Chapter 7
"'Speak only the word; sing only the Chant.
Then the Golden City is thine,' spoke Andraste."
—Chant of Light, Verse Unknown
Malcolm
As they walked, silence clung to them like the green mist hugged the top of the murky underground lake. There was the scuff and scrape of boots on dirt and stone, thuds from staves used as walking sticks, the occasional unintelligible mutter from Anders, the creak of leather as gloved hands adjusted grips on swords. As they started up the tower, the mist dispersed, as did the quiet.
"That Warden, Riordan," said Sebastian. "You knew him."
It was a question hidden in a statement. The question wasn't if they'd known Riordan—that was obviously true—but asking for an explanation of how. Malcolm played ignorant of the actual, but unasked, question.
"Yes, some of us did." It failed to explain the complex relationship every Warden from the Blight had shared with the man. Even Wardens who'd served immediately post-Blight had been recipients of his sometimes underhanded, yet fair guidance. Riordan had been remarkably even-keeled, his calm temperament well suited to leading and teaching a group of rather young Wardens. Depending on the Warden, he'd been the teasing but wise elder brother, or a caring but demanding father figure. Losing him to his Calling had hurt them all, even though they'd known he needed peace from the nightmares, the corruption spreading through his skin and body, and the ceaseless call of the Old Gods. It was the knowledge that Riordan would gain his peace that gave the rest of the Wardens the ability to accept watching him part ways from them in the Deep Roads, knowing it was the last time they'd ever see him.
Except it hadn't been.
Malcolm didn't feel inclined to give Sebastian further information. Not because he didn't feel like talking about it, but because Sebastian wouldn't understand. He'd try, and while Malcolm knew the other man's attempts at easing others' pain were sincere, unless he was a Warden, he'd never truly understand in the deepest parts of his soul. And for that, Malcolm was grateful.
When it became obvious that none of the Wardens would provide more details, Sebastian cleared his throat, an attempt at dislodging a discomfort that refused to leave. "I am… sorry."
"So are we," said Líadan.
Malcolm didn't like how shaken she sounded, but there wasn't much he could do in everyone else's presence. She'd resent it, and he'd agree with her. The most he attempted was a reassuring look now and then. They'd been together long enough to recognize support, even if it was silent. Talking would come later, once the mission was done and they were safely on their way home.
Then again, the long trip up the tower's stairs might kill him before they could even get that far. It felt like the Tower of Ishal, minus the adrenaline rush that'd propelled him and Alistair up the staircases with barely a hint of exhaustion. Back then, they'd had the pressure of armies relying on them, a half-brother who'd gone along with a misguided battle strategy, and the presence of countless darkspawn. Besides the seemingly endless number of stairs set within a tower, the only other point of commonality was the mass of darkspawn that teemed everywhere—so many that by the time they could sense a darkspawn, they were looking at it.
Which was how they were taken entirely by surprise when a massive genlock burst through an archway, an equally massive shield covered with spikes held in front of him. It bowled over Sigrun and then barreled into Sebastian, one of the spikes spearing him in the thigh before it flung him backwards. Malcolm shouted for Anders to help as Marian gasped, while Varric hurled particularly inventive insults at the darkspawn. Sigrun regained her footing as Malcolm got the genlock's attention and drew it off. Unlike the archers, he had a shield to match the darkspawn's—granted, it wasn't nearly as massive—and stood a far better chance at blocking the spikes.
As he pushed against the genlock's shield, dents forming in his own dwarven-forged shield that he prayed would hold up to their legendary standards, he vaguely heard shouting from behind him. The words were hard to make out, and all he got was 'I will' and 'controlled.' But he wasn't given long to think about it as the genlock redoubled its efforts, the renewed clash of shields sending prickles of sharp cold running through Malcolm's arm and shoulder. If he insisted on continuing to go toe-to-toe with the huge genlock for much longer, they would go numb, and be in a lot more trouble. Another swing from the genlock's shield brought its face so close that the cloying rot of its breath nearly knocked him down as effectively as a well-placed blow. It was close enough that Malcolm realized that he'd never noticed before that darkspawn did actually sweat.
"Down you go!" Sigrun said from above him, where she was perched on the genlock's shoulders, her axes buried in each side of its neck. "You might want to move," she said to Malcolm as the genlock tipped forward, shield sliding from its hands as it went through its death throes. "Also, I think there's an emissary coming through. Felt magic. Made my skin itch. Can't imagine what it'd do to you surfacers." Then she continued riding on the genlock's shoulders as it fell.
Malcolm was starting to suspect Sigrun was showing off. Not that he'd call her on it, since she'd saved their collective asses too many times to count on this trip alone.
He ran ahead, his steps resembling more a complicated dance than a sprint as he dealt with poorly-trained genlocks and hurlocks in turn. Some were taken out for him, either from Liadan's arrows or Bethany's magic. He had just enough help from the other Wardens that he wondered where Carver and Fenris were. In the battles prior to this one, they'd joined in once the skirmish had advanced this far. Unable to look behind him for fear of being blindsided, he shrugged it off, managing to clear the area between him and the archway by the time the emissary slipped through. He hit the emissary with a smite, the darkspawn's eyes widening in true surprise as its magical attack sputtered and died. Then Malcolm knocked it to the ground with his shield before relieving it of the burden of being alive.
"Aw, you got to him before I did," said Sigrun.
"Be faster next time," he said to her. "Besides, you got the giant genlock."
She glanced behind them, over the trail of darkspawn bodies they'd left between them and the ranged Wardens in the rear, and over to the shield-carrying genlock. "Since when did they grow them that big?"
"No idea. And if we had any hope of finding the broodmother that spawned them, I'd say we go kill it."
"Justice! Bring back Anders!" Marian yelled.
"Shit." Malcolm turned and ran for where the rest of their group was. Fenris and Carver were holding Anders—no, Justice, judging by the bright blue glow coming from Anders' eyes and skin—barely restraining him from doing something probably awful. That also explained why they hadn't advanced to help, since they'd been too busy controlling one of their own. Bethany crouched next to Sebastian, alternating between working on his wound and glancing back at Anders.
"Your Warden abomination has ceded control," Fenris said as soon as Malcolm made eye contact. "You see for yourself how he has broken."
"I will not be controlled!" said Justice.
"You will when Carver's sitting on you," said Marian. "Now, Justice, give us our friend back. We'll keep him from doing anything stupid."
"If by stupid, you mean taking in a demon, you are too late," said Fenris.
"We'll kill him ourselves to keep him from Corypheus," Líadan said. "Like we'd do for any Warden."
Justice held her gaze for a long moment, and then Anders' body sagged as the spirit retreated. Carver and Fenris let him go, each glowering as they stepped away, while Anders crumpled to the dirt-encrusted stone. "Thank you," he said without looking up from his study of the ground.
Líadan looked at him, almost sadly, yet did not move forward to console him as she would have done years ago, before Justice. "You can thank me by not making us do it." Then she turned briefly to where Sebastian had landed and Bethany still worked on healing him. "You should go help Bethany. You're the healer. Heal."
"How's it look?" Anders asked Bethany as he slowly approached her, Sebastian, and Varric.
"He nearly suffered moral wounds," said Varric.
Marian frowned. "Don't you mean mortal?"
"No, it's Choir Boy. They're moral." Varric chuckled at his own joke as Marian rolled her eyes.
Malcolm felt a bit gleeful—only a little—that Sebastian had suffered close to the same injury he had earlier, when Sebastian hadn't warned him about the trap in time. "Maybe next time you'll stay far enough behind Sigrun so you won't get gored by a darkspawn shield," he said to Sebastian. Granted, Malcolm hadn't thought any darkspawn would be wielding a shield the size and design as the massive one that'd hit Sebastian, but still. Fair was fair. "I almost feel bad."
"Really?" asked Varric.
"No." He would've if Sebastian had been seriously wounded, but Anders didn't have the scrunch of worry he got between his eyebrows when he faced something difficult to heal. It meant Sebastian would be fine.
"In the future, I shall endeavor to stay in my place behind a Warden scout." Sebastian didn't look up when he spoke, grimacing as Anders manipulated the wound into the right alignment for best healing.
"Did you let that genlock through?" Marian asked Malcolm.
He looked at her in askance, wondering if he should feel insulted. "Of course not. I said bite his leg off, not pummel him to pieces."
She smiled. "Just checking."
Anders' magic dissipated, and he stood with a self-satisfied nod. "You'll be fine. However, if we're to fight an ancient magister with enough power to control a Warden's thoughts, I believe we all should rest for more than a few minutes."
"You'll get no argument from me." Sebastian carefully got to his feet, and then gave Anders a meaningful nod. "Thank you."
Marian watched Sebastian shuffle off to find a clear piece of ground to sit on, concern pulling her brows together despite Anders' pronouncement. Then she shook herself, as if dismissing worrisome thoughts, and looked at Malcolm. "So, why haven't the rest of you lost it?"
"I'm sorry?" asked Malcolm.
"Corypheus. Why haven't you or any of the other Wardens turned into a raving loony like Anders did? You can hear him, can't you? If you're all tainted, and Corypheus communicates through the taint, it stands to reason that you do."
"We can hear him, sister," said Bethany.
"Right! So, when can I expect the rest of you to turn on us?"
"I don't think we will," said Malcolm, wondering why he hadn't picked up on the obvious answer before. Avernus' augmented potion had to be why. Like it had practically banished the sentence of an early pyre, it seemed to also lessen the power of whatever call Corypheus possessed. So while Anders and others with the taint, like Riordan, felt compelled to answer, Malcolm and the others merely felt annoyed by Corypheus' ceaseless nattering. "It's to do with the difference in Joining potions. There's an augmented one now, which lessens the nastier effects of being a Warden. It all still applies, but over a longer time period. Every Warden here except for Anders has had the augmented potion."
"Did you not offer it to him any of the times you've been to Kirkwall?" asked Marian.
"They did," said Anders. "I wasn't sure how it would affect Justice, so I turned it down."
"To your detriment," said Fenris.
Anders didn't back down. "I've done and not done many things to my detriment. You repeatedly pointing it out won't change them."
"No, it won't."
Bethany looked between Anders and Fenris, and then to her sister, wordlessly telling her to change the subject.
Marian caught the message. "I did notice that you Wardens managed the darkspawn well without our help," she said to no one and everyone at the same time.
"Could be because it's our job," said Sigrun. "Killing darkspawn."
Carver, who had been staring down the short corridor and into the larger room laden with darkspawn corpses, joined the conversation. "You're a lot more efficient at it than I'd thought. I never saw the Wardens fight at Ostagar. They were up with the King, and we all know how that went."
"Poorly." Malcolm, finished with cleaning his sword and shield, settled on a broken wall and dug out his waterskin, along with the flatbread they'd cooked up the night before. "Well, unless you were one of the darkspawn. Then the battle went rather well, in retrospect. Killed the Wardens and the King in one fell swoop." He took a large bite of the bread to avoid mentioning anything else involving swooping, because he really didn't want to tell that story about Alistair, ever.
As soon as Malcolm had swallowed the bread, Carver asked, "Did you know him?"
"Him, who?"
"The King. Cailan, I mean. He was your brother."
"Half-brother. And no, I didn't know him. I just knew of him."
"But he must've known about you, to send you and Alistair up that tower instead of with the rest of the Wardens."
"Yes, his one shining moment of intelligence pulled from a mind about as smart as a sack of hammers. If he really had been smart, he wouldn't have been part of the lead charge, and definitely not with the sodding Wardens. We won't even get into how poor of a plan the entire battle was, what with not knowing how many darkspawn there really were until it became astonishingly clear that there was no sodding end to them. No, my glory-blinded half-brother was too determined to become like the legends of old to take the idea that his army was absolutely screwed as a serious outcome." He had more. He could honestly go on for hours, if ever given the chance, but Líadan had put a hand on his forearm, effectively reminding him that there was a time and a place for ranting about Cailan, and the present was definitely not either one.
"Whoa, don't hold back or anything," said Varric.
"Sorry, sore spot." He took a swallow of water that'd long gone warm, but at least it wasn't tainted. It was the little things.
"Really? I never would have guessed."
Malcolm would've continued to chat with Varric, because it was admittedly fun, but duty summoned him to his feet. He did groan, already weary of fighting, if not in body, definitely in mind. He dropped his waterskin, put on his helm, and picked up his sword and shield on the way to standing. The other Wardens in the group were doing the same, food and water set aside in favor of weapons as they rose to meet the renewed darkspawn attack. Really, it was just like the Deep Roads.
"Company, I take it?" asked Varric.
"And not the good kind," said Sigrun.
"Maker," said Carver. "Do they ever stop?"
"No," said Líadan. "Still up for clearing out the Deep Roads for us?"
He shook out his arms and grabbed his greatsword. "Let's just pretend I never made any of those cracks."
Bethany raised an eyebrow at him. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
"I say we keep this version of Junior," said Varric.
"Fine with me," Malcolm said as he walked by them, the other Wardens following. The rest formed up, with Marian advancing forward enough to take up a spot just behind Malcolm, alongside Fenris and Carver. Apparently, they weren't willing to let the Wardens take out the darkspawn by themselves this time. But by then, feeling the individual tainted bodies approaching them, Malcolm had realized they weren't actually darkspawn, not unless darkspawn had changed significantly. While he didn't relax his guard, he didn't feel as compelled to remind the non-Wardens to stand back.
Four Grey Wardens stepped through the archway, a smallish party for an extended trip in the Deep Roads. A mage had the lead, a human woman who looked to be close to Riordan's age when he'd gone on his Calling. She also matched the description Hildur had given, though Hildur had left out the part about Janeka being angry. Then again, the Deep Roads could do that to a person. Sigrun had thus far proved to be the only exception.
The mage halted and narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing down here?"
"Looking for you, actually," said Malcolm. He partly lowered his shield and relaxed his sword hand, but didn't put his weapons away. Determined Wardens were often intractable, and he couldn't be sure if Janeka had taken the altered Joining potion or not. For all he knew, it could've been Corypheus speaking through her. "So we could stop you from doing something stupid, like setting Corypheus free."
She scowled. "It is not stupid. I've studied notes from the early Wardens, and they were wrong. Whatever your superiors have told you, Corypheus isn't a threat—he's our greatest opportunity. His magic can be harnessed, and I know how to do it."
"Sure you do."
"This is a chance I will not see squandered, especially not by a Warden so young in the Order. Either join me or run back to your Commander."
He reminded himself not to let her digs get to him. He'd fought in a Blight, and she hadn't. "Nope, we've got other things to do down here, like killing Corypheus. Besides, no one deals with darkspawn. I bet you can guess why."
Janeka didn't bother hiding her snarl of frustration. "It isn't—"
"Because it's stupid," said Malcolm.
She massaged her forehead with her fingers before trying another method of persuasion. "Perhaps you need to gain some perspective. Harnessing Corypheus could mean an end to Blights. An end! How many died in Ferelden alone?"
"Lots." Malcolm did his best not to take her comments personally. She couldn't know he and Líadan had fought in the last Blight. Easily rectified. "I know this because I saw a lot of them, which gives me a pretty good reason for not even attempting to make a deal with any darkspawn. Because they're darkspawn."
Janeka tightened her grip on her stave. "You claim to have fought in the Blight? Do not think me foolish."
"Too late," said Marian.
She went ignored. "I am not going into this blind. I have a spell that can bind Corypheus to my will."
Anders laughed. "Right, and I've got a bridge to Kinloch Hold to sell you."
"They rebuilt it, actually," Sigrun said. "I saw it when I was out there with Hildur. Nice bridge."
"I do not have time for your frivolities," said Janeka. "If you seek hinder us, if you seek to kill Corypheus, we will not hesitate to kill you."
Behind her, the other three Wardens were readying weapons, and Malcolm heard the people behind him doing the same. He smiled and raised his sword and shield. "I'm all about the hindering."
"Princeling! You couldn't even consult the rest of us?" asked Varric.
"When did you become a Warden?" asked Líadan.
"Point taken."
"The magister must die," said Fenris.
"I agree," said Carver.
Malcolm knocked his sword into his shield, indicating his readiness. "Come on, then," he said to Janeka. "We haven't got all day. Magisters to kill and all."
"Creators," Líadan said under her breath. "They're Wardens, not bandits, in case you forgot. Not easy to fight."
It wasn't even partway through the fight when Malcolm was ready to concede Líadan's point. He'd never really fought other Wardens outside the sparring ring, and hadn't really comprehended how hard they were to defeat, especially veterans like their opponents. Like him and his fellow friendly Wardens, they never seemed to wear down, every hit jarred barely less than a Qunari, and the magic nipped and stung. He'd lost count of the number of arrows he'd deflected. The sneaky fellow had scared the daylights out of him when he'd disappeared and reappeared out of nowhere. His shoulder ached from the blows he'd blocked from the burly Warden's two-handed war hammer. An arrow hit Carver on the inner portion of his elbow, piercing just far enough into the brigandine that it hit flesh. Even though it'd been shallow enough a hit that Carver literally shook the arrow from his arm, he hadn't stopped bitching about it. At least Sigrun and Varric's cursing had more merit—they kept getting tripped up by the darkspawn bodies from the earlier skirmish.
Malcolm also discovered that Warden mages regenerated their mana a lot faster than darkspawn emissaries. The only person he'd ever witnessed replenishing their mana quicker than Janeka had to be Morrigan. Though, Bethany looked more than a little ragged, which to Malcolm pointed more toward Janeka having stolen mana rather than drawing on the Fade, herself. Either way, he went to smite her again, only to get bashed in the face by the hilt of a dagger the moment he opened his arms. While the blow didn't do much damage, thanks to his helm, it did send him stumbling backward, his shield thrown up in front of him. Sigrun rolled under the other Warden's guard and hamstringed him as he advanced on Malcolm.
When he started swatting at the nuisance as his legs buckled from under him, two separate arrows and a crossbow bolt hit him, putting him down for good.
"That's one!" shouted Varric.
"I will not allow another." Janeka had already jammed a dagger through her palm before she spoke, and her spell was cast before the others even realized she'd used blood magic. Then it didn't matter as much that she had, because she'd called on the help of four revenants to replace the lone Warden of hers they'd managed to take down.
It seemed more than a little unfair.
"This would be the bad side of blood magic," Malcolm said after he managed to smite one of them. He wondered if he should just run up and smack one of the others with his shield right when it put down its sword. It'd be in the middle of casting, so he'd stand a chance.
"There's a good side?" asked Anders.
"Daisy," said Varric.
Fenris leapt forward and relieved the first revenant of its head, which left three more revenants, plus the other three Wardens.
"Go ahead," Malcolm said over his shoulder as he edged toward one of the revenants. "Argue with that one. I dare you."
"Right, antagonize the abomination," said Marian. "Do you have a death wish?"
"Not anymore. Haven't for years." They'd been some good years, admittedly. He was happy enough to have lived to experience them.
"But you had one?"
"I got better."
"How?"
Malcolm fended off a rather quick swing from the burly Warden, which sent him wildly off his chosen course of dealing with a revenant. "Riordan, coincidentally. Knocked some sense into my bleak, addled head during the Blight."
"Literally?" asked Varric.
He shrugged. "Close enough."
"Princess," Varric said to Líadan, "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there's something seriously wrong with your husband's head."
"I've been saying that for years," she replied.
"Just once, a little solidarity would be nice," said Malcolm.
He was pretty sure he could hear the smile in her tone, even though he couldn't see to confirm it. "There was," she said. "I had solidarity with Varric. He's very astute, you know."
"Are you heroes of the Blight? Truly?" Janeka shouted over to them from where she'd taken up casting near a wall.
"You've got two of them standing—well, Princeling is ducking at the moment—right here," said Varric. "Why? You have a change of heart?"
"Possibly. If two who have recently fought an archdemon and won believe Corypheus offers no hope that he could provide the means to an end of Blights, then perhaps I am not as certain as I once was."
Malcolm, who was currently shoving all his weight into his shield, which was subsequently pushing against a revenant's shield, which was surprisingly stable and not going anywhere anytime soon, felt like the others could stop their chatting and get around to some sort of peace accord, even though she'd capitulated suspiciously fast. "Feel free to call off your revenants," he said to them. "Sooner the better." He glanced over at Janeka long enough to see her signal her remaining Wardens, and they turned their fight onto the revenants.
Energy ripped apart the very air, and Malcolm turned just enough to see Justice's blue light shining from Anders' eyes. For once, Malcolm didn't object, because Justice could deal some serious damage to the revenants, more than Anders could—more than any of them put together, really.
Except that Justice didn't go after the revenants, even as they continued to pummel members of their party.
"You will not be allowed to betray us!" Justice declared, and then slammed magic into Janeka's chest, its momentum alone throwing her into the wall at her back, while the magic itself crackled through her body until she slumped lifelessly to the ground. "Your blood magic will do evil no longer."
The only upside to Justice's interference was Fenris killing one of the revenants while it was distracted by Justice.
"I think we've a problem with your abomination," said one of Janeka's Wardens.
"Heroes of the Blight or not, after that, I'm ripping out your friend's innards," said the other. "Janeka and I had the same Joining."
"Shit," said Marian.
At the same time, Carver said, "Feel free. It'll save us the effort."
Even with Janeka and two of the revenants gone, the fight got nastier. Unless they were using a ranged weapon, the moment any of them took their attention away from the revenants to fend off one of Janeka's Wardens, one or both of the revenants used their incredibly strong pull ability. Malcolm managed to save himself by grabbing onto the archer Warden's leg, and then only narrowly avoided losing a hand by rolling toward Justice. Fenris blurred in and out of reach, while Marian anchored herself to Carver.
"You know, Blondie," Varric said as he dodged the burly Warden's sword, "when you get the chance to avoid a fight with Grey Wardens, most people take it, because they're really hard to kill. I don't even have to make up those parts of my stories."
"They aided a blood mage. They could be her thralls. They must not be allowed to further the blood mage's agenda."
"Her agenda was to help us," said Malcolm.
"Her turnaround could not be trusted."
"So you'll do what? Kill all those you believe are unjust and leave the Maker to sort them out?"
"Yes."
"Do you even realize how shortsighted that is?"
"Argue later," said Líadan.
One revenant caught the burly Warden unawares, and used his shield to crush his chest once he dragged him close enough. It seemed to feed on the kill, its next pull twice as strong as any of the ones before it. Sebastian dodged an arrow from Janeka's lone remaining Warden, who was practically hugging the walls of the room. His dodge made him bump into Bethany, who tumbled forward into the revenant's draw. It pulled her into the range of its weapons before anyone could react fast enough, hitting her legs with its heavy shield as she stabbed any part of the revenant she could reach with the bladed end of her stave. While that revenant wore down and started to topple, the other moved to take the advantage.
"Bethany!" Both Marian and Carver bolted forward to help their sister. Carver cleaved the wandering revenant in two on his way to free his twin. When the last of Janeka's Wardens turned to see what was going on, Fenris ghosted over and quickly dispatched him.
"Begone from this realm!" As Justice bore down on the last revenant, it looked up in alarm, abandoning its bludgeoning of Bethany in favor of meeting the other Fade spirit head-on. Their magic crashed together, the crackle tingling through Malcolm's teeth. It wasn't the warm magic felt from Bethany, or the sharp magic that Marian used, nor was it the rough magic Líadan occasionally summoned, for none of them felt unsettling. There was something wrong with the magic arcing across the room, unbalanced and dangerous.
As the two Fade spirits trapped in the mortal realm fought, Marian and Carver dragged Bethany to the opposite side of the room, with Sebastian constantly apologizing for knocking her down, even as he shot arrows at the revenant. Fenris had fallen slack against the wall, his lyrium brands blazing so brightly they almost burned.
The revenant bowed under the weight of Justice's attack, and his fate was sealed once arrows and bolts continued to find gaps in his armor, and Malcolm's sword and Sigrun's axes sliced through what was left. It tumbled over and then disappeared, leaving only its armor and the scent of burned lyrium behind.
But Justice didn't leave. He stood in the middle of the room, glowing and useless, while Bethany grimaced her way through the pain from her mangled legs, while Fenris couldn't seem to muster up enough energy to even stand, while everyone else had cuts and scratches and bruises and punctures that drained them, little by little. Sodding Justice, who'd decided without anyone else's input that they should fight everything instead of accepting allies where they could find them, no matter that they used blood magic or whatever else Justice deemed unworthy. Meanwhile, the longer he stood there, all mighty and powerful and righteous in his justice, the more the rest of them suffered.
"Justice," said Malcolm, "can you heal?"
Varric snorted. "Now that's a question."
"I cannot," said Justice.
"Would you mind giving us Anders back, then? Because, in case you forgot, he can heal, unlike you. And since you're the one who made us fight the other Wardens, the least you can do is let the healer heal our wounds."
"That… would be just." The Fade's light vanished from the room, leaving Anders in control of his body once more. "Malcolm, could you please stop mouthing off to the easily irritated spirit? I don't know if you've noticed, but he doesn't like you."
"I don't like him, either."
Anders sighed as he went to help Bethany. "How are your legs?" he asked as he knelt beside her.
"Not as crushed as I thought they'd be," she said, sounding in far better spirits than anyone could have expected.
"I'll get them un-crushed as soon as I can, then." Anders went to work, and if he noticed the glowers sent his way from Carver and Fenris, he didn't acknowledge them. Once he was done, they all rested for a while, regaining whatever energy they'd lost in the successive battles, and Bethany tested the soundness of her freshly-healed legs. On one trip around the room, she snatched up her stave from near the revenant's armor, and then kicked its helm across the room for good measure.
Malcolm chuckled at the satisfied expression on Bethany's face, and then Marian's comment about Anders having done a fine healing job judging by the strength of the kick. With Bethany up and sure-footed once more, they were ready to continue onward and get the mission done and over with. Sigrun led the group, with Sebastian following a decent distance behind her. Marian brought up the rear, taking advantage of the opportunity to speak with Anders. Malcolm, who'd been trailing the pack as he checked over the room one last time, saw Marian push Anders against the wall. The amusement that'd shown on her face earlier was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, determined anger.
"You tell Justice, right now, that if he pops out again today, I'll kill him. Unless we're in dire need of his particular abilities—and one of us will let you know when and if that occurs—he needs to let you stay in control. You need to stay in control. We need our friend, the healer. Not some Fade spirit who gives approximately no shits about our lives."
"He does, actually," Anders said quietly. "Why do you think he hasn't killed Merrill, even though she's a blood mage? Why do you think he helped in the Fade? Even as misguided as he was, what do you think drove him to kill Janeka? He wasn't just protecting himself or the world at large—he was protecting his friends. The problem is that he goes beyond that once he's out, turning from Justice to Vengeance, and it gets… bloody, afterwards."
Marian shoved him one last time, unmoved by Anders' explanation. "Keep him contained, Anders. I don't want to kill you or run you off. I don't." Then she spun on her heel and stalked away to catch up with the others.
Anders sighed and followed, raising an eyebrow at Malcolm as he approached. Then the two of them took the rear guard together. "She doesn't believe me," Anders said after a few steps.
"In her position, would you?"
"No, of course not. But it isn't exactly fun from my point of view. Everyone's acting like they've lost their friend, while all along, I'm standing right here."
"The problem is that the person standing there isn't always you. And while I can see Justice also viewing us as friends, he's like a normally nice friend who turns nasty and violent when he's drinking, except we can't see the drinking, so we never know who to expect."
"And the whole time, I'm watching him be an utter ass, and I can't do anything about it."
"Either way, keep him under wraps. I don't think Marian was kidding."
"She wasn't." When he said it, Anders almost sounded relieved.
Nothing down in this Warden prison felt right. Nothing was as it seemed, Corypheus wouldn't stop shouting about being able to control them—patently a lie, since they'd yet to fall under his control—Anders was losing himself, people had gotten hurt, they'd had to fight and kill other Wardens, and then there was Riordan.
He visited them again, stepping out of the deeper shadows as they exited at the top of the infernal tower, where the sky was finally visible. The lot of them scowled at realizing that night had fallen already, the moon high on the horizon, the chill of the wind welcome over the sweat and thirst from their journey up all those stairs. Beyond that, beyond the stolen day behind them, beyond the stolen death of a former mentor, beyond harsh breathing and cursing and tiredness so deep that none of them believed they'd find rest again, the call from the sarcophagus beyond the bridge in front of them howled. Every Warden stared at it, shocked at the strength of it, the loudness of it, and for those who had fought the Archdemon in the last Blight, how discordant it was.
The Archdemon's call had possessed a certain amount of musicality. While alarming, actually hearing the call had never been unpleasant to the ears, as it were. The same did not apply to Corypheus. It didn't help that he was also incredibly insulting, and if he called Malcolm a worm one more time, he'd kill him. He'd kill him even if he hadn't been planning on it in the first place. Now that he could see the sarcophagus, Malcolm did feel the first hints of apprehension. It was easy enough not to think about the difficulty of their task when they weren't directly faced with it.
They were no longer afforded that option.
When he looked at Riordan, he could see no trace of the Warden he'd known. He couldn't feel anything beyond darkspawn from him.
Which was exactly what he was. Malcolm straightened, realizing that Riordan wasn't an ally, not like he'd been. Like Janeka, more than Janeka, he was being influenced by Corypheus. Riordan's—the darkspawn's—eyes widened in realization as Malcolm stared at him. Then the ghoul reached over, snatched the stave Marian had brought with her for breaking the seals, and bolted for the sarcophagus. Marian shouted and sprinted after him, sword out and cursing as she informed him that he'd stolen her father's staff, and she'd be damned if she'd let him keep it.
The rest gave chase, barely noticing the bronze griffon statues as they ran across the ancient bridge, trying to ignore the scream that the calling had become. Inside the rotunda, Marian grappled with Riordan, the stave between them as they both refused to let go. Neither archer had the confidence of hitting a proper shot on Riordan, for the fight's movement was too unpredictable. They twisted the stave between them and tried to fully wrestle its grip from the other. The struggle brought them closer to the sarcophagus, Marian cursing the entire way, and Riordan working with silent determination. A few steps from the sarcophagus, Riordan spun and let go, which sent Marian crashing into it. She managed to keep her head from smacking hard into the sarcophagus' lid, but as she twisted to regain her feet and locate Riordan, her cheek and ear scraped along the stone.
Within seconds, where Riordan had gone became the least of their worries. He was a ghoul, not a magister. The true threat was in the opening sarcophagus.
As Marian tumbled down from it, the lid crumbled inward before the pieces were blown outward. The air from the blast knocked each of them to the ground. As they all got to their feet, bruises refreshed and aches awakened, what Malcolm assumed to be Corypheus literally rose out of the open sarcophagus. He looked familiar. He looked like the Architect, like Hildur had said he might. The Architect was an oddity of a darkspawn, powerful and sentient, yet stupid enough to wake an Old God and believe he wouldn't taint him in the process. In the end, he'd started the Fifth Blight.
From what Malcolm was starting to piece together, this particular magister had helped start the First Blight.
"Be this some dream I wake from?" the magister asked as he regarded them with eyes that were both betrayed and menacing. The mere potential of his power throbbed in the air around them and turned the crisp night to stifling. And yet, his utter bewilderment was almost endearing.
"You're a darkspawn," Marian said to it as she hefted her sword. The stave had been passed off to Bethany. "Darkspawn. You spread the blight. Ring a bell?"
"And I thought you were bad," Líadan said to Malcolm.
Bethany sighed. "Meet my sister."
The magister's cry of dismay as he raised his arms to the sky and beseeched Dumat helped further the believability of his almost tragic plight. "The city, it was supposed to be golden! It was supposed to be ours!" An arcane energy shield shimmered around Corypheus as he lamented at being cursed and abandoned.
It meant they had to wait.
It was ridiculous, really, and Malcolm knew that if he told the story to anyone other than someone who'd been here to see it, they wouldn't believe him. He certainly wouldn't.
"Is that the Architect?" Anders asked as Corypheus continued his railing.
"No, it's not," said Malcolm. "The Architect was creepy. This guy is irritating."
Sigrun frowned. "I'm not sure. He's almost like a lost puppy. Except a puppy that has acolytes and slaves."
"That would be a Tevinter puppy," said Anders.
"Or a mabari with the finest of pedigrees, maybe," said Malcolm.
"Possibly the Orlesian Empress's puppy," said Marian. "I could see that."
"How can you talk about puppies at a time like this?" asked Bethany.
Malcolm glanced between her and Corypheus, the true danger the magister presented not really having sunk in until they'd all felt what power the creature pulled from the Fade. "It's what's keeping me from crying and running away in sheer terror. I'm starting to wonder if the Wardens kept this guy sealed up for two thousand years instead of just killing him because they couldn't kill him. And we're going to have to kill him. Or try to." He frowned at the rising fear. "I'm going to keep thinking about puppies."
"Perhaps it would help to think of puppies as his weakness," said Sebastian. "After all, the Maker's light can only shine so far."
"Choir Boy, did you just crack a joke?" asked Varric.
The arcane energy dissipated, and then Corypheus whipped around, the betrayal vanished, the confusion lifted, and he bore down on them. "I am an acolyte of Dumat. You cannot stop me. If I cannot be brought to the light with you, I will gain it through you!"
They ran, scattering to hide behind griffon statues and low walls as the magister rose higher in the air and formed a burning white ball of arcane energy between his hands. Malcolm had no idea what kind of magic it was, other than it would probably cause a great deal of pain if it hit any of them. He traded a look with Carver, who crouched behind a statue one bay over from where Malcolm hid with Líadan and Anders. The look communicated enough that they'd smite the bastard and take it from there.
They did. They brought bolts of righteous spirit energy down from the sky, and the magister laughed at them. "Dumat has granted me his powers, worms," said Corypheus. "You cannot take them from me."
"It seems Choir Boy might've been more right than he thought," Varric called out from the bay to Malcolm's right.
"Again," Carver said to Malcolm. Then he shouted to Sebastian, "Use those fancy Andraste's arrows that my sister picked up for you last month. Hopefully that gold wasn't a waste."
The smites hit Corypheus, and this time his shield flickered just long enough for Sebastian's shot to hit the magister. Then the magical defense dropped entirely, forcing Corypheus to walk on the ground. Malcolm, Carver, Fenris, Marian, and Sigrun dashed from their hiding spots, swords and axes out. Arrows rushed through the air from Líadan and Sebastian. Some were plucked from flight by the magister's weakened magic, others hit invisible barriers he'd put up, and a few managed to hit him. Corypheus flicked his wrist, and the earth burst from the ground, forming pillars directly in front of Malcolm and Carver. With no time to swerve, the pillars knocked them on their asses as the others continued onward.
Sigrun leapt and got part of an axe into Corypheus' back before she was tossed off. She curled up to absorb the impact and rolled away to recover after she hit the floor. Jaw clenched and eyes burning with a deep hatred Malcolm had never seen before in any mortal, Fenris marched right for the magister, with Marian directly behind him. Right as they both swung, Corypheus' magic returned in full, and the arcane wall popped into existence. Its return flung Fenris and Marian nearly as far back as the earthen pillars that had stopped Malcolm and Carver.
Then came the fire. The only sign of what was to happen was a faint glow on Corypheus' palms, and then the entire room filled with flames. Swirling vortexes danced through the air, and the warriors caught out between the alcoves and the sarcophagus were forced to dance along with them or risk being burned. As it was, they couldn't escape it entirely, the stones burning at the soles of their boots, the lashing tendrils of fire leaving long scorch marks on their armor as they darted away, the padding under their armor sodden with sweat leeched out by the rising heat.
Carver stopped behind one of the pillars that'd taken him and Malcolm out earlier, pausing just long enough to hit Corypheus with a Silence. While it wasn't much, it was enough for the flames to gutter out, and the smites he and Malcolm immediately sent Corypheus' way brought the shield down again.
It went like that for a while, getting tiny hits on Corypheus, wearing him down so slowly that they wondered if they'd wear down first. It had been a long day, a long slog through a Deep Roads prison, and this magister seemed to be able to draw the entire Fade itself to fuel his spells.
Bethany had managed to use a spell on Corypheus that had some degree of effect, something that slowed him down, and almost pulled him to where she wanted him. It proved a good distraction, but had the unfortunate side effect of drawing a lot of Corypheus' attention. Carver played the shield, and Fenris along with him, keeping the majority of the magister's attacks from hitting the less-armored mage. Malcolm kept himself between the other ranged fighters and the magister, in the event that Corypheus had a sudden change of heart in targets. Even then, things looked decidedly not good—enough that Malcolm started to question having been sent on the mission at all.
"Just in case we die," said Líadan, who appeared to be having thoughts along the same lines as he was having, "I think Ava has the Gift."
His chest constricted and his throat burned, and he wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion, singeing from the flames, or what he'd just heard. "You're telling me this now?"
"I didn't want to believe it."
Malcolm glanced over at her. Líadan's concentration hadn't wavered, and she was still sending arrows Corypheus' way, to either harm him or to at least draw some of his ire from Bethany. Even Sebastian paused for an instant to give Líadan an incredulous look before he returned to his own bow. Malcolm shook his head and checked to make sure he was still in position to intercept Corypheus. "How exactly did you come into this magical knowledge?"
"Please don't use puns like that ever again," said Varric. "They don't suit you."
"Cáel had been tormenting her all day," said Líadan. "It took her until evening, but she retaliated. Lost her temper and pushed him with a little extra… I'm sure it was lightning, in retrospect. She also may have lit his shoes on fire, but Cáel wouldn't say either way, and disposed of the evidence."
He grasped at the idea that she was trying to calm his mind by distracting him. "You're serious?"
"If any time was a time to be serious, it's now. So, yes."
"I can't believe you're having this incredibly serious conversation right now in the middle of a battle," said Marian. "Even I have standards."
"I'm just pissed that I can't take notes," said Varric.
Malcolm ignored them. "I honestly thought it would be Cáel."
"I thought it would be both of them."
"Could we concentrate more on the killing of the powerful darkspawn, please?" asked Anders.
"That must be Justice," said Varric. "He never likes gossip."
"I am proud that she stood up to her brother, even if it was magic," said Líadan.
"I'm surprised she didn't pop him sooner," said Malcolm. "I would've expected a fist, though. Maybe a good kick. That'll teach him, I suppose. Maybe." He thought about their son's temperament, and changed his mind. "Eh, probably not."
"Again," said Anders, "I suggest we get back to killing the ancient magister."
"Oh," said Marian, drawing out the word as she did, "you sound like Fenris."
Anders straightened in outrage, but kept his lean body behind a statue, even as he maintained healing auras around Bethany, Fenris, and Carver. "I did no—all right, that did sound like him."
Bethany let loose a flurry of spells, one right after another, slowing Corypheus so much that he practically went still, then pulled him closer before using her magic to pick him up and slam him into the ground.
"Oh! I like that one!" said Marian, who proceeded to use the same spell, bouncing Corypheus twice for good measure. Malcolm and Carver took the opportunity to throw more smites his way, even as Corypheus drew earth up around him in a ring, walling them out. Knowing they had the advantage, they ran for the earthen ring, only to find it empty.
"That's cheating," said Sigrun. "You can't just disappear in the middle of combat."
"You do it all the time," said Líadan.
"Yeah, but mages aren't supposed to. Like I said, cheating."
A rumble sounded above them. Fog had gathered below the ceiling, churning as it transformed into the dark clouds of an impending storm. Hairs on any exposed skin stood on end as the air charged with the promise of lightning. A downdraft of chilled air swept over them, and crackling could be heard in the hidden depths of the clouds.
"Hide," said Anders. "Hide, now. Get under anything you can. If you've got a helm and are stupidly not wearing it, put it on. Either get cozy with Malcolm or get as close to me, Marian, or Bethany as you can. This'll hurt, no two ways about it."
Corypheus laughed from where he'd appeared, hovering over his sarcophagus.
Hail plummeted from the clouds, hail in the form of icy spears, sending the group scrambling for cover. Malcolm held his shield over his head, the spears adding more dents to it, and it'd already taken a beating over the course of the day. Líadan kept close, and Sigrun squeezed in as much as she could. Marian threw out an arcane shield, as did Anders and Bethany. Fenris sprinted for Bethany's shield, grimacing as one spear grazed his back. Another went through his heel, sending him sprawling before he could get to cover. Sebastian ran from Anders' protection, the hail leaving pits and dents in his armor as he dragged Fenris into Anders' shield. A spike went through the gap between Carver's gorget and spaulder, ignoring the brigandine and driving into his shoulder as he tumbled into the safety of Marian's arcane shield. Varric pulled Carver's leg in before it could get pinned.
Marian swore as she bent to examine her brother's wound.
"I'm fine," said Carver.
She rolled her eyes. "You're so full of shit. Have you looked at your shoulder?"
"Rather not."
Malcolm, Líadan, and Sigrun ducked into Bethany's area of protection, breathing heavily. Though Malcolm's back hurt where he'd been hit by hail, he was grateful that his armor had prevented him from being run through. He'd take bruises over being skewered any day. Marian had removed Carver's helm in order to get a better look at him, and Carver's skin was ashen. Anders couldn't sustain his shield within Marian's—Malcolm recalled a mage explaining to him that arcane shields touching could result in very bad things—but even the short gap between his and hers could mean grievous injury for the unarmored mage. The same went for Bethany, which meant neither of the mages with good healing skills could help Carver. Marian could heal, but hers would be more to stabilize with a wound like Carver had. They'd be lucky to get him patched up, much less get him able to summon a smite.
Marian paused her study of Carver's injury to look over at Anders. "Hey, Anders?"
"Yes?"
"I think it would be all right if Justice came out to play with Corypheus. And by 'play,' I mean kill him."
"He's been suggesting the same."
"Go for it," she said. "Please."
Anders walked as close to Marian as possible, and then Sebastian helped Fenris stand, Fenris leaning on him heavily in order to keep his heel off the ground, and the two of them covered the few short steps to Marian's arcane shield. Fenris avoided further injury, but a spike of ice went through the brigandine of Sebastian's unarmored arm. His jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth in pain, but impressively did not swear.
Once Anders' shield was free of others, he started for Corypheus. The shimmering of the shield faded away, yet the ice spikes parted around him like a river would around a rock. The blue light from his eyes and skin flickered dangerously in the dim light of the conjured storm. "Enough," he said, his voice rife with the power of Justice's absolute confidence in what was right. "Your kind has done enough. You engaged in slavery. You engaged in blood magic. You engaged in the oppression of others. You desire to do the same again in this realm. I will not allow it."
Corypheus stared at the upstart victim. "What god be you to declare such?"
"I am Justice."
"Dumat—"
Corypheus never had a chance for a final appeal to his own patron god. Justice reached out, grabbed Corypheus' foot and plucked him from above. He slowly dragged him to his level, ankle to knee, from knee to grasping his robes, and then held him by the neck in front of him.
"Justice will not be denied." Without looking, Justice snatched a spike of ice in mid-plunge, and then drove it up through Corypheus' mouth and into his head before tossing him down like a sack of garbage.
The storm dissipated immediately, leaving a clear night with a nearly full moon outside the walls of the topmost room. Inside the mind of each Warden, the call fell silent.