CHAPTER 14
..x..
Maker, am I falling for her? That would have to be the only explanation behind whatever it was that possessed him to almost kiss her the night before. The reason why he'd craved to taste those rosy lips and his fingers itched to touch that soft skin. Why he yearned to embrace her and hold that lithe body against his own for hours. Those ideas were growing more frequent since Redcliffe and just thinking clearly was becoming increasingly difficult every time she was near. And he couldn't tell why it was happening or what it all meant.
No, I can't be falling in love with her. We barely know each other. Maybe… Maybe I just want her? Alistair thought while gazing towards Lake Calenhad, its waters glimmering under the afternoon sun. I mean... with those ravaging curves, that cunning, and that power… What man wouldn't want her?
A frown creased his brow as his gaze fell to the grass, not really seeing it when his mind was still focused on her. He figured he was just… stressed and in need of a release after all that's happened to them. But thinking of her in such a way—as some casual fling to pop his cork—just seemed shameful. As if the very notion of him possibly having a one night stand with her was somehow an insult to her honor. He realized then that it wasn't all purely physical. That she meant more to him than that.
Alistair shook his head, glaring at the ground. If it wasn't love, then what was it? Lust? Need? He groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just trying to sort out these feelings was starting to give him a headache.
"What do you mean you won't take us to the Circle? I demand an explanation."
And right now, the source of his inner turmoil was staring down a redheaded Templar who also happened to be wielding a sword as big as she was tall.
"I said I have orders not to let anyone in. Are you deaf?"
She folded her arms stubbornly, lifting her nose at the man currently towering over her. "We are Grey Wardens and need help from the mages. Now, take us to the tower or I will make sure you regret ever getting in our way."
"Oh, threats now, huh?" His green eyes matched her glare, refusing to back down. "How do I know you're Grey Wardens, eh? You think that just because you're wearing the armor I'll believe everything you say?" He scoffed at her. "Show me proof and then we'll talk."
"Such impertinence. This man should be pushed into the lake and left to drown," Morrigan grumbled from behind Alistair. The group was standing a distance away, waiting for Everil to broker passage to the Circle of Magi, which was located at the center of the lake.
Alistair lifted a brow. "Isn't that a little extreme?"
"He is blocking our advance when we have a Blight to stop and a possessed child aiming to slaughter an entire village. I would say one Templar's life is meaningless in comparison."
"Are you sure you're not just saying that because you hate them?"
"Yes. 'Twould simply be one more reason to drown him."
Everil huffed moodily, holding her ground. "I don't have to prove anything to you."
The Templar put his hands on his hips, leaning over to stare her down. "Oh, so now I'm not good enough for you, eh? See how you get across now."
With a sigh, Alistair walked up to them, having had enough of a conversation that was seemingly going nowhere. He came to stand by his fellow Warden, offering the knight a friendly smile while using his past experience in the Chantry to push things along. "Hey… Tell me something, Ser Templar. What would your Knight-Commander say if he were to find out that you kept Grey Wardens out of the Circle of Magi during a Blight?"
The young man's face paled as his brain slowly processed his words. Seeing this, Everil picked up on her friend's plan of attack and gave him a wicked grin. "He wouldn't like it very much, would he?" She nudged Alistair's arm with her elbow. "Shall we report it?"
He snickered. "Maybe we should."
"No, don't," the Templar blurted out, shifting nervously while finding himself defeated. "Fine, you win. I will take you across. But I can only take three people at a time. Your hound may fit in the boat too."
"Good. Hold a moment." Everil's face brightened and she spun about, heading back to her party and motioning for them to follow her outside of the Templar's ear range.
"All right. You heard him. We can only take one other person with us." She regarded the witch. "Morrigan. You said you have business inside, so you're coming along this time. That and I learned my lesson the last time I questioned your abilities."
Morrigan smiled elegantly. "I am pleased to hear that."
"What are you hoping to find in there, anyway?"
"If I find it, I shall tell you. Just know that 'tis a tool we may be able to use to our advantage."
Everil arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Is it dangerous?"
"Not if in the right hands. And, fortunately for you, mine are quite capable..." Purple lips spread into a smirk, giving her a slightly uncomfortable feeling in spite of her words.
"Very well, then… I'll have to trust you." Everil sighed, then shifted her attention to the other two. "Sten and Leliana. You two can wait for us and watch our things while we're gone."
"All right. We'll be here." Leliana replied with a not. Next to her, Sten ignored them, observing the lakeside with his usual severe expression.
Soon after, they watched the four of them board the small rowing boat and set out across the lake's waters, heading for the tower. Leliana sighed, not exactly thrilled at being left behind. Especially with someone as enigmatic and dangerous as Sten. He rarely spoke or socialized with the rest of them, but somehow still kept his word to Everil, having promised to fight against the Blight in exchange for saving his life in Lothering.
"Hmm."
Upon hearing the grunt, she gazed up at the qunari in question, taking notice of how he kept turning his head in every direction. He took a step towards the lake's shore, then veered to the side and away from it, his eyes focused and searching over the grassy hills beside it.
She frowned worriedly. "Are you searching for something?"
Sten turned his attention down to the redhead, then kept going. "I am."
"What is it?" she asked, trying to walk faster to meet his giant strides. "I might be able to help you."
"I am searching for my sword."
Her eyebrows shot up and she blinked. "Uhm... You have a sword on your back, Sten. You didn't drop it or anything."
He let out a grunt. "Not this sword, woman. My sword."
"But isn't that your sword?" she muttered in puzzlement, totally confused.
"No. This sword is not my sword."
Leliana reached for her now aching head. "All right… How about you explain to me what you mean? I'm not following."
He stopped in his tracks and let out an almost imperceptible sigh. "You were a priestess of the Chantry in Lothering, were you not?"
"Yes, I was. Why?"
"Do you not know what occurred that caused me to be imprisoned in your village?"
"Uhm…" She swallowed nervously under his stare. "You… You killed a family with your bare hands? The Revered Mother said the Templars found you by their bodies."
"That is correct…" Sten turned away from her, but whether or not he was ashamed by his admission, she couldn't tell. It took him a moment to speak, but he continued to explain. "The reason I killed those people was that I lost the blade given to me upon my birth into the Baresaad—the warrior class of the qun in your human tongue."
"What?" Leliana tilted her head quizzically. "You killed them because you lost your sword? Why?"
"Because without it, I am soulless." He kept trekking further down the lake, leaving her staring in bewilderment.
"W-Wait!" She ran after him, intent on following him and figuring out his cryptic words.
.x.x.x.x.
The Circle of Magi''s massive spire rose over them as a giant touching the skies, the clouds circling it grazing the top of its finger. Sunlight caressed the coarse, grey stone, the tower's reflection shimmering magically over the lake's shifting surface. None spoke as they gazed upon it, admiring its imposing size while quietly wondering what lay inside. They docked on a grassy area and climbed out before taking a few steps to the iron gates. The Wardens opened them, revealing a great hall with red and white banners hanging over the walls. And the moment they walked in, they were greeted by what appeared to have been the reason why they were initially being denied entrance to this place.
Several Templar knights lay bloodied on the floor at each side of the room as they moaned and wailed miserably. Those who were less injured treated their injuries, offering words of empathy and support that came out empty when they themselves were in pain. A sympathetic Everil and her party passed them by, spotting a man sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth while holding his head. He was muttering something about the many dead and dying while the rest of the men and women around him held expressions of loss, anguish, or fear.
"What… happened here?" Alistair whispered, stunned by the miserable state of those he may have once called brothers and sisters.
"Grey Wardens." A man with a graying beard met them halfway into the hall, his armor carrying the symbol of the Templar Order. "Welcome to the Circle of Ferelden... Or what's left of it."
Everil knitted her eyebrows, a question in her eyes. "Are you the one in charge?"
"Yes. My name is Greagoir and I am the Knight-Commander of the Templars here." He clasped his hands behind his back, scrutinizing them. "I am sure you were told we are in no condition to receive visitors. Whatever brings you to the Circle must be important enough to ignore this."
"Yes… We seek the aid of the mages to battle the Blight." Everil went straight to the point.
"I tire of the Grey Wardens' constant need for help against the darkspawn, but it is your right." Greagoir released a frustrated breath, then gave her an apologetic stare. "Unfortunately, we cannot offer any mages at this time. I shall be blunt. The Circle is lost and it has been taken over by abominations."
Alistair couldn't believe his ears. "Are you serious? How did this happen?"
The Knight-Commander wearily shook his head. "We don't know… All we know is that we had demons and abominations killing everything in sight. My men and I were barely able to fight our way out before barring the great doors to keep them inside." He gestured to his injured Templars. "You can see for yourself how well we fared against such an overwhelming force."
"Well…" Alistair sighed. "This puts a damper on things."
Next to him, Everil pressed her lips together, gazing at the floor in concentration. For some reason, everything in Ferelden was falling apart. Not only was there a Blight, but now it seemed Connor wouldn't be the only possessed mage they would be forced to deal with.
"The great doors will block any magic or demons trying to get out." Greagoir motioned for the giant metal gates at the corner of the hall, arcane symbols covering every inch of it. "I have also called upon the Right of Annulment. Reinforcements from Denerim should be here soon."
"The Right of Annulment?" Everil asked.
"It's a mandate to eradicate all the mages in a Circle of Magi that has been deemed compromised by abominations," Alistair explained for her. "Which means the Chantry will be sending an army of Templars to go in and kill pretty much everything inside the tower."
"That is correct," Greagoir affirmed quietly, a guilt-ridden look over his aging features.
She turned to him, perplexed by the decision. "What about the survivors?"
"Whatever magic used by the mages responsible for this has torn the veil to the Fade, allowing evil things to come through." He sighed sadly, shaking his head. "You didn't see the halls filled with those monsters… Demons crawling out of every corner. Possessed mages killing other mages. If there were any survivors they would have perished by now."
Everil gave him a critical look. "You locked them in, didn't you? You didn't even wait to see if any mages remained alive."
"You're accusing me of leaving them for dead?" He glared at her, dismayed by her affront. "It's impossible for anyone to have remained alive after the carnage that ensued inside… and hoping for survivors is far too painful. It's best to end it now and stop their suffering."
Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. "I hate to say this, but he's right. We should cut our losses and—"
"We will not abandon them," Everil cut in, her tone effectively silencing him.
He winced under her disappointed eyes, swallowing his words with regret.
"Based on what you've told me, the mages have already helped the Grey Wardens stand against the Blight multiple times in the past. That makes them our allies." Her expression was adamant, her voice firm with determination. "In fact, you and I have come to the Circle to once again demand of them great sacrifice against the darkspawn. I believe it is only fair to lend them aid in their time of need. Don't you?"
"Of course… I apologize," he replied weakly, feeling like a complete and utter fool.
"It's fine…" She smiled a little at him. "Let's just help them if we can."
"Right." Alistair nodded and smiled lightly in return, realizing that just as he taught her more about the Grey Wardens before, there were some things he had to learn from her himself. He practically grew up in the Templar order, where the dangers of magic and the fickleness of weak-willed mages were drilled into his mind. She, however, was probably not brought up to doubt them as he was. The few stories Duncan told him of his homeland spoke of her father as someone who treated people fairly. A man who probably taught his daughter to think for herself and not be easily swayed by the word of man without seeing first hand both sides of the coin.
Everil regarded Greagoir, her decision made. "Let us in, please."
He glared at her as if she were insane. "Have you lost your mind? Let me tell you, an abomination is not something to be reckoned with."
"My friends and I are more than capable. We will handle it."
"Fine..." he sighed, too worn out to argue. "But know that once you step inside we will bar the doors again. And they shall remain closed unless First Enchanter Irving himself tells me the Circle is restored."
"Understood. We will seek him out then." She gave him a nod and walked past him, followed by her three companions.
Greagoir uneasily watched them go before he dipped his head to the guards. His men exchanged looks through the narrow slots of their helmets, then shakily whispered a chant as the runes over the great doors shimmered and began to dissipate. They then pulled them open, granting them entrance to the tower. The party walked through while the knights gazed at them as if they were on their way to their execution. Yet, none of them took care of their wary stares, following Everil without question.
A loud echo resounded in the room when the doors closed shut, locking them in as one of the knights shook his head. "Hopeless…"
.x.x.x.x.
Silence was the only resident in the long, dimly lit corridor, the torches lining the walls barely holding on to their light. Yet as they walked through they could clearly see the picture the Knight-Commander painted for them moments before. As bodies in both robes and armor lay mangled and scorched at their feet, positioned in a way that suggested they were trying to run away from that which ended their lives. There was no sign of what killed them nor was there any movement to indicate anyone survived. At least thus far.
Already feeling sorry for the victims, Everil stepped into the nearest room, where numerous bunk beds were standing in a row. Bookshelves and trunks sat by them, some tipped over with their contents scattered about. There were no windows to let in the sun's rays, only candles whose flames struggled to hold on to life. The air was nearly suffocating, hinted with dust and the smell of old parchment. She wondered if some made to live here ever got used to being locked away in such darkness.
After seeing so much up close, there were many things about the relationship between mages and the Chantry she was beginning to understand. The Chantry taught them mages were both powerful and dangerous, whose talents were bestowed upon them by the Maker only to serve man and not rule over them. Gifts once used as a tool of oppression by the Tevinter Imperium, a nation of mages still standing today. They once enslaved the world with their magic, until a holy prophetess waged war against them.
The struggle between Andraste—the Maker's chosen mortal wife—against the Imperium was actually the very foundation of the Chantry's teachings. And Andrastian faith was the predominant religion in Ferelden, which meant that most of her fellow men were likely afraid of mages and their abilities. That fear gave birth to the Circles of Magi. Secluded places meant to house those magically gifted while constantly under guard by the Templar knights—warriors specifically trained to fight and contain their talents.
She glanced at her group. "Let's split up and quickly search the room for anything of importance. If we are to help we might as well learn how all of this happened."
They searched chests and drawers, under beds and inside wardrobes, seeking to find any bit of information they could use to retake the Circle and prevent a repeat of the tragedy. After a few moments of rummaging through a trunk, Alistair looked up from some letters in his hands. "I found something."
"What is it?" Everil inquired while heading towards him.
"Some of the mages were experimenting with blood magic." He stood from his kneeling position, handing her his findings.
A troubled expression befell her as she read over them. It seemed they were secretly communicating while performing forbidden magic behind closed doors. But why? She glanced at him. "Do you think blood magic has something to do with this?"
"Yeah... Which is probably why there are abominations roaming the tower, as Greagoir told us."
"Perhaps we should be asking ourselves why so many were using blood magic in the first place, and working together while doing so," Morrigan offered. "'Tis possible there is more going on here than a few spells gone awry."
"Agreed." She stashed the letters into her hip bag.
The group left the dorms and continued on their way, stepping around the dead they came across. Bjorn sniffed the ground as they went, occasionally blowing out ash and dirt caught in his nose. Soon, they reached the end of the hall, stopping in front of a door as a vicious growl echoed from within the next room, prompting them to draw their weapons.
"Someone on the other side is using magic," Morrigan warned them, sensing the sparks in the air.
"Yeah. Could be a possessed mage…" Alistair added.
Everil nodded and reached for the door, prepared to take on whatever lay behind it before opening it. Only it wasn't abominations seeking to destroy them that awaited them. It was a pair of women who were protecting a little boy and girl from a terrifying creature made out of hot lava. Flames covered its body, enveloping it as glowing eyes remained focused on those it sought to devour.
It released a frightening roar, long limbs trying to strike at the aging mage standing closest to it. But she halted it in its tracks, a mist of cool air erupting from her open hand and encrusting the creature in ice. A painful wail escaped it as it froze, the cold clutching its body until it shattered to pieces. Broken crystals rained to the floor, glistening under the dim light of the torches before melting away.
The children nearby hugged each other, crying as the young redheaded mage took a knee to console them. All were covered in dried blood and zoot, the woman's ponytail disheveled from the fighting. The older one observed them sadly, white hair also hinted with black ash while sweat slid down her brow.
"Wynne?"
She spun to face Everil, hands around her staff as she shielded her charges. A crease formed on her brow as she promptly recognized her, but her defensive position didn't waver. "It's you. You survived Ostagar?"
The Warden smiled a little. "I could say the same about you. I see you returned to the Circle afterward."
"I-I am sorry if I am not quick to trust, but I have people to protect. Please do not move. Why are you here?"
Slowly, Everil sheathed her blades and raised both hands in a peaceful gesture. "We came seeking the mages for the fight against the Blight. With the king and the other Grey Wardens dead, we are in dire need of aid."
"And you were no doubt told the Circle was in no condition to help." Wynne relaxed and lowered her staff, but kept a questioning stare on her. "The Templars locked the only way out, trapping us inside. Greagoir probably thinks us all dead. Yet here you are. Why is that?"
"Greagoir has called upon the Right of Annulment. I convinced him to let me help find any survivors."
"So he does assume we have all perished..." She tightened her grip on her staff, anger crossing her features. "The Templars… They will be here at any moment. We must search for anyone left alive and leave at once."
Everil shook her head. "He will only open the door if the First Enchanter says it is safe."
"Then our path has been laid out before us. We need to save Irvin and restore the Circle."
Morrigan's voice then cut into their conversation, eyes staring disapprovingly and the Warden. "Why should we aid these pathetic excuses for mages? They have obviously chosen to live under the thumb of their oppressors. To be captives under their Templar overlords." She paced, arms motioning to the four walls around them before gesturing to the old woman. "Their jailers have chosen to give them death... I say let them have it."
"How dare you say such a thing?" Wynne shot her an indignant glare. "Who in the Maker's name are you?"
"Morrigan…" Everil sighed at her comment. They were already in a difficult situation without angering others whose help they needed. "Would you think the same had your life been different? Had you lived as these children did?"
Her companion crossed her arms, eyeing her as if analyzing those words. And Morrigan had to admit she hadn't thought of that possibility before. "You say that I could have been here now, had things not happened the way they did?" She raised her eyebrows skeptically before turning away from her. "Hmph… Mother always told me things are as they are because there could not be any other way. I always questioned this. Very well... Do as you wish. I care not."
"Thank you." Everil dipped her head, then regarded Wynne. "My apologies for the… disagreement. I think it would be best if we make haste now. We've already lost enough time."
Wynne glanced warily at Morrigan one more time before looking towards her young companion. "Petra, watch the little ones for me. I will return as quickly as I can."
"Of course. Please be safe in there, Wynne."
"This way…" The old mage motioned towards a door at the far side of the room and led the Grey Wardens towards it. It was glowing brightly with what appeared to be a barrier of light, blocking the way ahead. "I set this up to protect us from the creatures still lurking in the tower. It made me weary at times… but I was able to keep it upright in spite of having to battle that demon from before."
"You did a good job," Everil complimented, patting her shoulder.
"We will have to kill anything in our way so that no more of those things make it past here. But let us be careful." She raised a wrinkled hand and slowly dispelled the barrier.
"That's the plan…"
As soon as the doorway opened, a stronger scent of death assaulted their senses, much worse than that of the corridor they already explored. With a grimace, Everil stepped forward once more, walking ahead of the others while her eyes immediately landed on more bodies. Their steps echoed against the stone floor as they trekked over them, noticing that these people seemed to also have been attempting to escape when they perished.
Faint flames cast ominous shadows the further they went as the air grew even colder, the presence of the demons inside greedily touching everything in the same way the evil presence in Redcliffe had taken hold of the castle. The quiet was interrupted by the sound of distant whispers spoken in a foreign tongue, the sinister tones sending shivers down their spines. Whatever it was, it sounded far away, but it still felt as if something was watching them.
"This is the junior apprentice wing," Wynne spoke quietly behind them. "These were the youngest of the mages in the Circle. We... lost so many of them when this began… The children you saw with me outside were the only ones left."
An open door led them to another dormitory, this one filled with smaller beds. Everil's boot nearly squashed a stuffed bear and she reached down to pick it up, looking sadly at it. It was covered in ash and burned at the edges, much the same as a great portion of the room. Her head then craned to the side and a breath caught in her throat at what she saw.
Little bodies were gathered into a pile, some burned to a crisp while others appeared to have been torn to shreds by claws or teeth. Terror was still visible over their features, some with their mouths hanging open in a silent scream. The sickening scene caused her grip on the toy to tighten and she found herself unable to tear her gaze away from those vacant stares.
"Oh…" Wynne's hand flew to cover her mouth, the sight of them instantly bringing tears to her eyes. "How could they…"
"By the Maker… This is horrible…" Alistair uttered from beside her, taking a hesitant step forward.
"Better they die now than live in a cage for the rest of their lives," Morrigan said, uncaring.
"How can you say something like that!" Wynne questioned, pain-stricken. "Even now as you see how much pain magic can inflict!"
She ignored her, not even bothering to look at her.
"Don't let her get to you…" Alistair told the old woman, patting her arm. "Might as well get used to the witch's sharp tongue. You'll hear a lot more from it soon."
"Witch…? This woman is an apostate?" she asked shakily before her blue eyes narrowed at Morrigan. "Now it all makes sense. Such ideals come from misguided mages who think themselves too powerful to fail."
"You know nothing of me, old hag…" Morrigan countered, shooting her a sideward glare.
"Wynne..."
They all craned their heads towards Everil, who had stepped closer to the bodies, her back turned to them. She was gazing upon them, still holding the stuffed animal to her chest. "Do you know how all of this happened?"
Wynne released a quivering breath, her own heart heavy with grief. "I… I heard there were many young mages dabbling in the dark arts. Uldred—a senior Enchanter within the Circle—seems to be involved in it all. I believe this was a planned attack, but I do not know the details behind its purpose."
"How could they do this? These children weren't at fault for what happened here—no matter the reason," Everil murmured, quiet anger in her eyes. "Those responsible must pay dearly for what they caused."
Wynne smiled weakly at her. "Calm yourself, Warden. We will see justice done. Just focus on—"
An animalistic roar erupted from all around them, echoing in the room and chilling them all to the core. The group was momentarily frozen on the spot, hearts pounding wildly as the whispers from earlier resonated in their minds. It sounded like a man chanting with two voices, one darker than the other. Wet sounds joined it when the pile of corpses moved, shifting slowly as if something were hiding beneath it.
"Stand back!" Everil quickly pushed Wynne behind her, dropped the toy and reached for her sword. She watched the mountain of meat, tiny arms, and legs as an evil being pushed itself up from within. It began hunched over, the children falling from its back like broken dolls before it straightened, standing a good seven feet over them as it let out a drawn-out groan. Torn robes hung over its humanoid figure, its skin deformed underneath, clinging to it as if it were a burn victim itself. It stared at her through a single eye, its face half-covered in a thick mass of flesh.
"What in the…?" The female Warden took a step back, horrified by its appearance.
"It's an abomination!" Wynne screamed.
The creature began to summon a swirl of flames that ignited around it, surging upwards like a vortex as the party backed away. It then unleashed its power, hot fire surging directly towards them, searing everything in its path.
"Watch out!" Alistair grabbed Wynne by the waist and yanked her with him as they all split up. They ran, desperately seeking cover from the incoming attack.
A blast of heat and fire erupted in the room, raging like an inferno as it charred anything in its path. The force of the flaming whirlwind slammed beds and dressers against other objects, shattering them into an explosion of burning wood. One dresser hit too close to Morrigan as she, Everil, and her hound took cover behind a wall. She covered her face, blocking the burning splinters that flew at them. Meanwhile, Alistair and Wynne ducked behind a large trunk on one side of the room, his arm wrapping around the old woman's shoulders as he shielded her from the debris.
It took a moment for the storm to die down, but flames still burned in every corner. Cursing under his breath, Alistair drew his blade and shield before cautiously glancing over their cover. The creature was still standing among the now burning bodies, the smell of sulfur and scorched meat drowning them in its stench.
He clenched his jaw. Say what you will about mages, but their possessed forms were feared for good reason. Abominations could use magic tirelessly, without the need for lyrium, while the demon inside made them many times more powerful than a normal mage. He wouldn't have time to use his Templar abilities on it before even he was burned to a crisp. They had to cut it down before it could use another spell or they'd be dead for sure.
As if sensing his thoughts, the monster began to cast once more, its sheer power overwhelming his senses.
"Everil!" Alistair called from where he hid. "We have to flank this thing and end it quickly!"
"Got it!" She yelled back.
He shifted to Wynne. "Can you cast that ice spell from earlier?"
She nodded confidently. "Of course."
"Good. Do it just before we close in on it." He prepared himself, setting his sights on the creature.
"Come, mortals!" the thing roared, taking a step over the dead as fire swirled around it again. "I shall cook you alive and feast upon your soul!"
"Everil, now!" Alistair cried out and jumped over his hiding spot, charging towards the abomination head-on with his shield ready.
Everil ran the length of the wall separating the room, emerging at the other side and quickly rushing the monster from behind. Wynne then cast her spell, encrusting it in ice and buying them just a few seconds more.
"No!" it screamed and growled, trying to free itself as its legs were frozen still.
The two Grey Wardens cried out as they closed in and swung their blades, each aiming for their enemy's middle. They cut through it, swords shattering its frozen body in half as its agonizing scream pierced their ears. Its magic dissipated as quickly as it came, the abomination crumbling to pieces. And then everything was quiet again.
Everil gazed at the remains, wiping sweat from her chin with the back of her hand, accidentally smearing zoot over it. "That was too close for comfort."
With a huff, Alistair sheathed his sword, grimly looking at the devastation left behind as minor fires raged around them. "Yeah… We should keep our guard up. I'm pretty sure there's more of them along the way and we really don't want to be caught by surprise again."
"Right…" She glanced at the others. "Let's keep moving."
With the monster dead, they made their way up to the second floor. They opened another door at the end of the dark passage, reaching a seemingly desolate chamber. It was a circular area, with bookshelves and benches against the walls. It seemed no one was inside, but movement from the corner of her eye caught Everil's attention, drawing it to an adjacent room with two wide arches.
"Who goes there?" she called, gripping her weapon and cautiously making her way towards it as the others followed. Everil walked to one of the archways and entered, finding the room was filled with strange artifacts that seemed magical in nature. Colors glistened from glass orbs on the shelves, reflecting off of crystal vases and bottles set upon the tables. The mystifying atmosphere was however ruined by the dead bodies and severed limbs lying on the ground by her feet. And she grimaced at the sight before her eyes went up to a single mage standing a distance in front of her.
He was a young man, black hair combed back. "Welcome to the Circle's stockroom of magical items. My name is Owain. Please ignore the mess. I have not finished cleaning duties."
"Owain! I am so glad to see you yet live." Wynne approached him, wrapping her arms around him. The boy didn't reciprocate the hug, his features devoid of emotions.
"The demons could not see me. But the others were not so fortunate," he replied in a monotone voice.
Everil raised a brow at this. There was death and destruction all around him, but he didn't seem fazed by it. "Why are you here? Why didn't you try to escape?" She stepped closer, noticing the strange crimson symbol etched over his forehead. It reminded her of the sun, with its swirling flames bordering a perfect disc.
He turned lifeless eyes to her. "There was a magical barrier blocking the way. So I found it necessary to return here."
Wynne smiled apologetically. "Owain, you should have said something. I would have brought down the barrier for you."
"The stockroom is familiar."
"Why is he responding in a monotone? Is he all right?" Everil asked curiously.
"He is one of the tranquil—mages whose magical abilities were taken away to protect them and others around them," Wynne explained sadly. "Magic is tied to our feelings and our dreams… to our connection to the Fade. By stripping a mage of these things you also take away their ability to cast spells."
Morrigan put on a revolted scowl. "You would do this to one of your own?"
Wynne's brows furrowed guiltily. "It is the only way to avoid tragedies like these while also saving the mage's life."
"And I can see how well that worked out. This here is the reason why I dislike you Circle mages," she retorted, motioning to the tranquil. "I would have rather died than be turned into this."
"What makes the Circle decide if it's necessary to turn a mage tranquil?" Everil questioned, drawing Wynne's attention away from her irritated friend.
"There are various factors… Such as a mage failing to demonstrate control over their talents after a certain amount of training. Or if they are prone to rebellion against the Circle's teachings or tamper with forbidden arts. They are also turned tranquil if they do not wish to undertake the Harrowing."
"The Harrowing?"
"It's a test mages have to take in order to prove they aren't prone to demonic possession," Alistair replied, crossing his arms. "Templars use other mages to send a mage into the Fade and pit them against a demon. If they become possessed then the Templars are forced to kill them, but if they defeat the demon then they are allowed to live and continue practicing magic. It's similar to our Joining Ritual, in a way."
"I see…" she said, frowning while regarding him. "I take it you witnessed a Harrowing before, then?"
"I did. The mage ended up becoming possessed." He uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck. "We had to end it quickly… And let me just say that I was far less interested in becoming a Templar after that."
Everil's gaze shifted to the tranquil, who was staring at her with an unnervingly blank expression. "I have to agree with Morrigan... There is no mercy in this. He is simply kept here as a warning to those mages who would dare challenge the Chantry and to force them into submission."
"Heh…" Alistair let out a wry chuckle. "Yes… That sounds like them, all right."
Owain bowed his head at her. "Do not fret over my fate. While I am devoid of emotions, I am not suffering. I am at peace without the burdens feelings bring upon one. However, it would be appropriate if the Circle returned to normal, as it would be inconvenient for me to die."
"Yes," Everil laughed softly. "I can understand that. Perhaps there's something you can offer to help us?"
"I am afraid everything of value is gone. The last item of any significant power was taken by one who sought to save the Circle. Niall the mage."
"Niall?" Wynne asked with a hint of surprise. "What did he take, Owain? How is he trying to save the Circle?"
"He took the Litany of Adralla. I do not know how he will use it but perhaps he will be successful."
Wynne's stunned eyes shot to Everil. "Maker, the Litany protects against a maleficar's abilities to control one's mind. This means that blood magic is truly at the core of what happened here. "
"Then we should try to catch up with this Niall," she said, then offered the tranquil a reassuring smile. "Thank you, Owain. Stay safe while we help fix this mess, all right?"
"Understood." He clasped his hands together and bowed his head again. "Thank you."
.x.x.x.x.
They made it to the fourth floor with only a few skirmishes with more abominations and low-level demons, while at the same time, finding no other survivors on their way up. The halls were mostly full of more dead, but Everil guessed there had to be more mages somewhere. Perhaps hiding or avoiding the creatures stalking the rooms they managed to sneak by. She only hoped this First Enchanter Irving would still be among those still alive.
"Is it just me or is it getting colder the higher we go?" Alistair muttered, rubbing his hands while shivering involuntarily.
"It's the magic at use here... The air is charged with it," Morrigan said, mysticism in her voice.
The party continued following the torchlit corridor, all senses on alert. Until they reached the end of the hallway and were walking through a door when a sudden flash of light was fired their way. Crackling lightning came shooting towards them at great speed, surprising all of them.
"Shit!" Alistair barely had enough time to rush in front of the women and pull up his shield to block the violent strike, protecting them and the hound. He gritted his teeth as the hot sparks clashed and wrapped around the metal like crawling spiders, leaving searing heat behind. Swallowing, he gazed at the back of his shield as the magic dissipated, the warmth radiating from the steel causing him to be silently grateful for the wooden frame that protected his arm. He slowly lowered it, blinking away the colors caused by the sudden flash of light.
"There!" Everil called out, pulling her weapons as she spotted a blonde woman standing a distance from them, in what appeared to be a study hall. She had blood dripping down her hand, her robes also stained crimson as magic swirled and flowed as water around her.
"A maleficar…!" Alistair readied his blade, seeing she was priming another spell. "We need to take her down and fast or she'll be trouble!"
"Come on!"
Both Grey Wardens charged into the room, trying to quickly close the distance to the mage as the energy around her swirled menacingly. But no matter how fast they ran, the spell was cast before they could reach her. A cloud of mist erupted from the ground, filling the area and blocking their view. Everil slashed at the spot where the mage once stood, finding only air.
She whirled around. "Blast it! Where is she?"
A ball of fire cut through the fog and the two of them had to jump in opposite directions to dodge it. They ran as another wave of flames forced Everil behind a pillar. The heat spread around her when it hit, searing the stone right by her head. She clicked her tongue. "How can she see us, when we can't see her?"
"I don't know, but it's not fair!" Alistair called back, ducking behind a table off to the side.
Morrigan and Wynne tried to see past the fog, still standing by the doorway. A flash of red caught their eye and the witch was forced to raise a barrier of ice to shield them from the blast. Another one hit close to the wall by Wynne, drawing a startled scream from her.
Morrigan cursed under her breath. "Will you two end it already!"
"We're bloody trying!" Alistair peered over the table only to duck again as a wave of flames passed over him, burning the bookshelf in front of him. He scowled irritably, reaching up to make sure his hair hadn't been set on fire. "All right, that does it!" he growled, then shouted over his cover. "Wynne, Morrigan, stay out of the room!"
"We intend to!" Morrigan called back.
Sword in hand, he rose and began speaking under his breath, chanting words taught to him in the monastery. He tried to focus on every syllable in his memory while the sparks in the air told him the blood mage was preparing another spell. A sudden growl and a female cry were heard when something disrupted the mage's casting, giving him enough time to utter the last word. The fog dispersed, swept away by an invisible force. And the mage's lingering magic was effectively canceled by his will.
She let out a weak grunt when her cover was taken away, meanwhile, trying to fight the dog still pinning her down. He chewed at her wooden staff, jaws snapping at it as it tried to pry it out of her hands. "Let go, mutt!" she screamed, shooting fire at his face. He yelped, pulling away and pawing at his snout as the mage pushed him off and got on her feet.
"Bjorn!" Everil yelled, angrily dashing towards the enemy, both blades at the ready. But the woman was already casting again, summoning more magic from her blood. She dodged a slash from her and unleashed her power upon the Grey Warden, sending raw magic surged forth. It lifted her off the ground as if alive, a wave of ice and snow taking hold of her legs. It crawled up, frigid claws clutching her and holding her in place as she cried out in pain.
"Put me down! Right… now!" Everil demanded, squirming against the creeping ice while freezing, stabbing needles pierced through muscles and nerves.
"Be careful what you wish for…" With a sneer, the mage walked up to her and raised her staff, preparing to shatter her legs.
Damn it…! She clenched her jaw, unable to move and left at her mercy.
"Oh, no you don't!" Alistair ran in, swinging his blade and forcing her away from his fellow Warden. He then lunged forth and slashed, only to hit a sheet of ice she'd cast as a barrier.
Clicking her tongue, she sidestepped and flung a ball of fire at him. But he blocked with his shield, deflecting the flames downwards and away from his face. He darted towards her once more, bringing his blade in a downward strike before she blocked the hit at the last second.
"You…! You're a Templar!" she growled through gritted teeth, arms shaking under the weight of his sword as he stared her down.
"Oh, so you noticed? What gave me away? Was it how I could just wish away your little spells?" He smirked, taking a step forward while making her take two steps back. "Or is it the fact that I'm about to beat you senseless with your own staff?"
Panic crept into her green eyes at his words before Alistair easily broke through the stalemate, shattering her defenses and drawing a startled cry out of her. He brought his sword back around, slashing her arm open, red splattering the ground. She scrambled away from him, trying to put distance between them. But he kept coming, striking at her without pause. Some attacks she blocked, others she was barely able to dodge before she gathered enough courage to cast another spell.
Sensing it, Alistair brought his shield up, blocking the ice that quickly began to spread over the steel. With a grunt, he swiftly struck it with his blade, shattering it before rushing at her once more. He slashed at her, grazing her staff as splinters flew. Then he swung downwards, forcing her to lean back to avoid it.
He felt her begin to cast again and beat her to it, canceling out her spell as she gasped. She moved away in fear as he attacked, managing to pierce her hip before once again using his will to take away her ability to use magic.
The maleficar panted heavily, feeling all energy drain out of her before her knees buckled and she fell on her rear, dropping her staff. "Wait!" She raised a hand to him, trying to move away while pleading to him. "I yield! Please… let me explain!"
Alistair took a step, stare devoid of humor as he pressed the tip of his blade to her throat.
A chill ran down her spine and she gulped, taking notice of the anger in his eyes. "Please…"
Keeping the sword on her, Alistair glanced over the shoulder at his fellow Warden. With a hint of relief, he saw Everil was pushing herself up to her feet, having been freed from the ice upon the mage's defeat. She promptly put away her weapons and inspected her hound, carefully checking his face.
"Are you two all right?" Alistair asked from where he stood, watching as they began heading his way.
"Yes… Bjorn will need some salve later, though," she responded moodily, petting the canine walking beside her while Wynne and Morrigan also followed a distance behind. They approached him, cautiously eyeing the mage on the ground. While the weakened woman remained as still as she could, too afraid to move as her eyes shifted between the Templar and the others in his party.
Alistair lowered his sword and slid it back at his hip. "She won't be able to cast any spells for now. We can go ahead and question her."
"Good..." Everil uttered, her chilling stare set upon her. "You're lucky I don't just end you for hurting my dog... Now, start talking. Why have you done this to the Circle?"
"We…" The mage anxiously licked her lips, unnerved by her glare. "We just wanted our freedom. Freedom from the Chantry… from this prison. We were just supposed to overthrow the Circle and escape."
"How exactly?"
"Uldred told us he was working for Teyrn Loghain. That if we managed to leave the Circle, then Loghain would extend us amnesty and help free all the mages from the Chantry's hold."
"Him again?" Alistair muttered angrily. "Why is Loghain doing all this?"
The mage shook her head. "There was no explanation. We were only told he would help and we were desperate enough to believe it. However... most couldn't handle the power that comes with blood magic. They were either possessed or turned insane. Then everything just started falling apart…"
Everil glowered at her. "I know the Circle doesn't exactly foster trust from the mages. But was your freedom worth all these lives?"
"You don't know how it feels…!" she uttered pitifully. "You are trapped here from the moment you are brought into the tower, until the end of your days. And the Templars are always… always watching. I wanted my life back. So blood magic became a… means to an end. A tool to release us all."
"I understand what you were trying to do. But the ends don't justify the means," Wynne told her with disappointment. "This was a place of refuge for us, just as it may have been a prison for you. Some of us fear ourselves, our power. Without a school to learn how to control it, we are just as much a danger to everyone else as we are to ourselves."
"You say it as if we had a choice, Wynne. We are torn away from our families as soon as our powers manifest." She drew in a shuddering breath, tears forming in her eyes. "I don't even remember what my parents looked like!"
"But using blood magic—"
"Andraste did not write the Tevinter Imperium a strongly worded letter when she freed the world from slavery. She waged war! And sometimes that's what it takes."
"Andraste didn't kill children either."
The mage turned a shocked gaze towards the female Warden, who regarded her sharply in return. She visibly swallowed, hands closing to fists. "The other mages took arms against us, just as the Templars did. We had to defend ourselves! I… I didn't want to die..."
"There were children amongst the dead," Everil repeated more forcefully.
"I know!" The woman screeched, guilt-ridden. "I didn't have a choice! Some had been possessed when the veil was torn!"
"Which was also your fault!" She snapped, taking a step as the maleficar flinched away. "Don't you dare give me that victim rubbish! You did have a choice and you made it when you and your friends attacked the Circle! And just how do you think this will look to the very people you were trying to free yourselves from? All you did was prove to them that magic is not worthy of trust!"
A brief silence filled the room as Everil's accusing glare pinned the woman down. The others in her party watched her, surprised by her outburst.
"I just want to leave this place… please..." the woman choked out.
"No…" Everil drew her blade. "It's too late for you."
"N-no! Please! I beg you!" She moved to kneel before her, clasping her hands together as tears streamed freely down her flushed face. "I will redeem myself! I will make this right! Please, if you let me go I will seek refuge in the Chantry!"
Alistair gazed at Everil's profile, seeing her lips were pressed into a line while the hand holding the sword slightly shook. For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze slowly losing its edge. But then she closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'm sorry…"
The group stared in shock when her blade pierced the maleficar's chest. It cut through her heart, crimson gushing down her once blue robe and onto the floor. The woman released a soft cry as the Warden pulled the blade out and fell on her side, eyes glazing over into nothingness as she perished.
Still staring at the mage's body, Everil swung her blade clean and sheathed it. "We're done here... Let's keep moving." She turned her back to them, walking to the next door on the far side of the chamber without waiting for them to follow. Bjorn went after her without question while Morrigan did the same, her stoic expression hiding any feelings she may have towards what she witnessed.
Alistair was about to walk after them when Wynne's voice made him pause. "Your friend..."
He turned to her, seeing the troubled expression over her features as she spoke, staring at the corpse. "She killed her when she was begging for her life. Is that not just as cruel and dishonorable as killing someone who is unarmed?"
"If she let her live, this blood mage would have likely injured or killed the Templars waiting outside to make her escape," he quietly answered, attempting to rationalize her actions. "In killing her, she protected those men, and others outside the tower. Not to mention, I'm pretty sure the Templars wouldn't have been as merciful towards her. She would have been executed in a much more painful way."
"How do you know she wouldn't have just surrendered?" Wynne challenged, her eyes turning away from the body and towards the young man next to her.
"Let me put it this way… When was the last time you heard about the Chantry welcoming maleficarum into their fold?"
"Ah…" A deep sigh escaped her. "Yes. You may be right…"
"It wasn't an easy decision for her," he explained, gazing towards Everil's retreating back. "She even apologized and gave her a quick death. None of which the maleficar deserved after what she did." He returned his gaze to the old woman, smiling a little while doing his best to reassure her. "Everil did the right thing… even if we don't all agree with her."
"I suppose so." Wynne gazed to the ground, feeling slightly ashamed at having passed judgment upon her without taking her emotions into consideration.
"Come on." Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder. "We should catch up to them before they run into trouble."
She nodded and gave the blood mage one final glance before following the Grey Warden to the door. Perhaps he was right. The young woman certainly had the nerve to make difficult decisions. Wynne could only hope that she would be able to live with the choices she makes.