Chapter 6

"Like many of you, I was once a thieving wretch. I was a servant to coin and my own base desires. And that is when I heard his call. Corypheus opened my eyes, just as he has opened yours, and showed me what was true.

What is the Carta beside Corypheus? Nothing but dust and ashes. Only Corypheus is eternal. We are his hands and his eyes on the surface. We are the ones he honored with his trust, to dig him from his prison in the Deep Roads.

When Corypheus steps into the sunlight, we will be rewarded. Praise him! Praise Corypheus!"

—from a scrap of parchment, evidently notes from a speech

Líadan

"I was Riordan."

His Calling had never ended. He'd never rested his eyes. He'd never found his freedom from the nightmares, the calling of the Old Gods, or from the Creators-forsaken taint. He'd never found his long-awaited peace. His path had no end, and they had let him go down it.

They had watched Riordan walk into the Deep Roads over seven years ago, carrying only his daggers. No food. No pack. One did not need to bring items for sustaining life when one was setting out to end it. His weary soul had needed rest, to be freed of the taint and the cloying shadows it carried, but he'd never found his peace.

He'd wandered for years in the darkness, and no one had gone to save him.

"Maker," said Anders.

Riordan's hair had fallen out in clumps, leaving only erratic tufts clinging to his scalp. His skin was mottled and grey, some areas seeming like they were sloughing off, others thick and gnarled. A white film covered eyes that had once been a bright, engaging mix of blue and green. Líadan wanted to wipe the film from his eyes, find all the missing hair and put it back, put everything back to rights and restore her friend and mentor, but it was too late for that.

"You were supposed to go to the Stone," said Sigrun.

"I am dead," said Riordan, "but I never died."

They'd watched him as he strode away, his steps quick and sure, his manner almost content with the path he'd chosen. But it hadn't been the path he'd taken. They'd lived their lives above ground, while he was lost for years below. "Then we abandoned you," said Líadan.

Riordan shook his head. "No. I left. My choice. My Calling."

"You were supposed to—before this happened, you—"

Riordan's clouded eyes widened, and his stooped shoulders briefly straightened. "He calls now. I must go. I must answer."

Then he was gone, his ability to fade into the shadows not having been lost. Not when he'd become the shadows, and they hadn't even known.

Darkspawn fell upon them, eliminating any chance they had at tracking Riordan. Cutting through them took up the entirety of their attention, the five Wardens dropping into roles that they'd played for years—even Anders hadn't rusted in his ability to kill darkspawn. His glyphs kept them healthy, while Bethany's offensive magic burned the darkspawn several at a time. Malcolm positioned himself between any charging darkspawn and the ranged fighters in their group, absorbing blows meant for the mages or the archer. Sigrun flashed in and out of the battle, the light from above sometimes catching on the blades of her axes. Líadan stayed back with Bethany and Anders, sending arrow after arrow into the targets she sighted, her focus on her task and not thinking about the lost Riordan.

It had been years. She'd been upset and unsettled for a while after he'd taken his Calling, but she'd eventually come to terms with it. The double blow of losing Riordan so soon after unexpectedly losing Fiona had left her feeling somewhat lost, herself. But in the intervening months and years, she'd regained her perspective, and found her way again.

Right up until they'd stumbled on a dead-but-not Riordan in a secret Grey Warden prison. Her next arrow pierced the cheek of the hurlock she'd targeted. She cursed and shot another, hitting it in the eye as it reeled sideways. It fell backwards to land on two genlock corpses, and didn't rise. Líadan glanced around for her next target, but there were none. The additional help of Marian and her companions had easily doubled the pace at which they got through battles. While earlier it had been a boon, now Líadan wasn't so thrilled with it. Fighting would keep her mind from ruminating over Riordan's fate. Fighting would drown out the overwhelming guilt that they'd never thought to rescue him.

Yet now that they knew he hadn't met his final end, they couldn't go searching for him, not reliably. There was nothing to feel that they hadn't felt before his appearance. Writhing mass of taint above and below, and no individuals emerging from it, not until they were nearly in their faces. In every practical sense, he was gone.

Líadan avoided talking, choosing instead to recover her arrows from the darkspawn, and even nicely collecting Sebastian's arrows at the same time. Not really out of the goodness of her heart, but because it postponed having to acknowledge that she'd been left more than a little off balance. Then she'd collected all the arrows she could find and glanced back and forth between her group and the dark bridge and corridors beyond. There had to be more battles ahead, if they just got there faster.

"Are you all right?" Malcolm asked from a few paces away.

She gave him a look that told him exactly how stupid a question it was.

He shrugged it off, his lips quirking into a rueful half-smile. "It seemed rude not to ask, even if I knew the answer beforehand. Because I did."

Part of her wanted to be able to talk about it, but not with people around who wouldn't understand. While Marian and the others were certainly friends, they weren't Wardens. Since she couldn't talk, she needed more distractions. "I could use more darkspawn to kill."

"You and me both, sister," said Sigrun. "Though I'd take some demons, in a pinch."

Malcolm looked between the two of them, and then nudged a genlock corpse with his boot. "Would kicking these bodies into the depths help out any?"

"Actually, yes." Líadan got started with the one at her feet, rolling it to the edge and right off the bridge. Sigrun and Malcolm joined in, along with Bethany, and they made fairly short work of clearing the way for the non-Wardens. Anders was busy grumpily healing a tweaked elbow that Fenris had failed to mention before.

The four of them straightened and found Marian standing at the foot of the bridge, her arms crossed and her face determined. "Someone," she said, "is going to tell me what's going on with this 'Calling' business."

"Sorry, can't," said Malcolm. "Warden stuff. I'd tell you more, but I'm not allowed, and I'm way more scared of Hildur than I am of you. Don't get me wrong, you're pretty far up on the list, but Hildur's still above you."

Before Marian could press him further, Anders said, "Becoming a Grey Warden isn't a cure."

Malcolm sighed. "Dammit, Anders. You shouldn't—"

"It's really just of way of slowing the inevitable," Anders continued, paying no attention to Malcolm's objections, or the disgruntled looks from the other Wardens in the group, including Bethany. "You're still tainted, but it takes around thirty years or so before it catches up with you. Sometimes more, sometimes less. In the end, you'll still end up a ghoul. So, instead of waiting around for the inevitable, Wardens march into the Deep Roads to die fighting the darkspawn. It's called the Calling."

Marian's eyes had widened slightly as Anders spoke, and when he ended, she slid her gaze over to Bethany. "Is this true?"

Bethany opened her mouth to answer, then shut it and glanced over at Malcolm and Líadan, silently asking for permission to continue revealing what Anders had started. Malcolm motioned with his hand for her to talk, making it clear that Anders had already given away too much for anything to be taken back.

"Yes, it's true," said Bethany. "I didn't want you to know." She pointed at Carver. "And don't you dare tell Mother. She's dealt with enough. She doesn't need to carry this."

"I'm sorry," said Marian.

Bethany shrugged. "It is what it is, as Aveline would say. Better than the alternative."

Her brow furrowed, and then Marian turned to Anders again. "What about Wardens who don't happen to contract the blight sickness before they become Wardens?"

It was Líadan who spoke up this time. "Anders, don't—"

"What do you think the Joining is?" asked Anders. "The Joining potion isn't a fancy wine."

"For Maker's sake, Anders!" Malcolm stepped forward, having gone from irritated to verging on angry. "Should we just sit down for a break right here while you regale them with every Warden secret there is? Or could you, you know, show some respect and solidarity for the order you abandoned?"

It wasn't Anders who answered. The lyrium-blue of Justice's possession blazed through Anders' eyes and skin, driving him toward Malcolm. "It is an order undeserving of respect. They encourage the use of blood magic. They force recruits to take the Joining potion or be killed for fear of their secrets being revealed to the world. They give no warning. They give no quarter. They are not just."

"Neither are the darkspawn, if you haven't noticed." Malcolm hadn't retreated as Justice advanced, and the two of them stood only a sword's length apart. Anders' height left Malcolm looking up at him, though Malcolm was usually half a head taller than most human men. Anders, like Merrill had said before, was somewhat of a giant. And with Justice possessing him, he was imposing, as well. But if Malcolm felt the same menace as Líadan felt in the confrontation, he didn't react to it.

"If one must resort to the tactics of the darkspawn, one is not worthy of the victory."

"Being alive and slightly bloodied is a lot better than being dead with unsullied honor. Anders knows that, Justice. Maybe you should listen to him. Maybe you should listen to the rest of us, who have been mortals for a lot longer than you. You don't know anything about being a mortal, demon, no matter how—"

Justice drew his arms back and then flung them forward, throwing a bolt that sent Malcolm skidding on his back to the middle of the bridge. "I am no demon!"

Shouts went up from the group as Justice stepped forward and brought his staff to bear. Carver hit him with a smite that barely slowed him, and an arrow from Líadan's bow skimmed Justice's ear. Blood flowed freely from the cut, but Justice didn't stop.

"Hey! He's an ally!" shouted Marian. "Justice!"

Líadan sprinted toward them, intending to put herself between Malcolm, who was trying to scramble to his feet while holding his shield over his body, and Justice, who seemed intent on using his stave like a spear. But Sigrun had traveled faster through the shadows, catching the staff between her axes and pushing its tip into the stone underfoot.

"He's your friend," said Sigrun. Justice took a half-step, but Sigrun planted her feet and forced him to stay put. "I'm your friend," she told him when he turned his rage from Malcolm to the dwarf in his way. "And you are his friend."

"I am no friend," said Justice. "I owe him nothing."

"He saved the life of the body you inhabit," said Líadan. "I was there. Those templars would have killed Anders or made him Tranquil if Malcolm hadn't intervened. How is it justice if Justice kills him over a minor disagreement?"

"It would not be…" Then Justice slumped and his blue light winked out, leaving Anders to deal with the consequences. "...just," Anders said, sounding even more tired than he had before they'd gone into the prison.

Sigrun lowered her axes and took a step back.

"I'm sorry," Anders said to her, and then turned to Malcolm. "I'm sorry. I am." Then he offered his hand to help Malcolm up. After he looked at it dubiously, Malcolm accepted the help while Anders castigated himself. "Justice just couldn't stay contained, not with the voice. He's so frustrated with hearing it over and over, with fighting its commands, with the Wardens for having the connection in the first place. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"No, you shouldn't have," said Bethany.

Líadan raised an eyebrow at Bethany's quietly spoken condemnation. While Bethany had settled into the life of a Warden well enough, she'd never been particularly enthusiastic about the order. Then again, neither was she, and neither was Malcolm, but they did what they had to, and enjoyed what parts of it they could. Being in the Wardens, even if you didn't like it, meant you still got a first-hand understanding of why the Wardens were necessary to Thedas. Anders revealing secrets like he was put the Wardens in danger, and without the Wardens, the next Blight would never end. They all knew the danger, and that was what made them keep the secrets. Anders—Justice—had ignored that.

"You had about thirty more seconds left before I was going to put an end to you, for good," said Marian. Her voice was as quiet as her sister's, which made it far more menacing since Marian was rarely soft spoken. "Don't forget my promise, Anders. I won't break it. Not even here." She let out a long breath before turning to Malcolm. "Onward, then?"

He nodded and set off without a word.

After a few minutes, Líadan noticed that Anders' ear still bled. He'd never bothered to heal it, even though to a healer like him, such a thing would be a reflex. He was punishing himself, and she wouldn't let him. She caught up to him. "Your ear. You haven't fixed it."

"I know."

"If you don't fix it, I'll have to try."

The smile was minuscule and fleeting, but was there. "Only from you would that be a threat."

"It isn't a bluff, so get to healing, healer." She chose her words deliberately, a reminder to him of the identity he treasured most: healer. If anything could save him, it was that. But now she wondered if it would only delay the inevitable, given Justice's recent displays of strength.

"All right." His hand went briefly to his ear. When he removed it, no hint of the cut remained. "Nice shot, by the way. Enough an injury to make your point, but not enough to kill or maim me."

"You did threaten my bondmate. Who said I was aiming for your ear?"

He looked at her sidelong. "You can be scary, you know."

"Keeps people off balance."

He nodded. "It works. Justice doesn't know what to make of you."

"I don't care about him. I care about my friend. And if he ever entirely gets rid of my friend, Justice won't like me at all."

Anders had no reply, and so the quiet slog went on until they broke first of the prison's seals.

The ensuing fight with the pride demon that appeared provided a far less tense atmosphere than the silence that had prevailed before. Battle was easy. No thoughts aside from the moment, and the few moments that could happen afterward. Reacting when plans didn't go right, strategizing when plans seemed to work. Dodging the bolts of fire the demon sent the archers' way, calling out warnings to those close in when the demon prepared for other attacks, shouting at loved ones when they didn't seem to move fast enough to avoid a stomping foot or a fist of flame aimed at their head—all of it served well to keep the reality that a friend was turning into an abomination out of their minds, or that their former Warden-Commander's Calling had never ended.

Eventually, the pride demon fell, and they were able to continue onward. But the strange call of Corypheus hounded them, declaring his satisfaction with their ability to break the seals. Anders kept swearing under his breath about the voice, but he was the only Warden reacting outwardly. Líadan traded a glance with Malcolm, who only had a shrug and a look of frustration to offer, but that much told her that he was hearing the same as she was. The only thing they could do was ignore it, for it wouldn't stop until they killed Corypheus.

"Entirely out of curiosity," said Marian, fully ignorant of the internal debates each Warden was having with the ancient magister, "how many seals are there?"

Malcolm frowned. "I'm not sure."

"It isn't in your little journal?"

"No. There's some stick figures running away from a dragon, though. I think Hildur got bored."

Líadan gave him a warm smile, grateful for whatever humor they could find in such tense conditions. "You're misremembering. It was you who got bored."

"Could you not have paid more attention?" asked Sebastian. "Perhaps if you had, we would know the exact number of seals to expect."

From her place standing behind Sebastian, but facing Marian, Bethany rolled her eyes. "I did pay attention, brother. The Warden-Commander didn't know how many there were. No one knows, except maybe my father. Shall we try to conjure him up?"

Marian did a poor job of hiding her laugh. "Bit snippy, are we?"

"I'm sorry. It's just—Corypheus is more annoying than Carver. I'm looking forward to killing him just so he'll shut up."

"You mean me or the magister?" asked Carver.

"We'll have to see."

By the second seal, Malcolm had switched to actively complaining during the battle. Líadan knew she shouldn't be amused—they were fighting a pride demon, after all—but Malcolm hadn't gone on like this in a long time. He hadn't really had the opportunity, none of them had. Even their trips in the Deep Roads only contained short skirmishes, which hardly approached the level of fighting they'd done during and immediately after the Blight. With a team as large as they had with them now, and the skill amongst them, even the pride demons posed less a threat than usual. Not that they could afford to be distracted, because that tended to lead to painful injury and mocking from the others.

"I don't want to fight anymore pride demons," Malcolm said as he ducked the demon's swinging fist. "Why'd they have to put pride demons in the seals? Horrible idea."

"As was imprisoning the magister instead of killing him," said Fenris.

"Would you rather fight dragons?" asked Varric.

Marian rolled underneath a spirit bolt the demon sent her way, and then briefly looked at Varric. "What kind of dragon are we talking?"

"High dragon."

"Archdemon?" asked Malcolm. "Because they cheat. Spirit fire instead of regular fire."

"No, just a regular high dragon for—Blondie and Sunshine! Watch out, demon looks like it's going to do something nasty to your magic."

Malcolm covered his head with his shield and drew the demon's full attention. At the same time, Marian motioned for Sigrun to run and then use her back to leap up to the demon's head.

"Dragon," said Marian as she straightened. "So much a dragon."

Sigrun slammed both her axes into the demon's head, and remained standing on top of it as it fell over. Then she jumped off and preened at her show of dexterity. Fenris gave her a nod of respect, while Anders pretended to clap in appreciation. No Justice there, Líadan noticed. Very much the old Anders, as if he were determined to prove Justice didn't have control. It almost worked.

"You worry me, you know that?" Carver said to Marian.

"Only the blessings of the Maker have thus far kept her from harm," said Sebastian.

Marian grinned. "And hiding behind pillars while being chased by an arishok."

"That's not how Varric tells it," said Carver.

"Right, because we believe Varric's version of any story."

"Hey, you never know," said Varric. "Some people get drawn into it. Might come in handy someday."

Anders halted mid-step toward the next doorway, and his hands slapped over his ears as his face scrunched in pain. "Stop! Just make him stop talking! Make him stop!"

"And here I thought you loved my stories!"

His eyes still squeezed shut, Anders shook his head. He kept talking in a mumble that wasn't audible to the humans and dwarves in the group, but Líadan could hear it easily. I must hold against them. I must hold against them both.

Fenris' dark brows drew into a deeper scowl, and then he gave Líadan a questioning look. She shrugged, unsure which unasked question of many he wanted answered. He threw another caustic look at Anders before stepping quickly to stand next to Líadan. "The abomination," he said quietly to her. "Is he safe?"

She wanted to say yes. This was Anders they were talking about, a man who'd saved her life quite a few times, a man who'd once been a very good friend, one whom she'd trusted with her child's life. But this wasn't him. It hadn't been Anders who'd lost his temper and threatened Malcolm earlier, on the bridge. It had been Justice, just as it had been Justice who'd taken over the conversation she'd had with Anders while they were on watch. "I don't know," she said to Fenris.

"Neither do I. He'll kill us all if he allows his insanity to take him."

"If that happens, I think there are enough of us to stop him."

"We should be so lucky." Then Fenris fell silent, his gaze not shifting from Anders.

Líadan sighed and moved ahead to walk with Malcolm as they left the broken seal and the dead pride demon behind. Sigrun had already trotted past them to scout for traps, and Líadan could hear the rest of the group trudging along behind them. One set of boots picked up the pace, and soon enough, Varric appeared next to them.

When the two Wardens gave Varric a questioning look, he held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Just pretend I'm not here. I won't even take notes."

For a long while, silence prevailed over the slog downward into the prison. They passed through hallways long abandoned, riddled with cobwebs and scurrying creatures. They traversed bridges that clung precariously to their anchors, and then found themselves at what they assumed was the bottom floor—the ground had changed from paved stone to rocks and dirt, and they met with the first appearance of deepstalkers. No one had missed them, not in the least. With their trip now really resembling the Deep Roads, the walk became even more drudgery.

All of them could hear Anders' muttering, and it wove a thread of fear that slowly pierced each one of them, pulling taut as they waited for him to snap, and them with it.

"So is Fenris going to kill Anders?" Malcolm asked Líadan after another one of Anders' comments. "I assume that's what he was telling you earlier. You know, fair warning and all that."

"Not sure. He's not sure if he is, and I'm not sure if he is. But it isn't like we can keep ignoring it."

"Not with him going on like he is we can't."

"We'll get Blondie through it," said Varric. "We've always talked him down before, and we can do it again. Justice isn't entirely unreachable. He's been appearing a lot more, but it's nothing we can't handle. If—" Varric's eyes flicked toward Malcolm's drawn sword, which Malcolm had been keeping half-ready at his side. "Princeling, did you know your sword glows even when you're not fighting? That's kind of cool."

Malcolm glanced down and swore. "The runes glow when there are darkspawn nearby."

"Not as cool." Varric hefted his crossbow to indicate his readiness. The rest took their cue from him, as well as further ones from Malcolm raising his sword and shield and Líadan slowing slightly as she nocked an arrow. Then she and Varric lagged behind enough so that Malcolm could cover them should the darkspawn attack from the front.

Except Líadan couldn't feel a darkspawn. Well, she could sense a lot of darkspawn, but only as a big group writhing around and above and below them. Compared to the increasingly loud voice of Corypheus as he called to the Wardens, the taint lurking with the darkspawn was of little consequence. The ancient magister seemed determined to make her and her fellow Wardens do what he commanded, which was free him and decidedly not kill him. Disobeying him held a lot more precedence over killing some common darkspawn.

She saw no compelling reason to free Corypheus. Fenris was right—the Wardens should've killed Corypheus when they'd discovered him. Maybe the taint granted by the Joining had been different then, allowing Corypheus to influence the Wardens' decisions more. He certainly didn't have hold over her and the other Wardens with them today.

You are stronger than I thought, tiny insect. The time will soon come when you will obey me.

Too bad for Corypheus, obedience had never been her strong point. If anything, it seemed like the early Wardens would've killed Corypheus due to his commentary alone. Creators, he was persistent.

"You know," Malcolm said without looking back, "he's really starting to annoy me."

"There's no need to get personal," said Varric.

"Not you. Corypheus."

"Wait, so you're all hearing the same as Blondie?"

"Yes," said Líadan, still searching for the darkspawn Malcolm's sword insisted were present. "Each seal we break, he gets louder. It's irritating."

"You think Justice is why Blondie's having a hard time of it?"

"That's my guess," said Malcolm.

The conversation faded to Líadan as she felt the presence of darkspawn separating from the diffuse mass around them. After a moment spent staring into the ruins beyond the path Sigrun had picked out for them, she started toward the supposed darkspawn. She hadn't taken more than two steps before Anders began to yell.

"You shouldn't go that way!"

She spun to face him. "Since when do Wardens run away from darkspawn? We hunt them, Anders." She pointed toward a short set of steps carved into a ruined rotunda located a middling distance from the main path. "There are darkspawn over there. I'm going to go kill them, and I'd prefer it if other Wardens came with me. You can stay here if you want, for all I care."

He met her gaze, his eyes dim with mourning before she saw the flash of blue, and then his hands clutched at his head. The muttering began again, Anders ignoring the world outside him as he wrestled with two demons within.

"I will stay here with him while the rest of you investigate, for even Andraste tells us to help the sick and infirm," said Sebastian. "I will not allow him to come to harm."

Bethany took a step in the direction of the ruin, then bit her lip as she stopped to look back at Anders. Empathy overrode her indecision, and she returned to stand with Sebastian and Anders. "I'll stay here, too. If Anders can't fight, then we can't leave Sebastian without a Warden between him and the darkspawn."

"Bethany, I'm perfectly able to—"

"No one doubts your skill, my dear royal archer," said Marian. "However, you continuing to not catch the blight sickness is something I've an invested interest in. The more Wardens between you—or any of us—and the darkspawn, the better."

Unaccompanied by further warnings from Anders, Líadan continued toward the elusive darkspawn. As she got closer, she sensed very few, three at most, but that didn't alleviate her trepidation as she ascended the crumbling steps into the rotunda. As soon as she stepped inside, she jerked to a halt, staring at a statue of a kind she'd only seen once before, on Sundermount. She'd touched it and heard the voice of a lonely spirit, and it had only been Sten's actions that had saved her from an ugly fate. Anders had taken that fate upon himself later, when he'd visited on his own and taken in Justice.

She still wasn't entirely convinced that Justice and the lonely spirit weren't one in the same. Now she stared at another of the statues, and strangely wondered if it contained another terribly lonely spirit.

"Holy shit," Malcolm said from behind her. "That's—"

"It is an altar dedicated to Dumat," said Fenris, as he and the others walked in around Líadan, who remained still as a rock within a flowing stream. "It should be destroyed before we move on."

"I'm for it," said Marian.

"But if that's Dumat, why doesn't he look like a dragon?" asked Malcolm. He'd stayed behind to stand next to Líadan, his steady presence helping in defeating the memories plaguing her.

"It's not like any of us are going to know," said Carver. "Except maybe Fenris."

Fenris advanced on the altar, his two-hander already out and ready, as if a mere sword could destroy stone. "Slaves are not informed of such things."

Malcolm heaved an overly-dramatic sigh. "And here I was, hoping you had all the answers."

"Hope will only bring you bitterness. You have lived long enough in this world that you should know this."

"You had to think long and hard about his nickname, didn't you?" Malcolm asked Varric. "Surely it didn't just leap out at you."

Varric chuckled. "Broody named himself, just like the rest of you did, even if you didn't know it." Then his mirth turned to seriousness as he looked in Líadan's direction. "Princess looks like she's seen a ghost, though."

"In a way," she said. "It's a long story." And it wasn't one she was sure she wanted to tell, not with how it involved Anders and his current struggle. One or more of their party might get overzealous, particularly the templar. Whatever loyalties Carver might have to his sister, he was still a templar, and Anders wasn't a relative. In addition to Carver, there was Fenris, who had already clearly expressed his desire to end Anders' threat. While Líadan didn't disagree that Anders—Justice—was slowly becoming more of an overt threat, she didn't feel he yet warranted the immediate action some of the others would want to take if they knew what had happened on Sundermount.

"I'm a story kind of guy," said Varric.

"And when I'm ready to tell it, I'll let you know." Her words weren't said unkindly, and she gave him a soft smile to reassure him that there weren't any hard feelings.

He nodded. "When that day comes, you can have all the drinks you want on my tab at the Hanged Man."

"You have a deal." The scene around her became sharper, now freed from the haze of memory, and she could still sense darkspawn. She frowned and glanced around them, ignoring the altar.

"I feel it, too," said Malcolm. His sword hadn't stopped glowing. "Sigrun, you want to help Fenris destroy the monstrosity? The rest of us can poke around outside before this elusive darkspawn raiding party drives us mad."

"Already driven Anders there," Carver said as they headed down the steps.

"Corypheus is driving him mad." Marian gave her brother a friendly slug in the shoulder. "Not random darkspawn. Possibly Justice. I'm willing to accept that as an explanation."

"It is the call of Corypheus that compels him, and his struggle against it that sends him to madness." The voice came from beyond a half-fallen wall, but Líadan knew who it was before he even moved into view. Malcolm's sword flared as Riordan became visible, looking no better than he had the first time they'd encountered him here. "His calls grow stronger as you break the seals. His commands harder to ignore. We cannot hide from him. He feels us walk where no step goes."

"What does that even mean?" Marian asked no one in particular.

"It means he must be killed. If you do not, he will not stop, and darkness will cover everything. The corruption will take everything. All will do his bidding. You will end up as I have, wandering for years in the darkness, searching for a light that will set you free."

Líadan wanted to take a step toward him, but the fear of what Riordan had become, the reality of what had happened when he'd left them—when they'd let him go—rooted her in place. "Riordan—"

"I am not him. Not any longer. All I know is that you must kill him, before…" In slow, jerky movements, Riordan looked upward, toward something in the distance that no one else was privy to see. Then his milky eyes widened, and he bolted, melting into the shadows as easily as a Dalish hunter.

She swore. So many years in the darkness, and Riordan kept returning, and they kept letting him go. But even if they caught him, he was so far into the shadows that there would be no return.

"Seriously? You let him go again?" asked Carver. "No wonder the Wardens never get anything done, letting ghouls like that just run off to terrorize whoever they like."

Malcolm rounded on him, a deeper anger than mere irritation marring his features. "Don't you even think about talking to me about dealing with ghouls. Not until you've been left to deal with an entire village of them. Not until you've had go back through a town you'd seen a week prior, full of living people, to search for whatever the darkspawn might have left behind."

"Survivors, you mean," said Carver. "Not that hard."

"Darkspawn don't leave survivors."

"Sure they do, just—"

"Darkspawn don't leave survivors in a town so blighted that the ground is black with corruption, where the very air is permeated with the taint that will kill you with blight sickness." Malcolm had tensed, his anger too visceral for mere frustration with Carver. It was something that stemmed from the Blight that rushed up and out, and Carver had unwittingly invited it. "You might find people who appear alive, who you think are living and breathing, but they're already dead. They just don't know it yet, and neither do you, because you aren't a Warden."

"Look, Warden or not, I was at Ostagar. They showed ghouls to the army. I fought darkspawn. I fought my way from the massacre all the way to my family in Lothering before we escaped to Kirkwall. Just because I'm a templar and not a Warden doesn't mean I haven't killed my share of darkspawn, or that I haven't seen my share of ghouls."

Malcolm, who'd seemed ready to entirely unleash his full opinion as Carver kept talking, opted to stare, instead.

"What?" asked Carver.

"Lothering, you said? You're from Lothering?"

"You mean I hadn't told you the story?" Varric asked as he wandered between them, presumably to break up the argument, but they'd already done it themselves. "I could've sworn I had. One of my best ones, really, their daring escape from the darkspawn sack of Lothering, journeying to Gwaren and finding passage on a ship to Kirkwall. There was even a dragon."

Malcolm shot Marian a questioning look.

"He's telling the truth about that one," she said.

Then Malcolm smiled at Carver and Marian, seemingly thoroughly happy, his anger forgotten, and no one other than him having any clue as to why. "That's fantastic," he said to them. "I never thought…" He shook his head, hint of a self-satisfied smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. "Good."

Varric craned his neck to look up at Malcolm. "Are you cracking up like Blondie?"

"Nope. Very sane."

"You aren't going to explain it, are you?"

"Not right now. We've got darkspawn and an ancient magister to kill, don't we?"

"Yes," said Marian, drawing out the word. "And, speaking of killing and darkspawn, how is it the darkspawn haven't killed that other Warden yet?"

The fleeting happiness disappeared from Malcolm's face, and he cast a troubled look toward the shadows where Riordan had gone. Then he let out a long breath of air and started heading for the main path, where they'd left their other three companions. "I'll tell you as we walk," he said once the rest began to follow.

Líadan caught up to him as they wove through rocks and ruins. "Are you sure?"

He shrugged. "It isn't like Anders hasn't already told practically everything. No point in holding much back, now. It'll just make it worse."

She glanced back to make sure the others were far enough behind that they wouldn't overhear a whisper. Satisfied that they were, she asked him, "Why that reaction to Lothering?"

"It's an involved, awful story that also has some embarrassing parts concerning me."

"It's got me curious."

"I'm sure it does. If you promise not to tease me about it, I might even tell it to you."

"You ask so very much of me."

He let out a soft chuckle, but they broke through the ruins and returned to the main path before he could reply. Sebastian caught sight of them, relief plain in his eyes. Anders was the same: crouching low to the ground, shoulders hunched over, his pallor pale and sickly, yet his eyes burned bright with the struggle going on in his head.

"I can't sense those darkspawn anymore," Bethany said as they approached. She gave Anders' arm a reassuring squeeze before she straightened and stood. "I take it you took care of them?"

"It was just one," said Líadan. "Riordan."

"Why would you call another Warden a darkspawn?" asked Marian. "I mean, I know he's a far-gone ghoul, but I think darkspawn might be a tad much."

Without consulting the others, Malcolm resumed their walk toward the separated tower section of the prison. "He might as well be one. That's the answer to your question. Usually when darkspawn feel a Warden, they immediately try to kill them. But once the taint is bad enough, once you're as far gone as he is, the darkspawn can't sense you as a Warden anymore. They think you're one of them, even more 'one of them' than a ghoul, and so they leave you alone. That's why they haven't killed Riordan."

The first observation came from Carver. "That's a pretty high price."

"It is," said Bethany. Then her eyes swept over the dank, likely tainted underground lake and the equally as dark and tainted surroundings. When her gaze returned to the ill-defined path ahead of them, it was distant. Like the other Wardens, she saw the fate that awaited her in the dark, in places much like this one. She tread on the ashes of her own pyre, even as she lived. "It is," she said again, in a plaintive whisper drowned out by the crunch of dirt under their boots.