The walls were made of white marble, but there were bas-relief flowers sculpted into it, the stems elegant half-spirals, the petals made out of gemstones in red, yellow, blue or violet. The corridor had no twists or turns, but at regular intervals, there were sets of five steps, going downwards. The ceiling was low enough to block any view of the end of the corridor.
There was also light, although lacking any apparent source. Amell guessed it must have been some spell, because magic hung so densely in the air, that it almost vibrated.
"What do you hope to find here?" Sten asked her.
"I don't know," she confessed. "Answers? Dyson? The fae? I have no idea."
"The caravan will be leaving in the morning."
"I know," she sighed. "We should hurry."
"But we should also remain cautious."
Amell had no time for a reply, because another door came into view. It was identical to the first.
She approached cautiously and listened for any noise, but the only thing she could hear was the trickle of water. Clutching her staff in one hand, she pushed the door open with the other and took a step back.
Nothing happened. There were no footsteps heading towards them. But as she peered inside the room, she still expected the worst.
It was empty. The room was fairly large, a mosaic representing a jungle scene taking up much of the floor. In the opposite end, there was an altar of some sort, crowded with many small statues. Six pillars held up the roof, delicate vines sculpted into them.
Amell advanced into the room, followed closely by Sten. Their steps echoed loudly, lending an added ominous note.
Neither was prepared to conclude the room was empty, quite yet.
"There appears to be no sign of the child," Sten remarked tensely.
"But someone obviously wants us here," Amell said.
"That is correct," a disembodied sing-song voice spoke.
Sten and Amell shifted almost unconsciously into defensive stances.
"Do not be alarmed," the voice continued.
Brilliant flakes of light descended from the ceiling like snowflakes, coalescing into silhouettes. As the light died, they left behind three humanoid figures, resembling no species Amell had ever come across.
Two of them looked almost human and the third almost like an elf, but the emphasis was on almost. There were some... niggling differences that unsettled her.
The first one had a plume of iridescent feathers growing out of her head instead of hair and her skin was of an unsettling blue pallor, contrasting oddly with the plain white cotton dress she was wearing. From her back sprouted two bizarre extraneous limbs, like spider legs, but covered in dark blue scales. The second creature, the one closest resembling an elf, had no eyes. Instead, thick black fur grew in a V-shape, starting from the tip of his nose, which on closer inspection, bore a closer resemblance to a beak. The third such creature's jaw seemed to be covered in some sort of ivory, forming a simulacrum of teeth, growing right over the skin. His nails were also closer to claws and he had only four fingers on each hand.
Amell had come across many frightening things in her travels, but never before had she seen such a mockery of nature's laws. She was not scared of them so much as she was unnerved, however. It was a strange feeling, and the closest thing she'd ever experienced to it until now was during a certain week at the Tower when she'd pass the same blackboard with an incorrect formula written on it. She'd had to suppress the urge to correct the formula, because it was an assignment for the younger apprentices to see if they could spot the mistake themselves. Strangely enough, she had the same feeling looking at these three: like they were slightly off and she had to straighten them out until they fit into the fabric of reality again.
"Who are you?" Sten demanded, waking Amell from her reverie.
"I am Dhaonag," the one with feather-hair introduced herself, bowing slightly. Her eyes were black as coal and her smile cold and forced, but her voice sounded surprisingly friendly to Amell's ears. "These are my good friends," she added, gesturing to the human, then the elf. "Gorvin and Hanshal."
"Dhaonag," Amell repeated the exotic name. "What... I mean, what..." she gestured vaguely, trying to find the least offensive way of asking.
"What are we?" Dhaonag asked with a slight smile.
"Well, yes," Amell admitted bluntly, trying to suppress an impolite shudder.
Dhaonag's smile widened, allowing Amell to see that her teeth were just a tad sharper than she first noticed.
"If you wish to find out, we can show you," she offered.
"I... no," Amell shook her head, apprehensive. "No, we're just here looking for a child. We don't have time for anything else. Have you come across a boy named Dyson?"
"You know that we have," Dhaonag replied, her smile disappearing. "It is why you're here, isn't it?"
"Then you have him."
"Have him?" Dhaonag repeated, amused. "You make it sound as if he were a prisoner. We merely offer him a better choice of life."
"I wish to see him, then," Amell said. "If he truly isn't your prisoner."
Dhaonag and Amell held each other's gaze for a long, laden moment. Then, finally, Dhaonag bowed her head with a sardonic smile.
"Very well," she acquiesced.
* * *
They were not taken anywhere, as Amell had expected. Instead, Dhaonag instructed her companions to go and fetch the boy. Why this would have taken two of them, Amell preferred not to speculate.
"I sense you have questions about us," Dhaonag had said, "and I wish to answer them. In private," she added, with a meaningful look to Sten.
"Do you have anything to hide from him?" Amell asked with a side-long glance.
"I simply sense he would not understand," Dhaonag replied without explaining anything at all.
"Clairvoyant, are you?" Amell snorted.
"He is not like you and I," she continued.
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You are a mage, yes?"
"Ye-es?"
"And he... is not," Dhaonag said, with poorly-disguised disdain.
"Neither are most people," Amell said, bristling. "That isn't generally considered a fault."
"But being a mage is considered a fault?" Dhaonag perked an eyebrow regally.
"That wasn't what I meant and I dislike it when people twist my words," Amell replied sharply.
"But I am right, am I not? Do they not lock mages in prisons, for the mere crime of their birth?"
Amell opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again. She looked at Sten, who was looking at Dhaonag with suspicion. He turned his gaze to Amell.
"If you wish to discuss with her, it is not my place to stop you, kadan," he spoke.
"I won't be long," she promised.
Dhaonag primly led Amell away, towards the altar in the back of the room. The many statuettes adorning the wall seemed mismatched, as if gathered from different places. They were all stone, but different kinds, different colors and presenting different kinds of erosion.
And curiously, beyond the altar was a small circular pool, filled not with water, but with softly-glowing lyrium. Amell tried not to gape.
"How deep is it?" she asked. The pool itself was no more than three feet across, but even if it were completely shallow, the amount of lyrium it held was still excessive. She tried hard not to think what it might be used for.
"It is deep enough for our purposes," Dhaonag replied evasively.
The fumes of lyrium in the air were making Amell dizzy and slightly euphoric, but she tore her gaze away from the pool and settled it on Dhaonag.
"I was told an interesting story before coming here," the mage said.
"I can imagine," Dhaonag chuckled softly. "That we steal children and tear apart trespassers?"
"That you hang trespassers from trees, actually," Amell corrected. "Then you really are the fae."
"It is what some people have called us," Dhaonag shrugged. "But we hardly steal children."
"Oh, they come with you willingly, do they?" Amell asked belligerently.
"They do, actually," Dhaonag replied, raising her chin defiantly. "We offer them a far better life than the world ever will."
"They're children, they belong with their families--"
"Yes, they do. But the Chantry disagrees."
Amell stared for a long moment as something clicked into place.
"You steal mage children," she stated flatly.
"Yes. So glad you've caught up with us," Dhaonag grinned unsettlingly.
"You steal them... for what purpose?"
"To become one of us, of course."
Amell felt a chill run down her spine.
"You mean... you... you were... you're mages?" she asked, feeling coherency leave her.
"We were, once. We are something more, now," Dhaonag stated solemnly, gesturing towards the statuettes.
Amell had no way of recognizing them, but she realized now that they represented the spirits worshiped in these lands, not unlike Abeona.
Dhaonag, Dyson, the lyrium, the spirits, the feeling of wrongness emanated by the fae, it all came sharply into focus in Amell's mind.
"You're Abominations," she whispered, drawing herself away from Dhaonag.
The fae laughed.