Chapter 27

"The Exalted March of 4:96 Black was a lost war that left many templars without senior commanders to guide their rage. For some, hope becomes too long a process; the Chant of Light not an offer of faith, but a call to arms. When stressed to their limits, His Word becomes their weapon, not their solace.

Such it was for one company, now the Unspoken, their proud history stricken from Chantry record. Surrounded by anathema, shamed by the greater threat, they forced their interpretation of the Maker's will on whoever they could find. In the grey places between occupied lands and the laws of home, they twisted the Word into what they needed, and their brutal morality became extreme.

In rare moments of quiet, one Ser Valken marked his shield with the most violent and divisive of the apocrypha, the Dissonant Verses. In doing, he made their mistake literal: the Maker's Word as wall and weapon, crashing down on those who should be guided to His Light.

The Unspoken persisted until 5:11 Exalted. In the briefest of calm between the end of the march and the beginning of the Fourth Blight, the Chantry realized that many crimes once blamed on the enemy were the product of this wayward company. In an event that is now a secret shame, templars turned on their own, and the Unspoken were hunted and killed.

The destruction of the Unspoken was direct and thorough. Whispers remain, however, and some today are actually inspired by their brutal application of the Word."

—The Unspoken History of the Chantry

Malcolm

When Wynne finally spoke, it was more disturbing than the silence she'd kept before. "I'm going back to the Spire to find my son alive," she said, her will as hard as the Stone the dwarves revered. "And if he is not, I will see to it those responsible are dead."

Malcolm lifted an eyebrow. While he knew exactly how she felt—it wasn't like he didn't want to run straight to Kirkwall to rescue his own family—hearing those words from Wynne was disconcerting. It felt like the world wasn't quite right anymore, because he'd never thought vengeance was something she'd get along with, much less call for, not the Wynne he'd known for years.

But he couldn't leave Wynne to try to rescue her son on her own. It wouldn't be right. If he didn't help Wynne, he wouldn't be the father he'd want his children to see when he found them. He wouldn't be the man who'd married Líadan when he saw to her freedom. He wouldn't be the friend he'd been to Wynne and she had been to him through the years. Rightness aside, there was also the fact that Pharamond being dead meant Rhys was the most well-informed and instructed person on the reversal of Tranquility. If Malcolm was going to break his family out of the Gallows, then he'd be stupid not to bring Rhys to help, if the worst had happened before any of them had even known where they were.

Most of all, though, it was right. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he got his own children back at the cost of Wynne's own.

So he met Wynne's hard gaze and nodded. She nodded back, and that was all the conversation the two of them needed on the matter. Leliana was the second to offer her agreement, and then Evangeline followed. Shale's opinion went without statement.

Finn glanced between Wynne and the others. "Is this the part where we all agree to help? Because I'm in."

"Good," said Malcolm. "Would've been awkward if you weren't. We'd have to leave you in these nasty sewers. You'd die inside of an hour from being alone and without distractions from the filth."

"You might have to drag me back out there when it's time to leave." Finn looked over at Leliana. "I take it you have a plan?"

"You will not like it," said Leliana.

"Well, from what I read in the book about the Spire's construction, the Deep Roads entrance is near what's now called the Pit. It's a few levels below it, near where the sewer ends, which means whatever way we have of getting into the Spire and out of it involve levels of piss and shit that outmatch even my worst nightmares." Finn gave Leliana an expectant look. "Do I have about the right of it?"

"I… would not have put it quite that way, but yes. We will have to enter the Spire through the Pit, and exit Val Royeaux through the Deep Roads."

I'm not sure which will be worse," Evangeline said slowly, "the shit or the darkspawn in the Deep Roads."

"Maybe Finn will create some sort of magical cleaning spell by then," said Malcolm, who then looked over at Finn. "You could make a ton of coin from that, you know."

"Why would I need coin?"

"Considering we're going to be breaking someone—probably all the someones who survived that massacre back there—out of the Spire, I'm pretty sure you're going to be an apostate."

"Apostates are mages outside the Circle. I'm not leaving the Circle. We're freeing the Circle and then…" Finn frowned. "What are we doing if we get everyone out?"

"I do not yet know," said Leliana. She looked over at Malcolm. "Orzammar, perhaps?"

"Either way, Orzammar is probably where they'll end up, unless the Legion thinks somewhere else is safer. Ferelden might be a good candidate for a final destination, depending on what I can convince Alistair to do. It'll also depend on the state of Ferelden's army and how well we could hold off attacks from the Seekers and templars." Malcolm frowned. "Are you helping with the Divine's blessings or is Her Perfection going to be perfectly pissed?"

"The Divine spoke the truth when she said that mages are the Maker's children and to be cherished, not merely tolerated. Cherishing the Maker's children does not mean killing or punishing them for what they are. She would not see you harmed, yet the martial arm of the Chantry is comprised of those doing the harm. She is in a bind, as it were. You must trust that the Divine wishes you well."

"What about you? Can you be trusted to relay the Divine's true wishes?"

Before Leliana could answer, Wynne stood up, her blue magic flaring along the stave gripped in her left hand. "Enough!" She pointed the bottom of her stave in Malcolm's direction. It wasn't quite a threat with it not being the business end of it, but it was enough to make her startling point. "Either you trust her or you do not. Either you trust each one of us or you do not. The time for questioning whether or not that trust exists is over. My son, along with our friends and colleagues, are being held in the Spire. We do not have time to quibble over matters of trust when things have gone this far. Either decide for good if you trust Leliana, or walk away and leave us to plan."

He raised an eyebrow. Wynne had become a little unhinged, he supposed, for lack of a better word. Most likely it resembled how he'd been when he'd gotten the letter about his family, but he wasn't about to bring up the connection, not with Wynne this… very not-Wynne. And she did have a point, however vehemently she'd put it. If he didn't trust Leliana by now, then he didn't and he wouldn't. There wasn't a point to questioning her every statement, unless he wanted to waste time. He didn't want to waste time.

"Right, so," he said, addressing the others and very much not looking at Wynne's stave, "we won't know for sure where everyone's going until we meet up with the Legion, but the most likely initial destination would be Orzammar." He let out a quiet breath when he saw that Wynne had lowered her stave and her magic had faded. Good. She wasn't going to do something rash, like kick his ass. Because it seemed she could if she called up magic like that. Maker's blood, did she still have it in her. Malcolm looked at Leliana again. "How are we on supplies? If we're really lucky—not that I'm counting on it—we could free a decent number of people. It'll depend on how many the Seekers actually killed and how many of us manage to survive breaking out."

Leliana motioned around the room, indicating the trunks. "There are plenty of supplies. It is up to us to rescue enough mages to ensure they are not wasted."

"Far be it from us to be dead and have good supplies go to waste," said Evangeline.

Malcolm gave her a look of disbelief. "Did you just make a joke?"

"I am not without a sense of humor."

"I know, but… that was gallows humor. You hadn't expressed that before now."

"This is a unique situation."

"The righteous templar has it on that one, insipid prince," Shale called from the tunnel.

"Yes, thanks for pointing that out. I never would've picked it up on my own."

"I offer it my services at any time."

"Do we have potions and the like?" Finn asked Leliana.

"A good number, yes." Leliana went to one of the trunks and Finn followed. "I assume you wish to see?"

"What about lyrium? If we want Evangeline to be useful and not a sweaty, writhing, withdrawing heap on the ground, we'll need some for her."

"I procured a few dosing packs." Leliana opened another trunk, revealing rolled leather cases stamped with the Sword of Mercy. "It may be some time before the Lord Seeker realizes they are gone, considering how preoccupied he is now."

"Because we need him more pissed at us. Maybe he'll just kill us on sight," said Malcolm.

"Then it should endeavor not to be seen," Shale said from outside.

"Because that's so easy."

"Has it verified that the entrance to the Deep Roads does indeed exist? It would behoove it to check, otherwise it would most certainly be killed."

"Not yet, but I'm figuring the book was right."

Finn started passing out health poultices. "I wish I'd taken that book from the library."

"You mean you wish you'd stolen it." Malcolm stacked the poultices next to his pack, hoping the floor wasn't too terribly contaminated. "Because I doubt you'd be returning the book during our not-so-little rescue attempt." While it didn't really do anything constructive, giving Finn shit did a lot for normalizing preparations for a very abnormal event.

"It isn't stealing if you're intending to return it and then circumstances prevent you from doing so."

"Oh, really? Now there's a distinction because it involves you?"

Finn rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter. I didn't borrow the book, so we can't be sure exactly where the entrance is, which is the important topic instead of this so-called debate."

"I do not believe it was a debate," said Shale. "The insipid prince thoroughly trounced the finicky mage with its point."

Malcolm shot Finn a triumphant grin. Then he set to fetching out Cáel's book from his pack, which he placed on a trunk nearby. "Finding the entrance won't be the hard part if it's where it's supposed to be." He took a graphite stick from his belt pouch and then flipped the book open to the back, where there were blank pages.

Finn gaped. "First you steal the book and now you're defacing it?"

"It isn't the book you think it is, so shut it." Before he let the comment get to him—because it was Cáel's book, a far more important book—Malcolm set to sketching. Soon enough, he had a simple reproduction of the map that'd been in the Spire's book. "What I'm not sure about is where we are in relation to it." He pointed to where he'd drawn a symbol for a Deep Roads door. "But the Deep Roads entrance is there." Then he moved the tip of the graphite stick to rest on the barred symbol for a dungeon. "The Pit is there, or at least starts there. Cells might not go down that far, but that's where it connects."

No one volunteered any extra information, which he thought strange. He looked up at the others, and was vaguely insulted at their shocked expressions. "Oh, come on. You don't have to look that surprised. I'm not stupid. I did well in my lessons as a boy. And I'm pretty good at languages, which some of you seem to have forgotten even though you should know better. So it shouldn't come as such a shock that I can sodding sketch a map I saw a couple weeks ago. Maker. I didn't realize I had everyone fooled into thinking I'm an actual fool."

"We didn't say that," said Finn.

"Maybe not vocally, but your astonished looks said enough," said Malcolm. "And you, particularly, shouldn't even start with me since you practically accused me of being a dullard the first moment you saw me."

"I still don't believe you can read Elvish."

"My wife is Dalish, you dolt. I'd be an ass if I didn't at least make the effort to learn her language over the years. Just don't ask me to speak it. I do bad things to it. Very bad things." When no one else replied, he sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Sod you all." He pointed at the Pit again. "So, the Pit. That's where people are likely to be held, if I heard correctly?"

Evangeline cleared her throat. "If any of the mages are alive, including Rhys, they will be there. The Seekers and templars will assume escape attempts will come from above and not below, so the worst offenders are sentenced to the Pit, where there are the maximum number of levels between them and freedom."

"But only if you go up," said Finn.

She nodded. "Exactly."

"Yet we still do not know how to go from here to there," said Wynne.

"I do." Leliana indicated the graphite stick Malcolm held. "May I?" He wordlessly handed it to her and then stepped to the side. She drew what looked to him like a representation of a maze—wonderful—before a series of turns and curves of a tunnel that terminated at an X. "We are here," she said, tapping the stick on it. "It is not far, by distance, but the terrain is difficult. Over the ages, walls were built under the Pit and in the sewers in order to close off the older sections. We will have to get through those walls. Since they are crumbling, there are ways, but they will not be easy."

"The sister forgets that I can smash through walls," said Shale.

"Some of them could be load-bearing," said Leliana. "We would not want to bring the ceiling down upon ourselves."

"It makes a good point. I shall smash only superfluous walls."

"Thank you for your kindness, Shale."

"The things I do for you fleshy beings." Shale managed to sound incredibly put upon, something she was exceptionally good at.

"Now," Leliana said to the rest of them, "assuming we are able to navigate to the Pit, in order to reach the mages with minimal casualties on our side, we will need a diversion."

"Someone always says that," said Malcolm.

"It doesn't stop it from being true," said Finn.

Evangeline let out an audible sigh at their sniping before she offered her own suggestion. "I believe I have an idea that will work. "If Wynne and this golem of yours are agreeable, we can run to the upper levels and destroy the phylacteries. It will create a rather large and credible diversion, and it will also ensure that the mages we free cannot be tracked down."

"So we are saving them all? That's your plan, right?" asked Malcolm. "Just want that part to be absolutely clear."

"All who can be. They should not be imprisoned, nor should they be executed or rendered Tranquil. I will do what must be done to right this wrong."

"Afterward, we run into the Deep Roads," said Finn. "And hope we don't run into darkspawn."

"If we do, I'll kill them. That's what Wardens are for," said Malcolm.

"For now," said Leliana, "we will rest here. Recover strength, recover magic, and retrieve our allies tonight."

After food and water was distributed among them, they ate quietly, and then most spread out bedrolls in the limited space to take advantage of the last time they'd have to rest for a while. There'd be the rescue in the Spire that night, and then afterward, they didn't know what they'd find in the Deep Roads. They'd be blind going in, and for all they knew, darkspawn waited a short distance behind the doors, pitching them into a second battle soon after the first.

Malcolm was a little too keyed up to rest right away, so he grabbed the book he'd used earlier. Then he found the blank page opposite the one he'd marked up, and started in on a rough map of the Deep Roads that he'd either traveled, knew about from stories from the Legion or Wardens, or he'd seen in the Shaperate. Having it down on paper might help while they were in the Deep Roads, and if nothing else, he could keep track of what they did travel between here, Orzammar, or Kirkwall. There weren't many blank pages. There was a third one on the other side of the one he used now, and then inside the front cover and the page next to it. He'd have to make good use of it if they made it into the Deep Roads.

Eventually, he managed to fall asleep leaning against one of the trunks, and Leliana shook him awake by the shoulder some time later.

She handed him a waterskin as he rubbed at his eyes. "Shale found the Deep Roads doors where you said they would be. She checked when she brought the majority of our supplies there."

After a few sips, Malcolm capped the waterskin and gave it back to Leliana. "I didn't say they would be there. The book in the library said they'd be there." The rest of their party was still asleep in various positions in the small room, which he thought a little strange if they needed to finish preparations for their little raid. "Why'd you wake me up first?"

"I wanted to speak with you."

He raised an eyebrow.

If he hadn't been listening for it, he wouldn't have caught her small sigh of exasperation before she answered, "I wanted to tell you that you are not alone in wanting your family freed. You will have aid."

"That would be good, since I could get lost in the Deep Roads trying to get to Kirkwall. Or I might not make it if the Legion doesn't come with me and there's a large pocket of darkspawn. But that route will still take less time than if I went to Orzammar, traveled to a port, and sailed to Kirkwall. I think." He rubbed at his eyes again in an attempt to clear the sleepiness, and to break eye contact with Leliana since she kept being serious. He didn't want to be serious because then the urgency of everything would start getting to him. "What sort of aid are you talking about?"

"After we are done here, I will speak with the Divine about securing the release of your family."

Which, he figured, could've been done sooner by another Seeker. "Why couldn't Cassandra have done that? Why couldn't she have intervened while she was right there in Kirkwall?"

Leliana pursed her lips as she considered the question and the nuances of an answer. It was a look from her Malcolm had seen often enough, and the results usually resembled truth. "Even Seekers are required to ask the Divine for guidance in larger matters," she said after a moment. "Freeing your family would have caused a highly visible, fractious incident. Cassandra's debt to you was not so large as to excuse such an incident."

And instead of consulting the Divine, Malcolm knew, Cassandra had handed the matter over to Leliana. "What about you?"

She gave him a half-smile. "My debt is far greater."

"What if she tells you not to help?" What he didn't ask was what if the Maker somehow told Leliana not to help, because he already knew painful answer to that particular question.

"I will simply not ask until after I have sent the messages."

He laughed at the idea of Leliana rebelling against the Divine in her own little way. "Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission?"

"Yes, it would appear so in this case."

"And what all this means is that you aren't coming into the Deep Roads with us, I assume." While he desperately wanted her to follow through with what she promised, it would have been nice to have another person with prior experience in the Deep Roads along.

"No. I must return to the Divine's side during this perilous time. Orlais is descending into civil war. Grand Duke Gaspard has made his move against Empress Celene, and the Chantry will be caught in the middle, both geographically and politically. I also have messages I must send to Ferelden and to the Grey Wardens, no?" The small smile and lilt of humor reminded Malcolm of the Leliana he'd known during the Blight, before the Deep Roads and before Honnleath—the Leliana who'd been his friend. He wanted to believe that it was her, that this glimpse was her true self under however she conducted herself as a bard or Seeker or whatever she was.

"That would be nice, yes. You did promise just now."

"I did, and I shall carry out my promise."

He frowned at realizing that the last he'd be seeing of Val Royeaux would be the sewers and the Spire. "One more thing."

She quirked an eyebrow.

"If you can, could you find my horse? Probably Wynne's, too, since it's a Warden horse. They made me leave him at the stable in the Grand Cathedral. I might have threatened a stableboy with death should my horse come to harm."

"Then I suspect that your horse is in perfect health in the Cathedral's stables." She smiled fully. "I will find a way to return him to Denerim. Wynne's as well."

He nodded. "Good. He's a good horse. Hate to lose him."

Leliana studied him for a moment, the lighthearted moment slipping into the darkness around them. "You will not lose your family. You know this, yes?"

"I wish I shared your certainty, but I don't have chats with the Maker on the regular."

She sighed and straightened. "Just because He does not answer directly does not mean He did not listen."

He followed her example and got to his feet, shaking out the last vestiges of sleep and tiredness from his limbs. "Maybe I should talk with Andraste. Then she can go to the Maker about my problems. He's more apt to listen to her, since she's his wife and all. I mean, He turned his back on us, but I don't think He did to her." He frowned. "I never really got that far into the theology of it before. Makes your head spin when you think about it too much."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. First things first. We shall liberate our allies, and then we will see where we stand."

What Leliana hadn't mentioned, Malcolm realized a little later as they sloshed through freezing cold water of questionable origin—he'd seen less suspect water in the Deep Roads and he didn't even want to contemplate what floated in it—was how wet and cold their venture through the rest of the sewers would be. Not that 'sewers' wasn't a warning in of itself, but he'd assumed they were going right into the older sections, which he also assumed wouldn't be as actively murky or wet. And now he sounded like Finn, who hadn't stopped complaining about their circumstances. For once, Malcolm entirely agreed with him, and prayed that the water wouldn't reach beyond the tops of his boots. Maker knew how he'd clean them and his armor, much less the rest of what he wore if it got soaked.

Climbing the half-crumbled walls ended up a reprieve from the water, and Shale smashing through the other walls left the rest of them scrambling not to get splashed. Shale had also proven to be remarkably agile for a golem, given that she'd scaled half-walls with the rest of them. Once they were under the Pit, Malcolm caught sight of the dwarven runes for the Deep Roads doors when the light on Wynne's stave flashed farther down the tunnel. It was, he believed, the first time he'd ever been relieved to see them.

"Behind that wall are the first of three sets of stairs up to the Pit," Leliana said as she drew to a stop. "They are old. Shale, you will have to tread carefully."

"I shall step as daintily as the sister."

"You and Evangeline and Wynne will have to go through the old corridors I showed you once we get close. They will take you up into the Spire, closer to where the phylacteries are." She pointed at Finn after the others nodded. "Once we've reached the same floor as the Pit, I will need you to wait at the top of the stairs so that you can guide the mages down here once we've freed them." Leliana made eye contact with each of them, and then nodded. "All right? Now we shall go."

Evangeline, Wynne, and Shale split off after the second set of stairs, and then Leliana left Finn at the top of the third.

Malcolm and Leliana hadn't gone two steps before she halted. "We must wait for the diversion to draw off the templars," she said after he gave her a questioning look.

"You didn't cover what we'll do if they don't divert." He wished he'd brought it up earlier, since now it seemed a good question to ask, considering.

"They will be destroying phylacteries. The templars will divert."

"I hope so."

Andraste's britches, he hated waiting. It took everything he had not to fidget, and yet he still failed, earning him a frown from Leliana.

"You are going to have to use stealth," she whispered to him.

Something else she should have covered earlier. "We tried this during the Blight. It didn't work."

"It did not go that badly."

"Leliana, you threatened us with death because we wouldn't shut up."

"There will only be one of you this time, so perhaps we will have a chance of success."

He rolled his eyes. "How sneaky are we talking? Like, the keep my mouth shut and step lightly kind? Or become the shadows kind of stealthy? I think I can do the first, but the second is reaching."

"The first. Tread lightly and do not talk. I will do the rest." After a moment, she said, "We must move forward to take advantage when the templars leave. Stay quiet. Move only when I tell you to."

They crept up to where they could clearly see the guards, templars who stood in the middle of the room, quietly talking to each other and occasionally sending sullen glares toward mages in the cells. More templars patrolled through the rows of dank cells, which explained why the others felt safe enough to clump together and not actively watch the prisoners. Leliana unslung her bow and strung it, all without making a sound. Líadan could do the same thing, and it never failed to amaze Malcolm.

Shouts came from somewhere above, and Malcolm thought he could feel a slight rumble. Then there was more shouting and a panicked young templar came barreling down the stairs from the main floors of the Spire. "With me!" he yelled. "They're destroying the phylacteries!"

The templars who'd been serving as guards thundered up after him, leaving just one behind to stand watch. By the time their footsteps faded, Leliana had disappeared into the shadows. In the time it took Malcolm to blink, he heard the hiss of an arrow cutting through the air, and it struck the unhelmed templar in the eye. The templar stumbled back and Leliana leapt out of the shadows to catch him before he crashed onto the ground. She lowered him slowly, and when she was satisfied that he was dead, she snagged a key from the pouch on his belt. Then she grabbed the lamp the templars had been using.

"Let's go!" she called to him. "Time to see everyone out!" Then she ran from cell to cell, unlocking them one by one.

Malcolm followed, opening each cell door and ushering out the mage inside. Most were none the worse for wear, some angry, some dazed, but all sharp enough to run for the light of Finn's stave. He'd yet to see Rhys, and truly hoped the other man wasn't dead. Wynne already walked the tenuous line between anger and rage, and her son turning up dead would surely send her sprinting into the latter. Then he looked up to see a cell door on the end of the row, where Leliana hadn't yet gone, already open.

Had he seen someone open it? He thought he had—no. Maybe not.

He shook his head to clear it. Now he was imagining ghosts and spirits down here. There were enough real nasty things around; he didn't need to imagine them.

Still, it bore investigating. The other mages had figured out the pattern, and were bolting from their cells as soon as Leliana stepped away, so Malcolm wasn't needed there. He ran for the miraculously opened cell, bumping into Adrian as he neared it.

"That's Rhys' cell," she said.

The man laid out on the floor of the cell hadn't moved at all. "Shit," said Malcolm.

Adrian swore in Orlesian and went inside, Malcolm right behind her.

"He's still breathing," she said as she rolled him onto his back.

Given the state of Rhys' face, Malcolm hadn't expected it. Maker, but people could be bleeding awful. "Can you heal him?"

"It's far beyond my skill. He'll need Wynne, I think." Adrian's expression darkened. "I wish I knew who did this. I'd kill them."

"Pretty sure the Lord Seeker ordered it, so you could run and find him."

She shook her head. "No, not now."

All right, it frightened him a little to realize that he'd been kidding, while she'd considered it a valid option.

Since he didn't respond quickly enough, Adrian's frustration momentarily focused on him. "Help me pick him up. Between the two of us, I think we can get him out of here."

They managed to get one of Rhys' arms over each of their shoulders, and then stood up and dragged him between them as they slowly walked toward the stairs heading down.

Karl appeared at their sides. "I'll take over," he said to Malcolm. "You don't need magic to fight, which means you'll need to guard our retreat."

Malcolm watched them until they started down the stairs, and then ran toward Leliana. With the last of the mages heading downward, all they had left was to wait for the others who'd gone to the phylacteries. Deciding it was prudent, Malcolm took the free moment to strap on his shield.

More footsteps sounded down the upper stairs as someone descended from above. Leliana nocked an arrow. Malcolm drew his sword and moved to stand between her and the staircase. They'd have to get through him first, just as it'd been every other time they'd fought at each other's side. He adjusted his grip as he settled into a defensive stance.

The footsteps got closer.

"It is us," Shale said as she stepped into view. "Wasting its arrows and dulling its sword on me would be unwise."

"Nice diversion," Malcolm said as he dropped his guard.

Shale cackled with as much glee as she did when she killed a flock of birds. "We smashed them all! It was great fun. Now the templars are buzzing around like hornets who had their nest crushed."

"Then you must go," said Leliana. "Those hornets will not be far behind."

"It will take a moment," Wynne said as she followed Shale into the Pit, with a number of children behind her, enough that Malcolm stopped counting at ten. He must have made a face, because Wynne frowned at him. "We brought the ones we could. Leaving them here would be wrong."

"I'm not disagreeing," he said. He'd never object to rescuing children. He just hadn't expected them. "Come on, then." He motioned for the children to start walking to the stairs. "Haven't got all day. Or night, rather. Since it's night."

"I will guard you from up here," Leliana said. "Then I must take my own path of escape."

Malcolm exchanged a nod with her. When they reached the steps and he looked back, she was gone.

Wynne waited until they were halfway down the first set of stairs before she asked about Rhys. "Did you get him?"

"Yes, and he's alive," said Malcolm. "But he'll need your help. I don't think the Seekers were very kind to him, aside from the keeping him alive part." He wished he could've softened the blow, but he couldn't even make eye contact because she had her back to him as they kept running down the stairs. But he didn't have to see her face to know how upset she was. The new tension in her shoulders was enough.

Below, Finn and the other freed mages all waited in front of the Deep Roads door, every one of them laden with the stashed supplies. Malcolm ran up to them, sheathed his sword, and swept his hand over the middle of the doors, looking for the locking mechanism. The dwarves at the Vigil had taught him how to trigger it since it was a complicated set of actions in addition to deactivating a rune, and for good reason.

The lock popped and the doors groaned as they opened just wide enough for someone to fit inside. He drew his sword, even though he couldn't sense any darkspawn, and slipped in, with Finn right behind him with his lit stave.

Malcolm frowned at the gears. It was definitely one of the heavier doors. "Get Shale. We need to get these doors opened wider and she's the only one who can turn the gears fast enough."

"How will she get through in the first place?"

"She should be strong enough to widen them enough to squeeze through."

Shale, of course, took exception to being used for mundane labor. "It will pay for this, when this is over," she said to him, even as she turned the gears.

Once the entrance was wide enough for them to run in by threes, Evangeline began leading mages inside, a little deeper into the entrance so that the doors had clearance to close when they were all in.

Malcolm stepped just outside the doorway to hurry things along.

A yell came from nearby, at the bottom of the stairs, and then Nicanor sprinted toward the crowd of mages, shield out and brandishing his sword. He paused just long enough to throw a smite into the mages—the sodding children—who hadn't yet gotten through the doors, hurling them to the ground. He knocked out two with the hilt of his sword as Malcolm started running back.

"What is wrong with you?" he yelled at Nicanor, who seemed to pay no attention to him, so focused he was on knocking down children.

"Does it wish me to crush it?" Shale asked him as he moved. "I will do so gladly."

"No! We need you to help shut the doors! You're stronger and it'll go faster than us trying to do it."

"Then the insipid prince had better not die. The elf would be displeased."

Líadan would be beyond pissed if he died on her now, and Cáel and Ava would be—he refused to think about it. He wouldn't die. Simple as that, because that was totally how it worked.

"What's going on back there?" he heard Evangeline shout as he continued to shoulder through the crowd.

"Just a little bit of crazy!" he shouted back. "Nothing unusual!"

Nicanor managed to knock aside another of the children before Malcolm could get to him. Using his momentum and his shield, Malcolm bowled Nicanor over onto the cracked paving stones. But he didn't have enough time to deliver a killing blow, having hit Nicanor hard enough in his rush that he almost lost his own balance. As Nicanor rolled to his feet, Malcolm set himself between him and the recovering and retreating mages, giving them time to grab the downed ones and get to the Deep Roads. None ran back to help with magic, not when it would catch Malcolm as much as it would Nicanor.

It wasn't until the third time that Nicanor parried one of Malcolm's cuts with his shield that Malcolm realized the Lord Seeker wasn't exactly sane. He hadn't spoken until he struck with sword or shield, and every time he did, he recited a line or verse from the Chant of Light. Malcolm doubted Andraste would've meant for blows delivered by swords and shields to serve as punctuation for her Chant.

"Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of heaven!" Nicanor shouted as he hit Malcolm's shield with his own, hard enough to numb Malcolm's shoulder a little. As he drew away, Malcolm noticed that there were words engraved on the front of the shield. Lines from the Chant, it would seem.

Andraste had been an Alamarri warrior, Malcolm recalled, so Nicanor's actions could be perfectly acceptable to Her. If he died, he'd have to ask, if he ran across Her.

Either way, Malcolm didn't want to end up with a verse imprinted on his face because he hadn't paid enough attention to where the shield was going. He shook his head to clear it, and reminded himself that he wasn't allowed to lose.

The problem was that Nicanor knew what he was doing. He'd practiced this, because his words set a cadence that brought the expectation of blows and cuts falling at measured intervals, aligning with the stressed syllables of the Chant. But he broke up those intervals, feinting with some and striking with others or doing either of those in between, and Malcolm couldn't keep up. All he could hear was the Chant ringing in his head, declaring the rhythm of the fight.

Nicanor pressed his attack, and the volume of his voice dropped from the shout yet kept the threat. "Field and forest shall burn, the seas shall rise and devour them."

Malcolm thought nothing of his own offense and remained on the defensive, using sword and shield to parry as he tried to block out the beat of the Chant that was tripping him up.

"The wind shall tear their nations from the face of the earth." Nicanor swept out low with his sword at ground, and then his shield looked to be following.

Malcolm remembered the rest of verse. He had him. His attack wouldn't come from above if the verse telegraphed it—that would be too predictable. So Malcolm waited until Nicanor dropped his shoulder and shield to commit to the swing, and Malcolm dropped his own shield to block it.

"Lightning shall rain down the sky!" Nicanor raised his shield with rain, and brought it crashing down as he finished the line.

Left entirely open after his miscalculation, the shield hit Malcolm at full speed, sending him backwards and hard onto the ancient stone floor. Instinctively, he tried to break his fall with his arm and ended up with his shield tangled awkwardly underneath him right as he hit the ground. An audible snap echoed through his ears, and a hot streak of pain shot through his shield arm. He needed to get his arm out from under his body, but he'd have to drop his sword to do it, which would be stupid, because Nicanor was standing right over him.

Then the Lord Seeker pinned Malcolm's sword arm under his boot, solving that dilemma for him.

"They shall cry out to their false gods," Nicanor said as he reversed the grip on his sword and held it point down over Malcolm, readying to render a death blow coinciding with the end of the verse. Malcolm found himself strangely admiring the poetic touch, even as Nicanor finished the line: "And find silence."

And to think he'd always thought it would be darkspawn who'd kill him.

"The Light shall lead her safely," he heard from somewhere behind them. The glint of a sword as it swung through the light cast by the retreating mages' staves flew over him to catch Nicanor's sword in a bind. It redirected the blow away from Malcolm's chest and forced Nicanor into a retreat to regain control of his blade. "Through the paths of this world and into the next," Evangeline said as she advanced on the retreating Nicanor. "For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water."

Unlike Malcolm, her blade and her steps did not follow the cadence of the Chant, making her attacks unpredictable, as Nicanor's were.

"As the moth sees light and goes toward flame—" Evangeline struck hard against Nicanor's shield. She battered past it, spun, and was only just stopped by his sword. "—she should see the fire and go towards Light."

Their blades slid against each other as Evangeline and Nicanor both tried to take control of their opponent's sword. When their hilts came too close together, Nicanor tried to maneuver closer to Evangeline, but she leaped backwards in retreat to gain space. With her two-hander, she needed distance for a proper attack. Nicanor advanced to get inside her guard, his shorter longsword having the advantage in close combat.

He pressed his attack silently, shield and sword cutting in short swings due to the tight distance.

Evangeline parried each one. "The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death." Nicanor's next blow from his shield sent her to one knee. He lunged in a final attack but Evangeline caught it with the flat of her blade, one gloved hand on the grip and the other holding the opposite end. Then she stood up, using her feet for leverage as she pushed him off her sword. "For the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield—" She kicked at Nicanor's knee and he scuttled back to avoid her boot, putting enough distance between them that neither of them could land a hit. She chased him down, driving him closer to the shadows. "—her foundation and her sword."

Nicanor snarled at being driven off again. "Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children!" He halted and turned before the light ended, catching Evangeline in the shoulder with the thin edge of his shield.

She stumbled back from the force of the hit. Her arms spun to keep her from falling, and her guard dropped as a result.

"They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones!" Still in the middle of his turn, Nicanor slammed the hilt of his sword into the right side of Evangeline's head.

The blow left a dent in her helm and her eyes visibly opening wide and blinking to remain conscious. She tipped sideways, her balance sorely tried as she attempted to maintain it and resume her guard at the same time. She was still on her feet when Nicanor's shield flashed out again, hitting her other shoulder.

"They shall find no rest in this world, or beyond." He advanced into the lazy spin of her body, his sword whipping through her open guard.

She tracked the blade with clear eyes, and only just managed to bring her blade into a tight prime, the grip of her sword in front of her face, and Nicanor's sword on the other side as it skated off target. It brought their faces painfully close, and Nicanor growled at the missed opportunity.

Unlike Nicanor, Evangeline betrayed no anger, only conviction. "All the men are the work of our Maker's hands," she said quietly. "From the lowest slaves to the highest kings." Then she shifted her weight to her back leg. With both hands on her sword's grip, she sent Nicanor stumbling away again. "Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children—" She advanced on him, her steps matching the rhythm of her words, but her sword held only at a guard, with no hint of an attack. "—are hated and accursed by the Maker."

Nicanor noticed the immediate lack of threat and regained his composure, setting his feet on the edge of the pool of light from the mages' staves. "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter," he said as Evangeline continued to advance on him. "Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

Evangeline halted just within the range of where she could begin a successful lunge. Nicanor had retreated into a clear disadvantage, for an attack from her would either land or send him into the darkness of the tunnel beyond the retreating pool of light cast by the mages funneling into the Deep Roads.

But Evangeline didn't press the attack, nor did she feint one. "Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow," she said slowly, emphasizing each word, as the edge between shadow and the mages' light started to engulf Nicanor. "In their blood, the Maker's will is written."

As the darkness descended over Nicanor, he whirled his sword behind him at an unseen threat, calling out for whoever it was to face him.

"In the absence of light," said Evangeline, "shadows thrive."

And Nicanor abandoned his fight with Evangeline to fight what amounted to a shadow taking the vague shape of a man, barely lit from within itself, or maybe it was nothing and Malcolm couldn't be sure. Every time he thought he could see whatever it was out of the corner of his eye, he'd turn to see it fully, and then see nothing. It was maddening.

Yet, whatever it was, it was giving them time.

Evangeline paid no more attention to Nicanor, turning her back on him and his hopeless fight to help Malcolm to his feet. "Cole will keep him occupied. We need to get those doors shut."

"Who?"

"Explanations later. Escape now." She sheathed her sword, knelt, and gingerly unstrapped the shield from his arm before helping him up. He snatched up his sword with his right hand and winced at the scraping of shifting shattered bones in his left arm even as he considered how he'd pick up his shield. Evangeline noticed his look and grabbed his shield before Malcolm could decide. Then they bolted for the doors, where the last of the mages had shuffled through.

"No!" Nicanor shouted, but he didn't break off his battle with the shadow.

Malcolm and Evangeline pelted through the gap between the doors. A few of the mages had regained some of their mana and cast an arcane shield over the gap right after the two warriors were past it. Evangeline then joined Shale and some of the mages in turning the gears that would close the doors with finality.

Right before the doors closed, Nicanor yelled, "And down they fled, into darkness and despair!"

Then the doors clanged shut, sending a tremor through the stone under their feet, and silencing Nicanor's protests.

As she stared at the door, ignoring the encroaching darkness of the Deep Roads behind them, Evangeline's words started out as a whisper. "Yet the Maker shall be our guide. We shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond." Then her voice gained volume and confidence until it rang out, unquestionable even as Malcolm sealed them in the Deep Roads. "For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."