Chapter 7

I really didn't want to go in there. The smell alone made my toes curl not to mention the overall appearance of a dank, dark cave splattered delicately in rust-colored blood made me want to retch. Nothing about the foreboding mouth of the entrance to the holding caves came close to convincing me to even take one step inside. Suddenly, as I reluctantly perused the opening, the feeling of my body being dipped in slimy gelatin really, really cemented uneasiness in my mind.

Fire magic tasted like smoke, ice magic reminded me of eating popsicles on a hot day, earth magic smelled like the desert, and blood magic made me feel like I was encased in a cheap, lime-green gelatin dessert. It was the only way I could describe how my skin felt slimy and cold at the same time.

Every mage experienced magic in a different way. In tomes older than my great-grandfather's grandfather, there were numerous descriptions of warnings mages felt when spellwork was performed. A breath of mana-infused wind might tickle a mage's sides like a summer breeze or they might taste the salt from a gust of sea air. The most popular accounts of sensing ice magic included the feeling of dipping one's fingers into a bucket of ice. Me, I tasted grape popsicles. Weird, but it saved me from being skewered by icicles summoned by the magister only a few hours ago.

"Come. We're wasting daylight."

I rolled my eyes without Fenris noticing. We were going to dive into a cave. I was pretty sure it was going to be dark in there no matter what time we entered. I was also sure that my nonsensical comments wouldn't be properly appreciated at the moment by the aggravated elf.

So I nodded instead of inserting commentary and motioned for Fenris to go ahead. I preferred for his murderous rage to be directed at the enemies in front of us rather than have him at my back. I'd seen how long the reach of his greatsword was. The further away from its sharp edges, the safer I'd feel.

"We'd better go, Anders," I sighed and readjusted my sword into a more comfortable position on my back. "I doubt he'd wait for us to catch up." When I didn't get an acknowledgment from the ex-Grey Warden who stood beside me I cocked my head at him curiously. "Anders? Helloooo?"

"Hm? What? Did you say something, Hawke?" He softly asked as if coming out of a daze.

I leaned forward to see what captured his attention to see Anders fiddling with my knife again. In frustration I groaned at his current obsession to figure out the symbols branded in the blade, but I didn't worry overmuch. The reason the Containment Glyph was classified as temporary was because of the ease it took to destroy the cage on a mage's magic. The fanciful loops weren't just for decoration, it served as a conduit for the spell. As long as the current remained unbroken the spell would continue to fulfill its function, but if the solid lines were to snap so would its hold.

"We'd better go," I repeated and stuck my thumb out in the direction Fenris had gone.

"Oh, right. Of course."

Again my eyes rolled, but I didn't say anything about his lack of excitement to spelunk in a trap infested cave to battle against a drove of blood mages. I wasn't exactly jumping for joy either. Taking a deep breath of clean air, I marched boldly through the eerie entrance and careened headfirst into an invisible wall of the most eye-watering stench no more than three steps in.

"What the f-! What is that smell?"

Anders stopped to sniff the air. "Blood and urine mostly. Probably some fecal matter mixed in," he answered matter-of-factly as if the smell was familiar to him. Which it probably was, I thought, since he ran a free clinic for the poorer people of Kirkwall.

My nose-hairs practically shriveled in the…potent concoction. "Ugh. Why does it smell like that?"

"Hadriana knows we're here. She's preparing for our arrival."

It looked like I was remiss in saying that Fenris wouldn't wait for Anders and me to catch up. The elvhen swordsman leaned against a corner with a foot braced on the wall; hanging torchlight illuminated his features. His arms were crossed and he glared at the stone floor in a broody manner that told me his thoughts were black indeed.

Fenris must have sensed my question before I asked it because he continued. "Magisters depend on two things: slaves and blood. It is convenient for their source of magic to be shackled to them."

Alright, so that was the strong presence of blood. "That explains part of the stench."

Finally Fenris looked up from the floor to fix me with a pain-filled expression. His green eyes pleaded with me to understand although his face was silent.

"Not all slaves desire death as a release," he spoke quietly into the silence.

I did understand. Slaves, no matter how their masters treated them, were people and every mortal feared the unknown. Death remained the ultimate enigma. The promise of freedom from cruel masters still wasn't enough to mask their complete and absolute terror of a knife dragging across a pale throat.

For a moment, I spoke not a word. I sighed and ran a hand down my tired face. Covered fingers absently brushed my cheek that not long ago bore the scratches of the blizzard the mage set on me. A health poultice soaked rag applied to the marks on my face easily erased any evidence of such a battle. Handy stuff, that was. I was going to have to remember the recipe. I could deal with a few less scars, at least for vanity's sake.

"So, we're walking into a trap?" Anders destroyed the silence.

I tapped my fingers against my cheek then shrugged. "Basically."

"We cannot turn back," Fenris growled. "This is an opportunity I will not waste."

"I didn't say we would turn back. I'm just suggesting we go into this with a little caution and not wave our swords-," Anders coughed, "-and staff around like a bunch of lunatics."

Fenris pushed off the wall he was leaning against and shuffled from foot to foot most likely to rid himself of anxiety. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

In all my years of throwing myself, without reservation, into dangerous situations, learning volatile spells without blinking an eye at the utter insanity of my uncouth methods, and more than once leaping off impossibly tall buildings in order to escape police or Templars with nothing but a flicker of an idea of my animal shape, I could only count a handful of times that I've hesitated. When Fenris stood before me, his giant blade sheathed and eyes cleared of his red rage, I saw his loyalty towards a man he thought to be trustworthy.

My limbs seized and my stomach rebelled its meager breakfast as I caught that small peek into Fenris' thoughts. That-! It was so-! I was the last person to ever place trust in! If it was between me and a smiling politician, I would shake the elected official's hand and promise him my first born child if they asked it of me. A mercenary received coin in exchange for loyalty. However, as soon as that coin dwindled away I was in line for the next high-paying job no matter if it required me to stand on the opposite side of my previous employer of just a few minutes ago. I was muscle-for-hire; a detective or bounty hunter when paid. I was bought and used for a specific purpose just like a common whore.

There were probably thousands better to choose from, but this escaped slave who saw nothing but hatred, abuse, and violence placed his trust in my unworthy hands. He stood beside a man who was not the same half a year ago. Fenris thought me to be Garrett Hawke, an aggressive, impulsive, skilled swordsman when instead I embodied everything that Fenris detested. My true identity was that of a mage. I was no swordsman beside the fact that a blade ran across my back.

So I hesitated. I hesitated because fear made my blood run cold. I feared because I was no fool; I knew that my secret would not stay hidden forever. In the future, my magic would reveal me for a mage and I would watch that trust Fenris mistakenly gave me shatter. I was also no fool to not be frightened of Fenris' fury. It possessed not the quiet intensity of a calm storm, but of the unbridled rage of a hurricane.

A blink was enough power to dispel the haze that trapped my mind. Anger welled up within me, but I buried it under forming plans to get through this cave alive although it simmered quietly under the surface. Shame along with hesitance wasn't something I experienced often and I was angry at both myself and the brooding elf. I was born with magic. I excelled, surpassed, and dominated aspiring rivals with my magic. Fenris hadn't the right to instill shame within me for having a gift few others did, and I hadn't the time to indulge 'what-ifs'.

"Hawke?"

"The quickest way to find Hadriana would be to follow the trails of her blood magic," I said, ignoring Anders' misplaced concern. "Can you sense the freshest trail?" I asked the Healer.

"Hmm," he hummed. "I could give it a try."

While Anders closed his eyes to feel out where the greatest concentration of the foul magic was located, I did the same. It was a faint feeling, but I recognized the meaning of the sudden sliminess of my skin. Hadriana hid herself deep within the twists and turns of the cavern if the sheer amount of blood magic told me anything.

Anders came back with a gasp. I opened my eyes to see him rubbing his hands up and down his arms as if warming himself up from a sudden chill. "She's further in, but I'm pretty sure I could lead us there. Sodding blood magic," he mumbled the last bit in annoyance.

Fenris nodded in thanks or acknowledgement that Anders was a human being, whichever it was he followed after the mage who led the both of us deeper into the cavernous maw.

Sodding blood magic indeed, I cursed under my breath as I dodged the deadly swipe of a rusted blade that sought to rid me of a kidney or two. I managed to parry the next blow and knock the sword away which allowed me enough room to maneuver my own blade to decapitate my opponent. Its skull rolled away into a dark corner of the open room and its body crumpled at my feet. My victory would only last for a few minutes before the skeleton rose to fight again no matter if it had a head or not.

Only a few minutes ago, our party managed to spring a hidden trap laid before us by Hadriana. I glared at Fenris and managed by the skin of my teeth to not tell him 'I told you so', but it was implied as I unsheathed my sword and prepared to face the undead that clawed their way out of the ground with a dark look on my face.

Back in my era, I only brushed with necromancy a couple of times and only once on a scale such as the situation before me now. It had been about two years ago during Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Purely by chance I was in the area when a few townspeople came screaming down the streets in their colorful costumes. Most of the tourists and locals thought their antics to just be part of the excitement of the wild night on Bourbon Street. The screaming men were soon drowned out by rumbling music, but I put down the beer I had been sipping on and excused myself from the table away from the twins done up in nothing but purple, yellow, and green feathers. It proved to be an interesting night with the giggling blondes however the beer tasted like ash in my mouth once the men ran past my little table outside the jumping bar. Ash specifically tasted of necromancy, a branch off the blood magic tree.

By Templar law, mages were wanted fugitives no matter of their age or magical prowess. Any of us could be turned in for a bounty dead or alive. Because of that, many of my kind refused to venture out of their self-forged golden prisons, but I was curious. My inquisitive nature allotted itself as my hubris in a Greek tragedy.

Following the men's trail through the crowds of dancing, drunk people was actually extremely easy. The whiff of necromancy was potent enough that blinking arrows couldn't have led me clearer to the one graveyard out of many that littered the city of New Orleans. Mausoleums carved from granite were decorated with crying angels and Christian crosses. Eerie shadows played with my vision and set goosebumps travelling up and down my arms. The ground was damp from the early morning showers that luckily cleared up by the afternoon for the parades. Evidence of my involvement clinked dully around my neck in a prism of colors. Perhaps it would have been better to remove all my collected necklaces before I skulked around a seemingly abandoned graveyard.

All the noise I made however didn't make a difference as I peeked around a decaying crypt to see a wildly grinning man. Blood ran in rivulets down his arms from the deep wounds he inflicted upon his wrists and dripped steadily to the ground where it greedily soaked it up. I hated blood magic. It gave me the willies. I also hated it because there was never a set profile on mages who dabbled in the forbidden branch. There were no specific types who solely used blood magic. Men, women, children, old, young, beautiful, poor…every mage was susceptible to its siren-like call. In fact the man in front of me wore blue jeans and a gold and black t-shirt with the Saints football team emblazoned proudly on the front. He had scruffy brown hair that matched his beard. There wasn't anything remarkable about his face except his insane grin as he raised his hands in the air as if pulling something from the ground.

A hand with little bits of rotted flesh hanging on delicate finger bones followed the blood mage's motion. Several more followed. Oh I really didn't like where this was going. In a circular pattern, granite tombs placed above ground were shoved aside to let the dead access to the fresh air.

Before the blood mage gave orders to the surrounding undead I flung the fireball I summoned into my hand into the crowd of skeletons. Although dead, they shrieked something awful. There was one definite way to banish the effects of necromancy: kill the source of the magic keeping the undead from unraveling. The three ways to do that included getting rid of the mage controlling the magic, destroy the spell through a cleansing hex, or simply destroy the skeletons. The last, however, was the hardest to do. In order for the undead to walk, the mage had to plant a piece of his necromantic magic into their bodies. Unfortunately, that one piece could be anywhere and as long that one small bit of magic still existed so would the spell to animate the dead. Fire was the easiest spell to completely consume the skeleton to ensure that every fragment was wiped out.

Let's just say after I was done, I wasn't willing to stand around in a simmering crater to wait for the authorities and explain why I desecrated private grounds with illegal use of magic.

Now I stood practically in the same situation but with a mage who knew no fire spells and me with my magic bound. With instinct I didn't even know I possessed, I blocked the chipped sword swinging towards my head and sliced the skeleton across its chest. A few chunks of ribs and mangled flesh dropped to the ground but the walking foul piece of magic wasn't bothered by it as it stalked closer.

"Anders! Now would be a great time for a cleansing hex!" I yelled over my shoulder.

"Kind of busy here, Hawke!" The mage yelled back and grunted as he fended off a pair of undead himself.

Damn, Anders needed a few undisturbed minutes in order to draw the glyph and push his mana into it and he couldn't do that while fighting for his life at the same time. I would have to draw their attention away from the Healer. Okay, what did the undead like? I thought hard to myself as I chopped through scraggly tendons to take the arms off a skeleton warrior. They liked flesh, bone, and were oddly drawn to hair which was probably because they didn't have any of their own. Oh wait, that was trolls who liked hair. Or was it ogres? Was there a difference between the two? No, no, no this internal debate wasn't helping. What was something that the undead really, really liked?

Blood! Of course! The undead craved the precious liquid that gave them life.

A plan in mind I backed up a few steps, closer to Fenris rather than Anders.

"Hey!" I called out and whistled sharply. "Death Eater rejects! I've got a tasty treat for you!"

The edge of my sword was easily sharp enough to split the thin section of showing skin between my chainmail and elbow-length gauntlets. As blood welled up in my relatively shallow wound I realized how monumentally stupid that idea was. Good news was that it worked, phenomenally well. Bad news included the fifteen ex-humans all turned their vampiric tendencies on me and that I just cut myself with the sword I used just moments ago to pierce the rotting flesh of previously mentioned ex-humans. That was an infection waiting to happen.

However, I didn't have to time to further ponder why I thought injuring myself was smart as clambering skeletons stalked after me. Even the decapitated skull in the corner of the hollowed out room followed my careful steps backwards by rolling across the cold, stone floor. I glanced up to see Anders gaping at me in shock as his enemies walked past him. His staff was still raised in the air as if blocking the swing of a sword. It was only a few moments of utter bewilderment before he took the opening I gave him and began to concentrate mana onto the floor of the cavern through his wooden weapon.

As if with a pen, Anders careful, precise strokes yielded a light blue ring filled with ancient writing and symbols. I didn't even notice Fenris rush to my side to help defend against the hungry party while I watched the Healer put the finishing touches on his hex that was favored more among Templars rather than other mages. In my mind I traced over the pattern as if I was drawing it instead of Anders. Along the rim Anders swirled the final character of the sketched spell into the glyph and I went ahead and imagined the next step of which the artist would indicate the direction the hex would travel.

That step never happened. If no route was given the magic would-!

"Wait!"

My warning came too late. Anders pushed mana through his staff to activate the cleansing hex and I could feel the wave of neutralizing magic slam into me with enough power to rival a semi-truck. Sparks danced across my armor and buried themselves underneath my skin to feed off any hint of mana they could greedily suck up. I felt the nature of the hex chew on the containment glyphs hidden in my gloves until the stronger nature of the two swallowed Anders's spell. I sunk to my knees among the disembodied skeletons with a groan. Dammit, I felt like a horse kicked me in the chest. A similar noise echoed mine.

Anders leaned heavily on the wooden staff with his usual tied back blonde hair drifting into his clenched shut eyes.

"I forgot to put the direction," the mage grunted and attempted to stand straighter with obvious effort. "First Enchanter Irving would've tanned my hide if he saw my sloppy spellwork."

A witty remark would've been my response if I could take a breath without wheezing like an asthma kid running the mile. Tomes didn't mention the consequences of two neutralizing magics clashing with one another or at least none of the two I've read before. I wasn't even sure if anyone had ever tried it before as the concept seemed kind of redundant. Two hexes meant to neutralize mana? Overkill, if you asked me. My magic, kept under control by containment glyphs, repelled the seeking tendrils of the cleansing hex, but the hex knew I had magic although it couldn't find it. All in all, it felt very uncomfortable to be a battleground.

Iron claws entered my field of vision and I looked up to see Fenris offering his assistance for me to stand. Bastard, I grumbled and took his hand, the botched hex hadn't bothered him since he hadn't any mana.

"Thanks," I muttered. Fenris nodded, took his hand back, and crossed his arms over his chest with a raised eyebrow.

I ignored him for the moment. My knees protested their sudden meeting with the cold, hard stone and I rubbed my apology into them.

"What you did was very foolish."

My eyes rolled at Fenris's constructive criticism of my fighting methods. "One could say that 'foolish' is synonymous with 'brave'," I quipped as I examined the self-inflicted wound on the lower part of my left bicep. I grimaced at the black dirt that encrusted the edges.

Fenris grunted but I could've sworn there was amusement in it. "Here," he said.

A red strip of linen that at one time might have been white had it not been dipped in elfroot potion, I noticed from the smell, was used by Fenris to wrap the cut tightly on my arm. He tugged the knot tighter than it needed to be, but figured it was his silent way of telling me not to get hurt again. I think. The elf was very difficult to read with his whole brooding demeanor thing he had going on.

"Thanks," I said again and sheathed my sword. "Anders," I called over to the mage who stood easier and wiped sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his robes. He turned to me at my call. "You alright?"

Anders walked over to Fenris and me while carefully sidestepping the corpses his magic managed to return them to. "I'm just a little drained from the hex. Stupid thing of me to forget," he annoyingly muttered. "I should be fine in an hour or so."

That was pretty quick. Most mages recovered fully hours after being hit with neutralization magic that potent. Could his fast recovery have something to do with his possession by a Fade Spirit?

"I can still lead us to Hadriana, so don't worry about that," he continued I suspected for Fenris's benefit. "Should we move on or do you want to walk into another trap, Hawke?"

"I should have let those skeletons eat you," I mumbled. How was I to know that stepping on certain tiles triggered traps of the magic variety? In my time if someone wanted you dead they just shot you. I guess without guns, people in the past had to be more creative.

Empty eye sockets of the once animated skeletons gazed innocently up at me as if they never moved in the first place. I kicked the skull into the wall in annoyance and watched in satisfaction as the brittle bone shattered. Sodding blood magic.

The next trap our little party stumbled into was more creative than the last, if that was even possible. And this time it wasn't my fault although I was stuck in the middle of it.

"Hawke!"

I experienced weightlessness for a split second until my body remembered that it was subject to the law of gravity and began to fall swiftly into the pit that suddenly opened beneath my boots. Hastily, my hands scrambled for the edge and caught onto nothing but air until a calloused hand snatched my own. It was a long way down, I noticed as I hung precariously from Anders' grasp which remained the only thing keeping me from hitting the bottom of the hollowed out pit that was at least fifty feet deep. Who in their right minds dug a freaking crater into a mountain? Well, blood mages were all a little nutty and I guess a trap like this one prevented any escaping slaves from getting too far.

"Nice catch."

Anders weakly chuckled. "I do my best. You alright, Hawke?"

"Considering I'm hovering over a fifty foot drop, I'm not doing too badly. Could use a drink though."

"Is now a really good time for sarcasm?" Anders grunted and strained his muscles trying to pull me up, but it proved futile as my armor was much too heavy for the mage to lift on his own.

I braced my feet against the dark rock of the pit but they slid away. I couldn't get any traction. "Damn, I can't get a grip. Well, can you think of a better way to pass the time? I mean, I can give you a couple of riddles if you're really bored."

"Fenris, I could use some help here!"

"Okay, see if you can guess this one. 'I go in hard, I come out soft. You blow me hard. What am I?'"

The fiery blush that spread across my wannabe rescuer's cheeks made me guffaw in laughter although he was the only thing keeping me from probably breaking my leg.

"I really don't think-!"

"It's gum!" I chuckled. "Isn't that clever? You thought it was going to be something dirty. Naughty, naughty Anders what a filthy mind you have."

Anders glared despite the bright flush still on his cheeks and uselessly pulled that did nothing more than jar my arm. Where was Fenris? He was only walking a few feet ahead of Anders and me; he must have heard my entirely manly yell when the ground opened up underneath me. Something wasn't right.

"Anders-."

"I'd rather not hear another one of your riddles. Really, Hawke, I believe you spend too much time at the Hanged Man with Isabella and Varric."

"I came up with that one all on my own, thank you very much."

"I'm sure you'll be an inspiration to romantic poets for generations."

"…That was mean."

"The truth hurts. Come on now, Fenris! I can't hold him forever! If you would ple-!"

The mage was suddenly cut off by a savage blow to the back of his head by the pommel of a wicked looking broadsword. Shocked, pain-filled eyes watched as the grip around my hand loosened and my leather gauntlet slipped from the tether that prevented me from falling to my death. Gravity, a friend to me once before when I battled the Templar so long ago in the library, found amusement in my situation and gave me no quarter.

Downwards I fell. Anders desperately tried to reach for me again but the slaver allowed no such thing. His blade came down again onto the ex-Grey Warden and Anders barely had enough time to roll away before his head joined me in the pit. Plummeting down close to the sides of the trap I braced my feet, hands, and my back against the wall in hopes to slow my fall enough to where I wouldn't break anything. There were stories about people falling from high places all the time and surviving, right? Shit, what a time to not being able to transform into my animal form. Heights were never a problem if one had wings.

My current predicament held such a sweet irony for me. I came into this world by plunging headfirst off a building. What would happen the second time around?

Well, I would have to find out later.

I hit the ground hard. My head cracked against the wall.

I blacked out.

One Friday night, my friend Carter –who was the aspiring origami artist I told the story about to the stuttering girl in Anders's clinic-, dragged me to a club to celebrate his twenty-first birthday. We proceeded to slam back way too many shots and tried the newest drink called a Purple Nipple multiple times which was more than five. I woke up in jail in a town so small that it couldn't be found on a map the next morning with an interesting new piercing in my ear, a headache that felt like miners trying to dig a tunnel into my brain, the taste of dead dog in my mouth, and blurry memories of a blonde girl named Tootsie. Dammit, it was always the blondes.

What I felt now was ten times worse than that crazy Friday night.

I groaned pitifully as I turned over onto my back from the side position I had, unfortunately, woken up in. My head ached something fierce. I gripped at my throbbing temples and hissed in pain. It was too dark to see if there was blood on my gloves but I was damn sure that there was one hell of a bruise if the chiming bells in my brain meant anything. I dropped my arm back onto the floor and absently clenched and unclenched my stiff fingers. Where else was I hurt?

I squirmed a bit. No, nothing was broken. Sore, yes, but altogether I was very lucky to only knock my head a bit after a fall like that. Hopefully I didn't have a concussion. Although I couldn't tell if I did because my medical knowledge only went as far as how to put a band-aid on a cut.

Faint muttering reached my ears that might have been words if they could be heard over the Carol of the Bells rendition playing loudly in my skull. Great, now the song was going to be stuck in my head all day. Slowly, the mumbling became clearer.

"-a trap meant to hinder a slave's escape or rival hunters."

"He hasn't responded to my calls. Do you think he's alright?"

"I repeat myself: it's meant to hinder not kill. Perhaps he merely hit his head and is unconscious?"

"Merely hit his head? An injury like that can be very serious! He could be really hurt. We have to get down there!"

"And how do you suppose we do that, mage? Sprout wings? Levitate ourselves?"

"I would think rope would be an easier solution."

"Is conjuring rope from thin air a talent of yours, mage? Because it certainly isn't included in my repertoire of skills."

"We have none?"

"No."

"Well, you're a load of help."

"Mages in glass houses shouldn't throw fireballs."

"Maker help me I will hit you."

"I invite you to try."

"You really test my self-control, elf."

"One can only be possessed if they had none to start with, abomination."

They were not making my headache any better. "Girls! Can we please stop arguing and go back to the part where we figure out how to get me out of this hole!" God, the two of them picked at each other worse than a vulture did at a carcass.

"Hawke!" They both cried out in surprise that I was still alive.

"Hawke! Are you alright?" Anders called out to me. If I could see his face through the darkness that extended all around me I was sure that it would be pinched in worry.

"No, Anders. I think I might be dead," I drawled from my lying position. I didn't want to try and move just yet.

"His sarcasm might indicate that he's not seriously hurt," Fenris said.

"Both your use of sarcasm is not appreciated," the Healer scolded. "Now, are you hurt?"

"I don't think so. Hey, how are you guys?"

"No injuries. The Hunters thought they could play the part of assassin and failed," Fenris answered. I let out a sigh of relief.

"You don't think so?" Anders asked incredulously. Figures the Healer would focus on my inability to know if my body was hurt or not.

"Fine, give me a minute to stand up," I relented.

With a grunt, I rolled over to my belly and positioned my arms underneath my chest to slowly push up from the ground. Brilliantly colored lights flashed in front of my eyes in an explosion worthy of Fourth of July celebrations. I stopped for a second.

"…Well?"

"Hold on! My head's…spinning," I groaned and went a snail's pace to kneel and finally stood up on shaky legs. Perhaps that fall hurt me more than I thought. God, I felt like my brain was about ready to leak out of my ears. "Okay, I'm up now and the only thing out of place is the ringing in my head. I think I knocked it against the wall pretty good." I grimaced as I touched my throbbing temples again.

"Shit," the mage above me cursed. "Dizziness and ringing in the ears. Those are classic signs of a concussion. Hawke, do you remember how you got down there?"

"What? Of course I do! I fell down a fucking hole, Anders!"

Anders didn't seem bothered by my annoyed reply. "Good. No amnesia or slurred speech. Any nausea?"

"No, I'm fine. Can you just hurry up and get me out of here?"

"Hmm…you most likely don't have a concussion or if you do it's a minor one. It's probably just a nasty bruise. If you have a healing potion, drink about half of the vial. That'll take care of any swelling."

"Fine," I gritted out through clenched teeth noticing that he hadn't addressed my other concern, but I wasn't willing to disobey a doctor's direct order.

Relying on touch to find the small pouch attached to my belt, my seeking fingers glided on something smooth and I brought it out up to my face. The cork keeping the liquid inside the vial was easily pulled out and I carefully sniffed the potent mixture to make sure that I found the elfroot potion instead of the flask of lyrium I kept in case of an emergency. My nose scrunched up at the bitter smell which told me I had the correct bottle. I made a note to not buy anymore potions at the Herbalist's stall as I tipped back the vial for the restorative properties of the elfroot that went to work on my stiff muscles and sore spots. Anders at least tried to make the stuff taste and smell somewhat decent by adding some crushed up mint leaves.

Only a few seconds after I swallowed the thick mixture I felt my head clear and my body relax once the haze of pain evaporated. I also felt a bit of a tingle in my hands that I realized had been there since I woke up from my little bout of unconsciousness. I replaced the still half-full bottle. What I had mistaken as stiff fingers was actually a warning of magic that was close by. Depending on the concentration of magic I could sense a spell from thirty feet away if it was very potent. The only reason Anders and I could feel Hadriana from hundreds of feet away was that the cave was almost drenched in the heady smell of blood magic. Many magisters and abusers of the forbidden art had touched the walls of the cavern. It was difficult to sense a spell that required little to no mana to use and even harder to tell if someone was a mage unless they stood right in front of you. So I was counting on the distance between my companions and me to muffle my magical signature.

Glancing up at the mouth of the pit although I knew Fenris and Anders couldn't see me, I warily unclipped my gauntlets. Finger by finger I removed the leather gloves. Once the containment glyphs no longer touched my skin I paused to stretch my hearing as far as it would go. There were no sounds of horror or curses so I assumed I was safe and stuffed my gloves into my belt. However, I still proceeded cautiously and pushed the slightest bit of mana into the rune set into the middle of my hand which resembled an open eye trapped in a triangle. My mage-sight called for only a sliver of mana to activate it and only drained a mage's mana if kept awake for an extended period. I only needed a quick look at what caused my palms to tingle. Well, now that my magic was free once more the tingle turned into pins and needles.

Absently, I shook my hands out and turned in a circle. A flash of orange caught my attention and I zeroed in on a part of the wall that glowed brighter than a neon sign in my mage-sight. There was definitely writing, but it was faint. I pushed more mana into my rune. Ah, that was better. Now, I could clearly see the arcane loops and writing on the wall that stretched upwards about seven feet and was about three feet wide. It took me only a minute to define what the symbols meant.

That's clever, I admitted. It was a doorway that only opened at a mage's touch. This would be highly effective on keeping slaves trapped but easily accessible because if this was a doorway then it must lead somewhere only the magisters could go.

"Hey, I think I found a way out of here!" I called up to my companions.

"A way out?" Fenris asked.

"I stumbled onto a passageway. I'll follow it to see where it leads. You two go on ahead, I'll catch up to you later."

"Hawke, are you sure? We can-."

"Yeah, I'm sure," I interrupted Anders kind of impatiently. "We've wasted enough time as it is. Go find Hadriana; I'll be right behind you."

"Fine," Fenris grunted and I heard retreating footsteps.

"Fenris, wait! Andraste's sword can he not wait one more second?" Anders said more to himself than to me although I heard him loud and clear. "I don't think it is a good idea to split up like this, Hawke. One blood mage is dangerous to a whole group of Templars, but now we're up against Maker knows how many with two people now instead of three. And what if you come across one by yourself?"

"Anders, I'm hurt that you doubt my level of awesomeness." I could practically hear Anders roll his eyes. I chuckled. "With all your worrying I'm starting to believe you don't find me the same annoying sword-swinger you met three years ago."

There was a pause. "No, I would not describe you as annoying," he said softly.

I could feel heat flush my cheeks for some reason I couldn't explain. I coughed. "Well, umm…be careful. Look out for Fenris too. He's not in his right mind at the moment. A man dead-set on revenge is not one you should turn your back on or trust."

"You don't trust him?" Anders asked incredulously as if he didn't believe me.

I shook my head although the mage couldn't see me. "Not right now I don't. Go catch up and remember to be careful."

"Same to you."

I waited until his footsteps faded away before I turned my attention back to the puzzle emblazoned in front of me.

Now, how did I get rid of it? Casting spells was my specialty, not dispelling them. Perhaps if I just placed my hands on the…ah ha! I crowed delightedly in my mind as the orange emblems fizzled out into nothingness and I was plunged into darkness again. Suddenly I heard a whoosh of fire and a torch came to life followed by its brothers which revealed a circular hallway that reminded me of a tube. Thoughtfully, I placed my right hand on the wall of the corridor and simultaneously cut off the mana to my mage-sight rune and redirected it into my middle finger where my earth rune lied.

My magic brushed over and into the rock surrounding me. I detected very high concentrations of magnesium; which would mean I was probably standing in a room that once was filled with boiling magma. I seemed to have stumbled into an old volcanic kimberlite pipe from a dormant volcano. Well if one had kimberlite, diamonds were usually not far from it. The slavers probably overtook these cave systems from miners once the diamond supply was exhausted. Dead ends, blocked off passageways, and corridors that stretched for miles littered this extinct volcano. Hadriana could be in any one of them.

Well, better start walking then.