a cache there. Food and weapons."
"We're not fighters," someone said.
"With any luck, you won't need to use them. After the lake, keep going until you come to another crossroads. Take the passage to the right. In about a day, you'll reach a small cave in the mountains. The village of Cliffside is about five miles to the northwest. Stay off the roads and you should be safe."
Valyn's mouth fell open. "Just like that? But if there's a way out, why haven't you taken it? Who are you, anyway?"
A pair of startling aquamarine eyes met his. "Did you get all that?"
"Yes." Valyn nodded, feeling suddenly solemn for reasons he couldn't explain. "Cache by the lake. Right at the crossroads."
The stranger started to turn away, but the old woman grabbed his hand. "The Maker sent you to us. Bless you, Herald."
Valyn gasped. They all gasped.
"Dareth shiral," the Inquisitor said, and then he was gone.
"We have to go back," Dorian said, his pulse thudding in his ears. "The prison wagon. That's where Maggie found this." He held up the scrap of cloak the wolf had brought him. "He was there. He was right there. We must have just missed him."
Cullen and Cassandra exchanged a look. He knew what they were thinking. A scrap of clothing didn't prove anything. It could have been lying in the road for weeks. Or the darkspawn could have looted it off a body. All true, but Dorian didn't care. Seth was alive. He knew it in his bones, and so did Maggie. Seth had been there only moments before they arrived – which meant his scent would be fresh. She could track him. If they left right now…
Steady, Pavus. There's still the matter of the prisoners. Ellana had opened most of the cells already, but many of the elves were in terrible condition, having been exposed to red lyrium for weeks or months. He'd seen this before, too many times, starting with the nightmare at Redcliffe Castle. The place where he'd first fought at Seth's side. A horrible memory, and yet precious. Strange how both things could be true.
"There's a lake about two miles from here," Rainier said, bringing Dorian back to the present. "Fresh water. Defensible. We used it as our fallback position before we were captured. We should take the prisoners there. Let them recover what strength they can."
"A pity the darkspawn killed those brontos back there," Cullen said. "We could have used the wagon to transport the weaker prisoners at least part of the way."
"We have a wagon," said the Promiser guard. Dorian had all but forgotten about the man; he hadn't moved an inch since laying down his weapon. "A wagon and a bronto. Just down there." He pointed. "Stinks something awful, that beast, so we keep it well away from where we sleep."
"Oh, hey, speaking of stinks…" Sera scowled at him. "Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be running for your life or something?"
The guard took his cue and bolted.
"What are you doing?" Cullen demanded. "He could sound the alarm!"
Sera ignored him. "'Scuse me, Ellana, was it? Mind if I borrow this?" She took Ellana's bow, nocked an arrow, and shot the fleeing guard in the back of the head. He tumbled to the dust and didn't move again. "Wankstain."
Ellana blinked at her in mild dismay. "I thought you had a deal with him?"
"A deal for me, sure. Doesn't cover this lot, though, does it?" Sera gestured at the prisoners. "You don't get to do things like that to people and just walk away."
Cassandra rolled her eyes and started down the slope toward the bronto paddock. "We should get moving before we are discovered. Come, Commander, let us hitch up this wagon."
"So much for the element of surprise," Ellana said, surveying the mess with a sigh. "They'll come looking for us now."
Dorian considered that. "Perhaps we can buy ourselves a little more time. If we load the bodies into the wagon and dump them somewhere, we can at least leave the Promisers guessing. Let them wonder if the darkspawn are responsible."
"You heard the man," Rainier said, already moving. "Let's get this mess cleaned up as best we can."
"There's a cistern over there," Sera said. "Few buckets of water will sort us out."
"I'll get it." Ellana headed off at a jog, as anxious as Dorian to get back to the site of the darkspawn attack.
Sera watched her go with a tilt of her head. "So. The Inquisitor's sister."
Dorian gave her a knowing smirk. "Like what you see?"
"Lavellans, right? Those parents must've been something to look at."
"Well, don't get too attached. She's spoken for. Twice over, if I'm not mistaken." His gaze strayed to Cullen.
Sera snorted softly. "Figures. Anyway, something you should know." Her expression grew serious. "The red lyrium they were using here. It was different."
Dorian frowned. "Different how?"
"They made it. I mean, not just the way the Red Templars used to, growing it out of people and stuff. They made it out of regular lyrium."
"What?" His frown deepened. "Just like that? How could they possibly…?"
Red lyrium has the Blight. Bianca Davri had figured it out. Aerion Malkar must have done the same. Only he'd taken it one step further, apparently, working out how to infect ordinary lyrium with the Blight. But why…?
And then it clicked, like a mechanism slotting into place. The dead Legionnaire. The Sha-Brytol armour. The tunnelling. The dig site is here, Ellana had said. To the southwest…
"Maker help us," Dorian whispered. "They're going to infect the titan."
"What are you on about?" Sera gave him a wary look. "You mean that giant earth-shakey thingy you and the Inquisitor fought way back when?"
"We didn't fight it. Not really. It was too big to fight. Too powerful. Andraste preserve us, it will destroy everything…" He was talking to himself now, numb with horror as his brain followed the knock-on effects like a line of tiles stood on end, tipping over one by one.
Infect the titan with the Blight. The wellspring pumps the Taint through the veins of the world, turning every drop of lyrium red. Orzammar is the first to fall, its economy ruined. The Carta are waiting in the wings to capitalize on the chaos. The Imperium is next, its entire infrastructure dependant on a steady supply of lyrium. The Qunari take it over at a stroke. The Circles fall, and the templars. The Qunari march south. Chaos spreads all over Thedas. And all the while the red lyrium spreads, infecting everyone and everything…
"That's why they're testing every species they can get their hands on," Dorian murmured. "They want to know how everything will react. What they will become and how long it will take for them to die. How very scientific."
"Cassandra!" Sera shouted over her shoulder. "Better come quick. Dorian's gone barmy!"
"Malkar and his Anointed will be safe, resistant as they are. They can wait out the storm until they work out how to cure the Blight and reverse what they've done. They'll be all alone in the ashes, just like they've always wanted. And when life finally starts to crawl back, they'll be there to guide it."
"Dorian." Cassandra jogged up, looking worried. "What's going on? Why are you talking to yourself?"
"I understand now. What the Promisers are trying to do, and why Seth was so desperate to stop them. We have to hurry, Cassandra. We have to find him!"
"But what—?"
"I'll explain on the way. Quickly, while the scent is still fresh and Maggie can track him."
Cassandra hesitated, clearly unhappy about having to wait for an explanation. But she did as he asked, helping the prisoners up into the wagon while Cullen and Rainier gathered the bodies and Ellana threw buckets of water over the blood. When the scene was as clean as they could leave it, they set off, heading back the way they'd come.
A titan infected with red lyrium. Dorian shook his head dully, his body swaying with the rhythm of the wagon. This was bigger than Seth now. Bigger than any of them. If Malkar wasn't stopped… And yet all he could think of as they rolled along was how much closer each step brought him to his love.
Andraste, please let us find him tonight. For all our sakes.
Vir Assan. Be swift and silent.
Vir Bor'assan. As the sapling bends, so must you.
Vir Adahlen. Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness.
This was the Way of Three Trees. The way of the hunter. These were the words that guided his steps, and his blade.
Once, he had been a child of Sylaise, Hearthkeeper and Protector. She marked him still. In his heart, and in the vallaslin twined over his left eye. But her ways had failed him down here. He hadn't been able to protect Varric, or Thom or Sera. He'd stood by, powerless, watching from the shadows as they were hauled away. He hadn't been able to protect the other prisoners, either. Couldn't even get near them, surrounded as they were day and night. Their anguish echoed in his ears, haunted his dreams until he thought he would go mad.
And so he turned to Andruil. It was the Huntress who guided him now. He was her creature through and through: swift and silent, striking unseen, taking opportunities where he found them. He stalked his prey from the shadows. Separated the weak from the herd and picked them off one by one. He baited snares and waited, patient, so patient, until the trap was sprung, and then he fell upon his enemy without mercy, without remorse. He sabotaged and thwarted. Sowed chaos and confusion, springing the blighted animals from their cages, luring the darkspawn to his enemy's doorstep and exploiting the mayhem that ensued. Above all, he waited — patient, so patient — for his chance to do more. The enemy feared him, even though they only half believed he existed. They whispered about him around campfires, like a children's tale. The faceless wraith who waited in the dark, ready to pounce.
Sometimes, he only half believed in his own existence. He was barely there. A wolf without a pack, surviving on deep mushrooms and nug and memories. Wicked Grace with Varric. Sera's awful cookies, and Thom's awful stories.
Dorian.
His touch. His voice. The scent of his skin. The tiny flecks of gold in his eyes, like a secret treasure. The thrill of his kiss, and the aching bliss of being inside him.
Ar lath, 'ma vhen'an, bellanaris.
But that was another life. Another man. He was only the Hunter now. Child of Andruil.
He'd honed his technique. Painting himself in darkspawn ichor, wearing it like vitaar, making himself all but invisible among them. Leaving a trail of his own blood for the creatures to follow, then standing aside as they did their work, providing the diversion he needed to do his. Today's batch of prisoners was the fourth he'd set free. The transport wagons were thinly-guarded. Easy prey. But this time, he was after bigger game. He'd timed his attack carefully, and with any luck, the commotion had drawn off some of the guards from the nearby prison camp, leaving it vulnerable at last. He dared to hope that today was the day he could finally reach Sera. He'd watched her from the shadows, whenever he could risk a moment away from the dig site. She seemed all right, but that wouldn't last. She and the other prisoners needed to get out of there, and he'd finally worked out a way to do it without tipping his hand.
He circled around the back way, avoiding the passage where the commotion had taken place. But when he got there, the cells were empty, and the wagon was gone. The prisoners had been moved.
He sank to his haunches and folded his arms over his head. His animal cry of fury reverberated off the ancient stone. But he allowed himself only that brief indulgence.
Vir Bor'assan. As the sapling bends, so must you.
He'd watched the shipment approaching Three Roads camp. He knew what they were carrying and where they were taking it. He also knew that if they lost that precious cargo, their progress would be stymied for days, if not weeks.
Vir Adahlen. Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness.
Andruil had given him the gift of gaatlock. What a pretty bonfire it would make.