Ellana's scream sounded strangely muted in Dorian's ears, all but drowned out by the harsh rasp of his own breathing. He was vaguely aware of her bucking and twisting like a wild animal caught in a trap, but he couldn't look at her. Couldn't seem to do anything but hang there limply, watching as Aerion Malkar drew the lyrium dagger out of Seth's side, leaving a three-inch wound gushing with blood. The elf's whole body jerked, a muffled grunt sounding from behind the gag, but his face betrayed almost nothing. He wouldn't give Malkar the satisfaction of seeing his pain or his fear. Dorian wished he could scrub the emotion from his own features just as easily, but it was impossible. The man he loved had just been stabbed with raw red lyrium, and the Maker alone knew what would become of him now.
Malkar passed his fingertips over Seth's ribs as gently as a lover, examining his handiwork. "I do hope I haven't punctured a lung. It will ruin the experiment if you perish before the lyrium can do its work. I've made that mistake before, alas." He gestured carelessly at the stack of bodies in the corner.
"My lord…" The Red Templar guard was eying Dorian with a worried look. "The mage…"
Malkar turned around, his gaze travelling up Dorian's arms to the bindings at his wrists. "My, my. It's been a long time since I encountered a mage who could call magic to his fingertips without the benefit of a spell."
Dorian hadn't realized his hands were on fire, but he wasn't surprised. Not that it did him any good. Such primal outbursts commanded very little power; these flames wouldn't even be hot enough to burn through his bonds. Still, he could use this. He closed his eyes, concentrating his energy and flaring the flames as much as he could, as though he meant to do something impressive with it.
Malkar took the bait. "I don't think so, Magister Pavus." And before Dorian could brace himself, the corrupted Seeker hit him with a brutal wave of dispelling power, so spitefully supercharged that it blasted the air right out of his lungs. It was overkill and then some, leaving his whole body trembling as he tried very hard not to vomit. "I trust that will deter future gestures of that nature," Malkar said. "Still, I'm impressed, and even more eager to begin your treatment. Such wonderful potential." He turned back to his table of tools, considering his options.
That's when Ellana Lavellan lost her mind.
She shrieked again, a feral cry of pure rage, and drew her knees up to her chest. Then, as Dorian looked on in astonishment, she pushed her feet up toward the ceiling, inverting her entire body in a display of raw, willowy strength that would have dropped his jaw if he hadn't had a filthy rag stuffed between them. Clasping the chain between her boots, she unhooked her wrists, grabbed the chain with both hands and dropped to the floor, and before Malkar could even finish turning around, she charged him bodily into the table, sending tools and red lyrium flying. The guard went for his sword, but Bull was quicker, swinging out with both feet and catching the guard full in the chest, sending him flying across the room. He hit the wall in a clatter of armour and did not move again.
Malkar seized Ellana's throat, hoisting her off the ground while she squirmed and kicked in his grasp. She'd taken him by surprise, but she was ninety pounds soaking wet and bound in the bargain, defenseless as a kitten held by the scruff of its neck. Seth tried to lash out with his legs, but he was too far away, and the movement sent a gout of blood over his flank. Dorian and Bull could do nothing but watch helplessly as Ellana was hurled into the wall, landing in a heap near the stack of bodies in the corner.
"How very bracing," Malkar sneered. "I trust you've all got that out of your systems?"
Dorian spat the rag out of his mouth and said, "Not quite."
Malkar narrowed his eyes. He'd been too hasty in stuffing the gag back in Dorian's mouth, but he didn't look all that worried about it. "You're no threat to me, mage."
"Are you sure about that? Your spectacularly overzealous dispel has left you in a delicate spot. It'll be a few moments before you're able to repeat that little trick."
It was no accident. A man provoked is a man who makes reckless mistakes, and Dorian Pavus specialized in provoking people. He'd goaded Malkar into being careless with the gag. Goaded him again into wasting his dispel. And now the corrupted Seeker was vulnerable – whether he realized it or not.
"Do your worst," Malkar said with a shrug. "I am Anointed, chosen by Andraste. Immune to fire, electricity, ice – anything you can throw at me."
Dorian's mouth curved like a blade. He'd been preparing for this moment since he first laid eyes on the contents of this room. "I'm disappointed in you, Aerion. Here I thought you were a scholar, but it seems you haven't done your research. If you had, you would know your enemy."
The Redeemer scowled. "What are you talking about?"
Dorian didn't answer. He was too busy working his fingers, stripping the vibrations of the Veil down to a thin quiver, beckoning those that lay beyond. Then he whispered a single word, his eyes burning into Malkar's as he completed the spell.
"You can't harm me," Malkar said again, but the words lacked conviction this time.
"Maybe not," Dorian purred in his most velveteen voice. "But they can."
One by one, the corpses in the corner lurched to their feet. Not the half-rotted husks that occasionally wandered the land, but fresh bodies, human and elven and Qunari, their movements as strong and supple in death as they had been in life. One of them picked up the sword of the fallen Red Templar, while another seized the red lyrium dagger. The rest went for whatever they could find on Malkar's table of horrors, taking up hammer and chisel and poker, surrounding the corrupted Seeker with murderous intent.
"Necromancer," Malkar spat, and for once, Dorian relished the shock and disgust that accompanied the word. The Redeemer glanced about frantically in search of a weapon, but the corpses had already grabbed anything of use. He was unarmed and outnumbered, and these foes didn't care a whit about his red lyrium claws, or anything else in his little bag of tricks. After all, they weren't getting any deader.
"If I were you," Dorian said, "I would run."
The Redeemer had little choice but to follow that inglorious advice, turning and fleeing into the corridor with a dozen undead in pursuit.
Dorian hated letting him get away, but he was powerless to stop it, and besides, he had bigger worries. Seth was fading fast, blood pouring down his side. He'd already been bleeding from his left arm, the artificial hand tearing at his flesh as it struggled to keep a grip on his stump. He would pass out soon, and already Dorian could see spidery threads of glowing red creeping along the edges of the dagger wound.
Bull tried to drag himself up the way Ellana had, but he couldn't manage it. Neither he nor Dorian had the right build for such a trick. "What now?" the Qunari growled, abandoning the effort.
A groan sounded from the corner, and Ellana pushed herself to her feet, bleeding from her temple and looking a little woozy.
"Are you all right?" Dorian asked.
"I… I think so." She brought her hands to her forehead, her fingers coming away bloodied. "What happened?"
"No time. Can you get us down?"
Ellana searched through what was left of Malkar's tools and came up with a small bone saw. Grasping it between her knees, she sliced through her bonds and then dragged a chair over to Seth, cutting him down and doing her best to brace his fall. He was barely conscious now, and Ellana wept quietly, trying not to look at the ghastly wound spreading over his side as she lowered him gently to the floor. She cut Dorian down next, and he rushed to Seth's side, expending his last drop of mana on a pathetic wave of healing magic that did no good at all. The Qunari came last, and he wasted no time gathering Seth into his arms and rushing out into the corridor. "Come on!" he roared, and for a moment Dorian was back in Halamshiral, watching as the Iron Bull raced across the marble flagstones while the Inquisitor bled to death in his arms.
Never again, Dorian had promised himself that day. And now here they were. Everything he'd sacrificed, all the pain he'd put both of them through, only to end up smack in the middle of the very nightmare he'd been trying to avoid.
"Daerwin's Mouth," Bull said as they ran. "Red and the others are waiting for us there."
What good can they do? Even if Vivienne healed the wound, that wouldn't save Seth. Yet what choice did they have?
They headed for the crossroads, but they hadn't got far before a trio of Carta came barrelling down the tunnel in the opposite direction. Dorian and the others were unarmed and vulnerable – but as it turned out, the dwarves weren't the least bit interested in them, being rather preoccupied with the lyrium-infected predator bearing down on them. Malkar must have sprung more of his pets in order to cover his escape, and apparently he'd saved the best for last.
"You've got to be shitting me," Bull growled, skidding to a halt. "A dragonling?
There really wasn't time to discuss it. The Carta were racing toward them as fast as their stumpy legs would carry them, the corrupted baby dragon right on their heels. Dorian and the others had no choice but to turn back the way they'd come, trying not to be distracted by the pitiful screams of the dwarves as they were overtaken by two hundred pounds of fire-breathing fun.
"We'll never outrun it!" Ellana cried.
They raced through the chamber where they'd been taken prisoner. Dorian whistled for Maggie, and a moment later she fell in alongside, a low growl the only indication that she even noticed their pursuer. Up ahead, a right-hand turn would take them to the ancient lift – so Dorian banked left, hoping that the smell of fresh carnage at the lift would distract the creature hunting them. But the dragonling was more interested in chasing than eating, and it kept after them, gaining ground with every stride.
And then Dorian saw it: a cluster of deep mushrooms up ahead, too close together to be natural. "On my signal, jump as far as you can!"
Ellana threw him a panicked look. "What?"
"Just do as I say!"
Bull cradled Seth closer and nodded, putting his horns down as he picked up speed. They could hear the dragonling gaining on them, its claws raking the dirt as it closed the distance.
"Now!" Dorian cried, and all of them – human, elf, Qunari, and wolf – leapt through the air, clearing the concealed animal skin covering one of Seth's traps. The baby dragon wasn't so lucky, hitting the pitfall with its full weight and plunging straight down, where it impaled itself on sharpened bones and chipped stone. They could hear it thrashing about in its death throes, gurgling and snarling. A gout of flame flared out of the pit. And then the flailing stopped, and the corridor was eerily silent once more.
"I am so fucking tired of this place," Bull said, pithily.
The rest of the journey back to Daerwin's Mouth was uneventful, though it seemed to take forever. Each second that trickled past saw Seth slipping deeper into unconsciousness, his face so pale that his lips actually looked blue. Dorian couldn't imagine what Vivienne or any of the others could possibly do for him, but they had no choice but to try.
They came upon the others just before Daerwin's Mouth, a ragged but jubilant throng of Chargers and Circle mages and former Inquisition. "Krellis and his army are defeated," Cassandra said, jogging up to Dorian. "The titan is secure for…" She trailed off, paling as her gaze fell to the Inquisitor. "Maker preserve us. Is he…?"
"Alive," Bull said. "But that prick Malkar stabbed him with red lyrium. He's been out for an hour now."
Vivienne pushed herself through the crowd. "Set him down, Bull," she instructed. "I've brought some excellent healers with me. Ashai, darling, your talents are needed." She waved a young mage over, who took one look at Seth's wound and bit her lip.
"I can stop the bleeding, Grand Enchanter, but the red lyrium…"
"You needn't concern yourself with that, my dear. I will take care of it myself."
Dorian's traitor heart gave a pang of hope. "What do you mean, take care of it? As far I know, there's no cure."
"As far as you know," Vivienne returned with more than a hint of smugness. "Fortunately, I have resources that you lack. A recipe recently came into my possession for a potion that should slow the infection, if not counter it altogether. I cannot make it here, however. We need to get to Highever as quickly as possible, so that I can procure the proper ingredients."
Dorian felt sick all over again. Highever was several days' ride from here. They would never get there in time…
"Ashai, my dear, you are not reconstructing the Veil here. How much longer do you require?"
"Almost, Grand Enchanter."
As Dorian watched, Seth's wound closed, and a little colour came back into his cheeks. But the infection was spreading rapidly; already, a spider's web of glowing red covered Seth's entire flank, from his navel to his spine.
"Hurry," Leliana said. "We must get him to the ship."
"Ship?" Cullen echoed. "What are you talking about?"
Bull scowled as he scooped Seth back into his arms. "Less talking, more walking."
He took off at a run again, Dorian following closely behind, and soon they heard the breathy sigh of the sea. A magnificent ship loomed just beyond the cavern mouth, and for a moment Dorian thought it must belong to the Divine. Then he spied the flag of Antiva flapping bravely from its mast, and a moment later, a familiar figure rushed toward him.
"Dorian!" Josephine flung herself into his arms, and he returned the embrace gladly, being in dire need of a hug just then. "I'm so glad you're safe," Josephine breathed. "But the Inquisitor… What have they done to him?"
"Red lyrium," Dorian said dully.
Josephine's hand flew to her mouth, and for a second they just stared at each other, sharing a moment of silent grief. Then a look of pure iron came into her eyes, and she whirled, striding purposefully toward a line of rowboats on the shore. "Hurry. The tides are with us – we can sail immediately."
As Bull loaded Seth onto the rowboat, Dorian took a moment to look more carefully at the harbour. The wreckage of a second ship listed up against the cavern wall, its hull still smoking. "Looks like you got Malkar's ride," Bull said approvingly.
"The Promisers certainly weren't expecting us," Josephine said, her eyes still hard. "We only had to fire the cannon twice. But I don't think Malkar was on board when we destroyed it."
"We'll get him," Bull said, gripping Dorian's shoulder. "However long it takes."
Dorian appreciated the gesture, but in that moment he didn't give a flying nug about Aerion Malkar. All he cared about was his amatus, lying ashen and unconscious at the bottom of a rowboat. With a ship at their disposal, they might just have a chance, if only Seth could hang on.
Don't you dare die on me, Seth. Don't you dare.
He helped Bull shove the boat into the water, the hull scraping the rocks as he jumped inside and grabbed an oar. He didn't even look behind him to see where the others were, rowing with all his strength as their little boat carved its way through the waves.
"Where shall I tell the captain to take us?" Josephine asked as she hauled on her oars.
"Highever," Dorian rasped. "We have to get him to Highever."
"We will," Josephine said. "I swear it."