I had to revise the previous chapter somewhat. Darksky01 pointed out to me that Bronwyn had heard of the Architect back in Chapter 25. However, Bronwyn heard the story once when she had a lot on her mind. She never thought of it afterward, and so it took a bit for "The Architect" to ring any bells. Furthermore, she doesn't want to reveal any more Grey Warden secrets to Loghain. However, since she has heard the story, and Fiona's conjecture that the Architect may have actually started the Blight, her views about anything he says will be colored accordingly.
Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 80: Architect of Nightmares
"We are here."
Morrigan's voice had never sounded more soothing and melodious. The boat was swaying, tied up at the river docks at Vigil's Keep. Bronwyn blinked awake to see the witch already dressed and leaning over her. Idunn was sprawled, still fast asleep, at the foot of Bronwyn's little cot. Just past the curtained doorway, she could hear Aveline and Carver, conversing in whispers. Outside the filthy little window, dawn was pink and pearly in the heavens.
She felt... alive. No, not merely that, but nearly bursting with life and strength. Would she always feel like this? That would be... marvelous.
"I'm awake. Where's Scout?"
"Already ashore, and about his business. Your devoted arl, too, has dashed off, rousing his castle folk to give us breakfast. 'Tis a delay, but not an unwelcome one, perhaps."
"Not at all. I'm starving. And Nathaniel is not my arl."
Morrigan only chuckled. "Anders slept uncommonly peacefully. I noticed that in the rest of you. The secret medicament is a success, then?"
Bronwyn could have wished Anders to the Void for his blabbing tongue. She raised an ironic brow Morrigan's way, and the witch laughed outright.
"I dreamed," Bronwyn said, "but it was nothing I could not master."
"Well, 'tis to be hoped that is your motto in all your endeavors. Come, the arl longs to impress you."
It was all very nice: porridge and eggs and bacon; hot fragrant tea or small beer for those who preferred it; quickbread with plenty of honey. Adria, with her dog Topaz, promised to take care of the two puppies. Nathaniel gave Bronwyn the place of honor at his right, while he tried to persuade her that he should accompany her.
"It's not safe, Nathaniel!" she said. "You and your men could be Tainted. We should show you what it looks like down there, just so you'll know not to touch it. Any signs of Taint need to be burned away. And wear heavy gloves, for Maker's sake! But don't think of coming with me. It's just too dangerous."
"It's not too dangerous for you!" he shot back, his voice urgent. "It sickens me, what you've had to bear while most of the nobles pamper themselves in Denerim! Why should you be the one to suffer all this alone? Let me help you!"
Men and their pride, she sighed to herself. At that, he was right. He was trying to do his duty, which did not surprise her at all. Seeing him now, sitting so close to her at breakfast, reminded her sadly of what might have been. She did not regret marrying Loghain for a moment; but Nathaniel had once had her love, and it was pleasing to see that she had not chosen poorly, even when very young.
"I need to speak privately with my people before we leave," she said. "May we have the use of a room?"
"Of course."
Not everyone was eager to be dragged from the breakfast table, but after thinking it over, Bronwyn decided they needed to know what she could remember about the Architect. Could she include Morrigan and Zevran? Perhaps she should. King Maric had known it, and so could they. They knew so much already...
They gathered in a small parlor, some still munching, some with steaming mugs in their hands.
"Shut the door. This is private, and not to be discussed with anyone else. Ever," she emphasized. "I am including Morrigan and Zevran, because if we actually meet this Architect creature, they need to understand the kind of threat we're facing. I'll tell the other Wardens later. There was no time last night, and to be honest, I needed time to put my thoughts in order."
"So he's a talking darkspawn?" Carver blurted out. "is that even possible?"
"It seems so. A talking darkspawn mage." She paced a little, trying to remember details of a story she was told several months ago, in a time of high stress and distractions. Loghain's version had recalled some details to her.
"Save your comments until I finish," she said. "The fact is that I was told about the Architect the night that two Orlesian Wardens came to our assistance and arranged the Joining for you, Anders, and the others who joined with you. Senior Wardens Riordan and Fiona had secretly come the border to help us," she told the others. "That, too, cannot be revealed, or it could cost them their lives. Morrigan... Zevran... I am entrusting you with Warden secrets. Don't look scornful, Morrigan. This is dangerous information. We don't want the Weisshaupt Wardens coming in force to hunt you and Zevran down. Believe me, it could come to that, if anyone else found out that you know what I'm about to tell you."
She saw the solemn faces before her, and went on. "All right. It was a hectic night. The two of them were trying to tell me—and Alistair, too—everything that we needed to know about the Wardens in an hour or two. Our duties, how to kill the Archdemon and what it meant to the Warden who did it, The Calling, the daily physical needs of Wardens... all that loomed larger than the story Fiona told, but now that story is in our faces, and has to be dealt with. It goes back twenty years, to the time the Wardens were first readmitted to Ferelden. Loghain knows part of this story, but only the bits that affected King Maric. He doesn't know the darkest, most disturbing parts."
She took a deep breath. "King Maric went on an expedition to the Deep Roads with the newly readmitted Grey Wardens early in Dragon 9:10. Senior Warden Fiona was one of the party, and could tell me all the details. Duncan, a young recruit in those days, was there, too. The Orlesian Warden-Commander, Bregan, had heard the Calling, had departed for the Deep Roads, and was captured... by a talking, thinking darkspawn emissary, who called himself the Architect. His sister, Genevieve, newly-appointed Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, was determined to rescue her brother. She originally asked Loghain to go, since he had Deep Roads experience in the place where Bregan was last seen, but he refused. King Maric, however, was eager for the adventure.
"So the Wardens, along with King Maric, descended into the Deep Roads, and eventually found the lost Warden. This Architect creature had at least temporarily won Bregan's trust. Bregan told the Architect some of the most guarded secrets of the order: among them the various locations of the sleeping Old Gods."
This stopped the show. Even Morrigan's eyes grew wide. Then they narrowed, no doubt wondering how to get hold of this information.
Ketill stood up and bellowed. "The Wardens KNOW where the Old Gods are! Why the bleeding Stone don't we just go get 'em?"
"Quiet!" Bronwyn shouted. The angry, frightened, or bewildered shouts subsided. "Let's not give the rest of Vigil's Keep something to talk about. No, obviously I don't know such things. After the fiasco I'm describing, I doubt that the information is given to Warden-Commanders any longer. Bregan was taken in by the Architect, who claimed to have a scheme that would end the Blights forever. It was nothing less than a plan to meld the darkspawn with the other races of Thedas by forcing the Joining on every human, dwarf, and elf. If the darkspawn took us for other darkspawn, the Architect thought we'd no longer have any reason to fight."
A deep silence. "That," said Cathair, "is the silliest, ugliest, most impractical idea I have ever heard."
"It would kill at least two-thirds of the population," Idunn pointed out. "And sterilize the rest. Yeah, brilliant, if you mean to give the darkspawn the world."
"And what about the Qunari?" asked Toliver. "I mean... are they part of the deal, or not?"
"How were you supposed to get people to take the Joining, anyway?" wondered Carver. "With fancy talk and a big punchbowl? What about children? It'd kill them!"
Bronwyn put up her hand. "Did I say I thought it a good idea? It's not my idea, and I'm giving it to you fourth-hand anyway. I don't think this Architect really understands anything about us. Fiona said he was an immensely powerful darkspawn emissary who could talk and reason. That doesn't mean he has practical knowledge about how the races of Thedas live and think. Imagine a scholar, living alone, building castles in the air... or creating pure theories with no basis in fact. However, in Bregan's state of deterioration, it might have seemed a beautiful dream. At any rate. he knew the location of the Old Gods, and told the Architect. Fiona thinks it possible that the Architect actually began the current Blight with a misguided attempt to free the Old God Urthemiel. Obviously, things did not go according to plan."
"Or maybe they did go according to plan," Aveline pointed out shrewdly. "The Architect may not realize how subject he is to the Old Gods' call himself."
"Or perhaps," Morrigan suggested, "he imagined that he would somehow be allowed to share in the Archdemon's power. And was quickly disabused of the notion. Hence the hiding on the other side of Ferelden. I see no reason to take anything the Architect said at face value."
"I agree," Bronwyn said. "I think that if we are confronted by this creature, we should be wary of its promises. Bregan, once his sister was also captured by the Architect, repented of his collaboration, and both he and she were killed. By the time Loghain saw Bregan, the Architect had done things to him that made him look completely like a darkspawn. Some of the other Wardens were also drawn in by the Architect. It ended at the the Fereldan Circle of Magi. The Architect had been in contact the the Orlesian First Enchanter there, one Remille. Remille cared nothing for the Architect's grand schemes, but saw a chance to murder King Maric and destroy Ferelden—"
"I heard about this!" shouted Anders. "I wasn't there when it happened, but Niall was, and he told me about the Orlesians attacking King Maric at the Circle. A lot of good mages were killed trying to fight Remille, who was a complete snake. Teyrn Loghain turned up just in time to save the King. I never heard about any darkspawn, though."
"They feared to create a panic," said Zevran, thinking it over. "And the Wardens, too, would want to keep the scandal quiet, since one of their own was so grievously at fault."
Bronwyn thought that more than likely. "Loghain saw the transformed Bregan, and wished to question him, but the man begged to be put to death, and Maric allowed it. Apparently the Architect made his escape—"
Anders' face was white. "—which means that there is a link between the dungeons of Kinloch Hold and the Deep Roads!"
"These sodding darkspawn buggers are everywhere," grunted Ketil.
It had not occurred to Bronwyn to make that deduction, but of course Anders was right. Another thing they would have to check out. "Possibly," she suggested, hoping to calm him, "the Architect made use of a tunnel known only to himself. Perhaps he devised it, long ago. Very likely he closed it off, when he made his escape, in order to prevent pursuit. No one has seen any sign of darkspawn there."
"But what it also might mean," Zevran pointed out, "is that this Architect is a cunning fellow who always has an escape route planned. It would be wise to watch him carefully, if we meet."
"An excellent point," Bronwyn said. "If we cross his path, we won't let him get away. But that's enough story-telling. It's time to hunt him down. Follow me outside. The entrance to the dungeons is in a building just outside the Inner Keep."
"You mean the entrance to the dungeons isn't inside the castle?" asked Aveline. "That's... peculiar."
"It is," Bronwyn agreed. "It's one of the quirks of Vigil's Keep. Of course, over the thousands of years that a fortress has stood on this spot. there have been many Vigil's Keeps. Probably some of them were over the dungeons and crypt."
Off they went, out the main entrance, across the inner courtyard to the place where Nathaniel and his twenty picked men were waiting. Then they descended ramps and staircases that took them deep into the earth. Bronwyn would have to rely on Idunn and Ketil's stone-sense to keep track of time and direction. Nathaniel was a quiet presence at her side. He was not wrong to support them, of course. She had no idea how powerful this Architect being was. If he got past the Wardens, someone else would have to stop him.
Nathaniel smiled at her as they passed an iron-bound door. "Do you remember that?"
She laughed. "The entrance to the family crypt. Your mother didn't want us playing there. Did you disobey her?"
With a shrug, he admitted. "Now and then. I got in a few times, but only to the first level. Mostly I explored the dungeons. I never went very deep, but I did go past the cells and storerooms. I never saw any connecting tunnel to the Deep Roads."
Varel's map, however, was accurate. The Arling of Amaranthine was a land of caves and mines. Deep below the surface, in the lowest and most ancient of the dungeons, they found where a rockfall had collapsed a wall of stone. Beyond it they found a system of minor caverns: no large chambers, but tunnels large enough for getting about.
"These are mines, Commander," said Ketil, his fingers running over the chipped stones. "Ancient mines. I guess they dug for iron here. Probably this was originally worked out of Kal'Hirol. The humans didn't know the dwarves were here, and the dwarves didn't know...or at least didn't care...about the humans. When Kal'Hirol fell, these tunnels were left to the darkspawn."
Yes, darkspawn had been here. They found foul black patches of Taint. Bronwyn pointed them out to Nathaniel and his men.
"Don't touch this with your bare hands. It has to be destroyed by fire. If your armor comes in contact with it, wash it with strong liquor."
After a very long walk, Bronwyn sensed darkspawn. Scout stiffened, his ears pricked up. Moments later, a gibbering band of hurlocks rushed at them from a side-tunnel. Nathaniel's bow twanged in Bronwyn's ear before she could turn to face them. Between their archers and their mages, the darkspawn were down and dead before they could cross blades with them.
There were other dangers: cave-spiders and deepstalkers. Nathaniel's men found the spiders more immediately alarming, but soon learned not to underestimate the nasty little deepstalkers with their clawed hind legs.
"Are these things edible?" a soldier asked, holding up a brace of limp bird-like bodies.
"I've eaten them," Bronwyn replied, "but they're not my favorite."
"Deepstalkers can be tasty," Idunn disagreed. "You need to marinate them in ale for a long time. Then you roast them quick over a really hot fire."
Zevran laughed. "We could have used your cooking tips in Ortan Thaig!"
Anders agreed. "Someday you could write 'The Grey Warden Cookbook.' You'd be famous."
The laughter died as the Wardens sensed more darkspawn at a distance. Wherever they were going, it must be the right direction. They stopped for food and water, and refilled their lanterns. Then they trudged on, now and then puzzling over the direction. Not often, though. Their path was marked by Taint. Ketil examined the stone walls with a critical air.
"Did you see that layer, Idunn?" he whispered. "Silverite!"
The mining tunnels were opening out here and there. They came to a large cavern with signs of recent darkspawn visitation.
"How close are we?" Nathaniel asked.
Ketil eyed his map. "It's hard to say, my lord. Another hour like this to the mine entrance, but we're bound to hit the mine itself before them. I'd say we'll want to stay sharp."
Bronwyn had paused, and put up a hand. She pointed before her and a little to her left. "Darkspawn that way," she said quietly.
This proved a much larger band that the last: at least twenty mixed hurlocks and genlocks. Two powerful alphas led them, and roared as they charged the Wardens. Nathaniel's men held, but they were not enjoying themselves.
...Until after it was over, and they could congratulate themselves for being genuine darkspawn slayers. Bronwyn called another break, and some of the men talked quietly amongst themselves, with an occasional sharp, nervous laugh. They moved on once more.
The air was changing, becoming better circulated, less stuffy. There was a new smell in it, too; an elusive odor that Bronwyn could not quite catch past the reek of darkspawn. Darkspawn spoor and the relics of ancient mining led them on.
Bronwyn sniffed the air again. She knew that smell: musty, fusty, a little like the thousands of gull nests along the Cliffs of Conobar. Something else there, too: blood... and...
Dragons. It smells like the place where the cultists bred their dragons. How can that be?
Clambering up a slope, they found themselves in the mine workings proper.
"This is a rich mine," was the opinion of Ketil. He produced a small rock hammer from his belt and tested a crystal. "And in prime condition. You get some good miners in here, my lord," he said to Nathaniel, "and in no time you'd be bringing in profits from silverite, malachite, and copper. A fine place. I wouldn't mind settling down here myself. There's some lyrium here, too, though your Chantry might go after you if you tried to sell it to anyone but them."
"Very likely," Nathaniel agreed dryly.
Bronwyn put up her hand for silence. The smell of dragon was very strong, and the sensation of darkspawn as well. How could darkspawn breed dragons? And for what purpose?
For the same purpose that the cultists had bred them, of course: to make themselves more powerful from the ingestion of dragon blood. If this Architect were truly intelligent, it might well have learned something about that old lore. This was very alarming. Drinking dragon's blood might account for the very powerful warrior Danith and her party had fallen afoul of. Scout growled softly, at the very edge of hearing.
She whispered. "There might be dragons ahead, or dragon young, at least. They are bigger than mabaris, and vicious. Be on your guard."
Zevran's nostrils dilated as he sniffed. "I, too, smell dragons. After the dragon cultists, I cannot be mistaken."
Nathaniel's men look worried, but they followed her, all the same. As for Nathaniel himself, his grey eyes narrowed in determination.
The tunnel took a sharp turn to the left, toward the dragon stench. Being attacked from behind by dragons would be an extremely bad situation. Better to face them now. Ahead was more light: a lot more.
Beyond the sharp turn, someone had dug through a masonry wall, leaving a large hole. Bronwyn stepped through it onto a splendid high gallery. Below her was a vast chamber. The ceiling was almost lost in shadows, but the lighting hinted that it was magnificent, vaulted and carved in low relief. Above her head were decorative window embrasures, admitting patterns on slanting sunlight into the space. Traces of paint remained, and exquisite old lamps hung on long chains. This did not look like dwarven construction, but like Tevinter work. In fact, it resembled some of the ancient halls of Fort Drakon. Perhaps the mine had first been delved in Tevinter days. A small spiral staircase at the side led down to the main floor.
"Stay up here with the archers, Nathaniel," Bronwyn murmured. " You'll have a clear vantage. Cathair, you too. I think something unpleasant is close by. At least it can't be a High Dragon. We'd see it by now."
Deep in the shadows, there was a ominous rumble. "When it shows itself," Bronwyn whispered to Anders and Morrigan. "We'll hit it with some bombs. Then freeze it. Do everything you can to immobilize it or slow it down."
A shadow unfurled itself itself from the rest, and glided to the floor. A dragon, young and active. It glared at them, stretched its long, long neck, and then uttered a bellowing challenge. Nathaniel ordered the archers to loose, and in seconds the dragon was feathered with poisoned shafts. It shuddered and clawed at itself, trying to dislodge them. Aveline, Carver, and Toliver, who had the best throwing arms, threw Dworkin's blasting grenades at the creature's feet. Three quick flashes and explosions sounded almost as one. The dragon flinched, screaming, its hide perforated and its muzzle bloody. Working in brilliant concert, Anders and Morrigan ran out and caught the creature in with intersecting arcs of frigid air. The dragon halted, temporarily turned to ice.
"Stop shooting!" Nathaniel ordered. "We don't want to hit the Wardens!"
"Follow me!" Bronwyn shouted. A rush and a scramble. There was not a moment to lose. Within moments the dragon would shake off the hex, and lash out fiercely. They knew to go for the vulnerable spots: joints, eyes, mouth, the softer hide under the legs and behind the wings; the wings themselves. Carver's greatsword tore through a wingsail, grounding the beast permanently. Ketil's axe hacked at the tendons of a hind leg, crippling it. Scout darted in front, distracting the dragon's attention so completely that it had no idea which enemy to fight first. They were doing well—really well; right up to the time the second dragon alighted behind them. In the noise of battle, Bronwyn did not hear Nathaniel's cry of warning.
She heard the roar, though, and looked over her shoulder, into the other dragon's menacing stare. It snapped at her, and she cuffed at it with the hilt of her sword. Morrigan saw it, wide-eyed, and shot a paralysis spell at it, which the dragon shrugged off.
Nathaniel ordered the archers to follow him. The only way they could be of further use was to shoot at close range. They rushed forward, bows drawn. Nathaniel put an arrow in the dragon's eye. It screeched, and turned his way, inhaling deep to roast these foolish upstarts.
"Oh, no, you will not ignore me!" Bronwyn muttered. Dancing in front of the dragon, she grabbed at its neck with her arm, and stabbed it in the throat with her dagger, twisting the blade. The dragon flapped its wings, knocking her aside like a toy. It withdrew with a hoarse squawk to the ceiling. The archers tracked it even after it was no longer visible. Nathaniel loosed an arrow and smiled grimly at the answering squeal.
"Finish this one!" Aveline bellowed, stabbing at the first, wounded beast. "Finish it!"
Before they could manage the killing blow, the other dragon dropped down on them again, spewing flame.
The injuries would have been worse without helmets. Scout squealed, his fur sizzling. Morrigan was burned, too, and instantly shape-shifted to a hawk. She took wing, creeling, seeking the safety of the vaulting. The dragon hesitated, intrigued by the flying prey, but also eager to avenge its nestmate, now in its last throes. It shot an inaccurate, half-heated blast of fire in Morrigan's general direction, and then its head swiveled to confront the warriors before it. The hole Bronwyn had dug in its neck glistened wetly.
Morrigan alighted on the high gallery and resumed human form, casting a constricting hex at the dragon that slowed and weakened it. It shrieked its outrage, the noise echoing from the stones. While its head was up and its wing out, trembling for balance, Bronwyn vaulted over its shoulder, and leaped onto its back as she would a horse's, wrapping her legs around the neck and hacking at it with her blades. Morrigan ran down the spiral staircase, waving her staff, utterly appalled.
"Bronwyn, are you crazy?" Idunn bawled out. Scout barked wildly.
The dragon, torn with pain, gathered itself and its wings beat down, knocking Carver to his knees. Even with the added weight, it managed to get airborne. Enraged, sluggish, it sought to free itself from its burden, but Bronwyn clung on, digging her dagger in for stability, while she sawed at the neck. It was an awkward angle, and she longed for one of the clever dragon-hunting spears she had commissioned from Master Wade. Never again would she leave Denerim without one!
It was wild, delirious, thrilling to fly through the air, looking down at her friends below; soaring up within feet of the ceiling. The dragon veered close to the wall, trying to scrape her off, but flinched away when Bronwyn stabbed it again, this time on the other side of the neck. For a moment, Bronwyn imagined what it must have been like to be a Warden of old, mounted on the back of a griffon, flying to meet its mortal enemy in midair.
Nathaniel gritted his teeth, his bow tense in his hands, shaft still on the string. He dared not loose the arrow, and like everyone else on the floor, he watched Bronwyn's mad dragon ride with in wretched suspense. The creature was weakening, but if it fell, it would injure or possible kill Bronwyn with it. At last, it squalled horribly, with impotent, sluggish flappings. It skimmed along the wall and then scrabbled with its claws at an overhang. With a curious whine, it slowed and then convulsed. Bronwyn's legs lost their grip. She dropped her sword and clung to the bloody neck with both arms, while the rest of the party scrambled out of its way as the sword clanged on the floor. A last feeble downbeat, and the dragon came to rest on the gallery where the had entered. Bronwyn rolled away, groping for her belt knife. The dragon raised its head for one last protest and then collapsed, dead.
A ragged cheer rose from the chamber floor. Bronwyn was still frozen with shock, hand clutching the hilt of her knife. The dragon lay still, with her dagger sticking out of its neck. Still dazed from the sensation of flying through the air, she cautiously groped for the dagger, hardly aware when her friends rushed up the little staircase to see to her. Scout squirmed through the press and nearly knocked her down.
"Let me through!" Anders shouted. "I'm a Healer!"
Morrigan reached her next, however, and grabbed her by the shoulders. She gave her a furious shake, and then stalked away.
"Madness! Absolute madness!"
But the rest were laughing and cheering, patting her on the back, giving her hugs. In the shoving and crowding, Nathaniel found himself in front of her, and instinctively took her in his arms. It was a brief embrace, for all the other Wardens were grabbing at her, hauling her away, while Anders shouted at them to give him room.
"I'm fine!" Bronwyn insisted. "Oh, poor Scout! Anders! heal those burns!"
It took more than a few minutes for the shock and elation of killing two dragons to die down. Actually, she felt very well. Her cuts and bruises were already healing, and she was not in the least tired. Bronwyn had everyone eat something, walked around the dragons to admire their size, retrieved and cleaned her weapons, and tried to decide which way to go. A quick glance down the corridors told them that one was a small door that led outside to the Wending Wood. It was a back door, of sorts, shrouded by vines. Knowing about both this and the Deep Roads entrance gave her some confidence that the Architect would not easily slip away from her. The other corridor led down, toward the darkspawn she could faintly sense. That decision made, she ordered them to get moving. She hoped Loghain was moving into position by now, but it was as important as ever to find the Architect.
Loghain traveled with the vanguard. The Wardens were with him, along with Uldred and the three mages he had chosen to serve in the three companies of Maric's Shield that were participating in the action. Fergus had been upset at Loghain's insistence that he stay in the capital, but they could not strip Denerim of all its defenses. His job was to guard Anora and make certain that no foreign assassins staged another surprise. By now the Empress must know that her attacks had failed. She very likely had heard that Bronwyn and Loghain planned to marry, and she would understand instantly what that meant. No, someone reliable must stay in Denerim with a strong force.
Loghain hoped that Bronwyn had found her way through the dark of the Deep Roads to join him, but whether she had or not, he was going through this mine from end to end. He would prefer to catch and kill the Architect. However, he might have to settle for destroying his base and his supporters.
"So this is the Pilgrim's Path," said Quinn. "It's famous, innit?"
Maeve gave him an absent nod, watching the trees on either side of the road. "It's the most heavily traveled road in Ferelden. That's one of the reasons why it's got to be made safe as quickly as possible."
Ordinarily Danith hated asking questions, feeling it diminished her dignity. However, these were friends.
"How did it get its name, this Pilgrim's Path?"
"The Chantry says," Maeve told her, "that this is the way Andraste marched from Denerim to take ship when she and Maferath invaded the Tevinter Imperium. It was on the current site of the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer in the city of Amaranthine that Andraste first revealed the Chant of Light to the world. Then she sailed across the Waking Sea, and swept the Imperium with fire and sword."
Danith certainly could not argue with anyone who fought the Tevinters. The Tevinters were the worst of all shemlen: even worse than the Chantry and their Templars that had conquered the Dales. The Tevinters had destroyed Arlathan; they had destroyed the culture of the elvhen. To this day the elves had recovered only fragments. It was also well known among the Dalish that the woman Andraste had had at least one close elven friend: the hero Thane Shartan. Andraste had not founded the Chantry after all. That had been done long after her death, by others making use of her name and deeds. Danith knew for a fact that Bronwyn and many of her fellow nobles were no great friends of the priest-folk.
"Warden!" called Loghain. "Is this the place where you were attacked?"
"Near here, Teyrn Loghain. A little past that next curve in the road, and uphill a bit. We shall soon be there."
"As soon as you sense darkspawn," Loghain said, with a grim smile, "we'll set about giving them a surprise."
Down Bronwyn went: along magnificent staircase, only a little defaced by time; down elegant Tevinter corridors, complete with elaborately carved pillars and fine stonework; through yet more splendid bronze-and-lyrium double doors. Bronwyn sensed darkspawn ever more strongly.
A side door admitted them into a bedchamber.
"Don't touch anything if you are not a Warden!" Bronwyn hissed. "it's all Tainted."
"Was the man who lived here killed by darkspawn, do you suppose?" Carver asked.
Morrigan chuckled darkly. "Not at all. 'Tis clear that this room is inhabited by a darkspawn. Who then, but our mysterious friend the Architect himself?"
"She's right," Bronwyn said, studying a piece of parchment. Written on it were instructions to someone named Utha: a dwarven name.
Utha—
I know this has tested your patience. You first gave your blood years ago to further our common dream. I know at times it seems we're going nowhere. Trust me, Utha, I echo your frustration. The Blight has been a setback, but it will not last forever. I intend to keep my promise to you.
Perhaps you should venture above ground. The greenery and fresh air would do your spirit good.
This was horrible. The Architect had supporters, and not just among the darkspawn. Who was this Utha? One of the Wardens who had traveled with Fiona and Duncan?
Nathaniel was repulsed. "A darkspawn that sleeps in a bed?" he asked, pointed to that large and grubby furnishing.
"Maybe," suggested Anders, "He likes to pretend he's not really a darkspawn."
There was quite a bit in the Architect's quarters to ponder. It was very neatly kept. Three tall bookcases contained works on magic, history, geography, and healing. Poetry and novels lay in a stack on a little table. A bottle of fine Antivan wine and a pewter mug had been left by an open volume of The Dragons of Tevinter. By the bed was a little wooden horse on wheels. Bronwyn wondered if her head would explode before she vomited, or vice versa.
Neither, thankfully. She kept her countenance.
"Come on. Let's go."
They climbed through a hole in the rocks, and abruptly found themselves in the mining tunnels again. These were unoccupied, but Bronwyn sensed darkspawn beyond another set of double doors.
"Beyond these doors," she whispered. "I feel it strongly. Based on the placement, I believe the next chamber is large. Nathaniel: it would be best that your archers position themselves just inside the door. It will give the rest of us room to fight whatever is next."
A drake flamed at them as they entered the chamber. Beside him a powerful darkspawn mage cast nauseating hexes. For a moment Bronwyn thought they had found the Architect, but this was a strong but ordinary genlock emissary and his supporting minions. No words were exchanged.
Having only vestigial wings, the drake could not escape into the air, and the cavern ceiling was too low to permit flight, anyway. Once immobilized, it was not that hard to hack the drake to pieces. The mages concentrated on the genlock emissary, and after a few exchanges, it was down. Looking around after the fight was over, it was clear that they were back in the mines. Ketil scraped something shiny from the wall, and raised his brows, impressed.
Further on, they were drawn by the distinctive cries of dragons. They bore to the right, and were confronted by a powerful darkspawn wielding a maul. Dragonlings scampered past him, rushing at the Wardens.
"I'd say we've found the nest!" Bronwyn called to Nathaniel.
The big hurlock was dangerous. So too were the aggressive, squeaking young. Bringing up the rear was a furious drake, ready to defend his nest. Everyone ducked the first blast of dragonfire. Morrigan slipped past the maul's deadly arc, and managed to freeze the drake. Idunn was not so lucky, and was struck a glancing blow that knocked her against the wall, winded and bruised. The archers moved in and shot the dragonlings at close range.
Dying hard, the hurlock lost his maul and resorted to grabbing at his enemies, trying to bite them with savage brown teeth. Even with a cracked skull, he fought on. A pair of dragonlings, seeing him down, rushed to him with piteous squeals. The Wardens turned on them, chopping, chopping, until they stopped moving. The drake, helpless and spellbound, was beheaded very messily.
At the back of the cavern were the nests: heaps of straw. One had eggs in it. Bronwyn put her hand on one, and then flinched away as she felt movement within. Carver pulled her away as Ketil's axe crashed down, killing the embryo. The dwarf kept hacking, shattering eggshell and splashing viscous fluid on them all. For some reason, Bronwyn found the sight of the unhatched dragons disturbing— infants who would never know the world—and walked away from the triumphant shouts.
"Enough of this," she said, pulling at her friends. "No, really. Let's go. We still have the Architect to find."
Nathaniel called his men to order. Two of them had been badly burned, and Anders was busy healing them. The burns would scar, but not enough to cripple them.
The tunnels forked again. It was impossible to guess which was the best choice, since Bronwyn sensed darkspawn in both directions.
"Which way?' wondered Nathaniel.
It was essentially a coin toss. "We'll go through those impressive doors," said Bronwyn, "but we can't risk an attack from the rear or the Architect escaping. Nathaniel, stay here with your men and keep watch. I think that the way we came through was the only way to the Deep Roads, but we can't be sure. We'll leave the doors open behind us. If we come across something that's too much for us—" she gestured to the dragon horn on her belt "—I'll sound the call."
Nathaniel disliked the idea of staying behind, but the fork in the tunnel was worrying. He agreed, rather than fight about it. Bronwyn smiled, and touched his arm, and then led the Wardens through the doors.
They were abruptly back in ancient Tevinter work: finely fitted stone and the remains of polished floors. The lighting was of dwarven design, and excellent. At a turn they found a place where the wall seemed to be deteriorating.
"There's a false wall here," Zevran said. Bronwyn, concerned about yet another hidden exit, had her people pull out the masonry so she could see what lay behind it. Afterwards she wished she had not.
They peered in to see bones. Something had died here, walled in. Part of the remaining inside wall were scarred by repeated, futile blows by a broken dagger. A misshapen human skeleton was propped up against the wall.
"It had two heads," Anders said. "Lovely."
For some reason, a treasure chest had been walled in with the wretched creature. Golden cups and bowls of antique make, fine jewels, and faded manuscripts were heaped there. It was all very much worth taking with them.
"This is a mystery that antedates the Architect," said Bronwyn. "We have no time to unravel it now. I sense more darkspawn this way."
"Take the Wardens!"
The hoarse shout came from a big hurlock in the van of the darkspawn. A group of them poured out of the front entrance to the mine. The huge and heavy doors stood wide open. An ogre emerged over the threshold, massive horned head down, tiny eyes blinking at the sunlight.
Maeve danced and waved, while Niall grinned and tossed a rock at them. Danith thought the mage threw like a little girl, and tossed a better-aimed rock herself.
"Obey me, the Seeker!" the darkspawn urged his minions. "Take them, and do not kill!"
"Oi!" yelled Quinn. "You! You there, big and stupid! Come on and get us!"
With an indignant snort, the ogre thundered past, pounding up the path to the Wardens on the hill. Squawking genlocks and hurlocks swarmed after him.
"No! No!" bellowed the Seeker. "Do not kill! The Architect wants them alive!"
Distracted by the Wardens, the darkspawn never noticed the soldiers who slipped through the underbrush from the sides. The doors were open and would stay open.
And then the archers stood up from cover.
"Loose!" roared Loghain.
Only the ogre and the Seeker survived that volley. The Ogre was caught in Niall's ice spell and turned into a porcupine. A hammer-like blow of energy struck full on and the ogre blew apart.
Uldred, more subtle and even more powerful, targeted the Seeker, catching it in a web of magical energy that slowly constricted, choking the creature. The other mages joined in. The Seeker briefly broke free, but was caught again, and was miserably, magically suffocated. He crumpled to his knees and then fell on his face. A final desperate tremor, and the Seeker lay dead.
"Don't touch the creatures!" Loghain ordered. "First company, secure the doors. Wardens, with me!"
The next set of doors Bronwyn went through led to a large chamber in which a grand staircase was blocked by an enormous tangle of tree roots. A handful of darkspawn burst out of a side tunnel, and the fight was on. The room was large, but the number of combatants made for close work. They were nothing beyond the norm, and were down in short order.
A voice, mellifluous as thick, dark oil, sounded above their heads. By the stone rail of the vine-choked staircase, a creature eyed them with serene curiosity.
"So you are the commander of the Grey Wardens."
This then, must be the Architect: more human-like than any darkspawn they had ever before seen, yet bizarrely attenuated. Its body was long and scrawny; its arms sinewy and tipped with claws. Across its face was a mask-like headdress of gold and lyrium. Its clothing was at once fanciful and ragged, with tall open work pauldrons of stiff metal ribbons. Rib-like bands protected its chest.
Behind him was a dwarven female: a warrior, and long-tainted, from her glazed eyes and dark-blotched skin. She drew her sword, and fell into a fighting crouch without a word.
"No, Utha," the Architect murmured. "That is not how this must begin."
The Architect opened his arms wide, and floated down to them. It was an impressive display of magic. Scout whined and backed away a little. Bronwyn had heard that the Architect was a powerful darkspawn emissary. It made him a far more dangerous opponent.
"I sent my disciple to contact your people in order to begin a useful dialogue and to seek your help. I should have anticipated that you would perceive this as an attack. I am rarely able to judge how your kind will react. It is most unfortunate."
"Help?" Bronwyn repeated, baffled and alarmed. "What do you mean?"
"My kind has ever been driven to seek out the Old Gods. This is our nature. When we find one, a Blight begins. We do not attack you because we crave power and destruction. We obey the call of the Old Gods, without choice. Each time we attack your surface lands, and you fight back until we are defeated. Hundreds of thousands of my brethren are slain. To break this cycle, my brethren must be freed of this compulsion. For this, I need Grey Warden blood. Things have not gone as I planned. I only wish that you hear me out. Should you still wish to slay me afterwards, you may try."
"How would Grey Warden blood help free the darkspawn?"
"In order to become what you are, you drink the blood of my kind—to transform. Similarly, we must transform. I have created a version of your Joining that uses the blood of Grey Wardens. You take the Taint into yourself. What we take is your resistance. That is how my brethren are freed. In your blood lies the key to their immunity to the call of the Old Gods."
Anders remarked, "I like my blood where it is. In my veins."
Aveline shot back, "If we could stop the Blights, wouldn't a little blood be worth it?"
Bronwyn suspected there was far more to the story that this. Clearly, this creature could not be trusted. The dwarven woman, Utha, had joined them, coming down through the side tunnel. She had not sheathed her sword, and watched them intently with her filmy eyes.
Warily, Bronwyn asked, "And how do the darkspawn change afterward?"
"Once they are freed, the darkspawn think for themselves. They speak; they act."
Idunn burst out, "That doesn't make me feel any safer! Why would smart darkspawn be a good thing? You think we'd all be friends? They'd likely still want to claim the Deep Roads for themselves! Let's kill this creature before it makes more like itself!"
"Are you crazy?' countered Toliver. "We can't pass up the opportunity to have an ally among the darkspawn!"
"An ally?" Bronwyn wondered. She was inclined to agree with Idunn. Would it be possible to ally with a darkspawn in any real sense? Ending the Blights would be a great thing. Allowing intelligent darkspawn to multiply—creatures who might swarm up onto the surface for reasons of their own—that did not seem like a wise choice. And it would further endanger the dwarves, their long-time allies. "Would you aid us against the Archdemon?"
"No, but when the Blight is over, I will urge my kind to go far below, and no longer trouble the surface. I will go with them, and continue my work. I do not seek to rule my brethren. I only seek to release them from their chains."
"And how did you become free?" asked Carver.
"I was born as I am, an outsider amongst my kind. Why? I do not know. Why do some of your kind become Grey Wardens?" Why do some of you possess magic? I have no answers."
Bronwyn thought it likely that it really did not. That did not exactly inspire confidence. The creature said it did not wish to rule its kind. It spoke of urging them to go below. Presumably, it could not promise obedience. What was to prevent the darkspawn from staying on the surface, spreading Blight disease, tainting the landscape?
She said, "I find the idea of giving my blood for this purpose perverse and revolting."
The Architect was only mildly surprised. "Why? I had thought it was no different than your order's use of darkspawn blood in your Joinings. We both do what we must in response to the Blight. The first blood came from Utha, freely given."
Silently, the dwarven woman made a formal bow.
The Architect said, "She was a Grey Warden, as you are, and joined us many years ago. Will you accept me as an ally?"
Anders broke in, "What if he's wrong? What if this doesn't stop the Blight, but makes everything worse?"
"This could change the world," Aveline breathed. "A world without Blights? Think of the lives saved."
"You are a fool," sneered Morrigan. "Why should we believe anything this creature says? This ghoul," she gestured at Utha, "might have allied with him, but others did not, and most were slain at his orders. And ask him how he proposes to make more 'of his kind?' Will he next expect a regular tribute of females to swell his numbers? A regular harvest of Warden blood?"
"The witch is right," Ketil grunted. "This thing promises to get rid of your Blights. Maybe he can and maybe he can't. He certainly can't end the Blight we're in now. Anyway, getting rid of the Blights is fine and dandy for you surfacers, but it means shit to us dwarves. We've stood with you against your troubles: it's only fair that you stand with the dwarves against ours. I say kill him now."
Bronwyn paused, really and truly on the horns of a dilemma. Ending the Blights would be a glorious gift to all Thedas—at least on the surface— but could this creature actually achieve that? And the dwarves' position must be considered. And then, based on Fiona's conjectures...
"It is curious," Bronwyn said slowly. "Very curious... that twenty years after you obtained the location of the Old Gods, we have a Blight. Did it take that long to dig through to Urthemiel? And why Urthemiel, anyway? You won't deny, will you, that you located the Old God?"
"Urthemiel was the most accessible," said the Architect, perfectly calm. "I sought only to free the Old God, but it reacted... poorly."
Morrigan looked smug. "You mean," she said, sharp and shrewish, "that in your bumbling you or one of your minions touched it and thus Tainted it? And then, oh, dear, dear... you had an Archdemon on your hands."
Carver shook his head. There were different reactions around the room. Zevran's hands had never left his weapons. Bronwyn had already made her decision, but she explained it, not for the Architect's benefit, but to help her people understand and support her.
"And I daresay you will try again, hoping for a better outcome," she said. "I think you've done quite enough. I don't think you can really deliver on your promise to end the Blights, because I see no way you could actually dose all the darkspawn in Thedas with Grey Warden blood. Is there even enough Grey Warden blood to do it? I don't know how many darkspawn there are. The dwarves, too, have right on their side. How do we know that that thinking darkspawn would no longer be their enemies and rivals for the Deep Roads? And then there is your history of impractical, unacceptable plans: what became of turning all humans, elves, and dwarves, into Wardens? We know that was impossible. I suspect your idea of dosing all darkspawn is likewise absurd. So... no. I think the time for talk is at an end."
The Architect opened his mouth to speak, but with a triumphant shout, Morrigan cast her strongest freezing curse at him. Cathair, too, had been ready, and shot a poisoned arrow into the Architect's unprotected throat. Others threw themselves into combat, focused on downing this extraordinarily dangerous opponent. Scout moved at the same moment Bronwyn did: head down, teeth bared.
But the Architect was ready, too. Only frozen for a few seconds, he broke free and lashed out instantly, with a firestorm that left them singed and gasping. Bronwyn's mages fought fire with ice. The cold patches gave the warriors a path of attack, and a way to cool the magical burns. The dwarf Utha fell on them with her longsword, knocking Toliver down.
"Carver!" Bronwyn shouted. "You and Aveline deal with that ghoul!"
Cathair had already shot an arrow in that direction. Utha yanked the shaft from her jaw, oblivious to pain. Bronwyn had too much to do at the moment to follow that fight. Her sword was slathered with the vilest poisons brewed in the Ostagar workshop. While Anders' curse distracted the Architect, Bronwyn lunged at him.
The Architect flung up his arms, and a blast of magical energy scattered his enemies like dry straw. Some struck the stone walls head first. Even the thickest helmet could not cushion the impact completely. Scout, lower to the ground, missed most of the blast, and skidded into a corner, fairly unharmed. Bronwyn hit the stones so hard she saw stars. The Architect was gathering up for another spell. Bronwyn limped toward him, sword raised, when the creature's casting was interrupted by Zevran's thrown dagger in his face. The Architect plucked it out and dropped it, resuming its chanting.
There was a scuffle behind her. With any luck, Utha was down.
Anders, wiping blood from a split lip, raised his staff to cast. The Architect instantly paralyzed him. Furious, Bronwyn lunged again, plunging her sword into the Architect's belly. Whether it was the substance of the robes or the Architect's unnaturally tough hide, there was real resistance before the point penetrated. Bronwyn was knocked down again, her sword still stuck in the Architect.
It was a grueling fight. Some of her people were still unconscious or worse, and Architect was a fast and powerful spellcaster. He used the blasting hex again—though it was less powerful this time—and Bronwyn staggered back, feeling as if she had been hit by a hammer. The Architect still had her sword, so she stumbled forward, determined to get it back. Morrigan, her energy flagging, tried to freeze the Architect again. It gave Bronwyn just enough time to grab her sword hilt. Instead of pulling, she pushed with all her strength, screaming in the Architect's face. With a horrible scrape, the point emerged from the creature's back.
The Architect howled, his voice so longer languid and compelling. It was a dreadful sustained roar that pressed like cruel fingers at her ear bones. Bronwyn screamed again and sawed at him with the Keening Blade, only pausing when she was caught briefly in the wash of a paralysis hex. It was growing noisy in the chamber. People were crowding her. Scout had the Architect's wrist, worrying it like a favorite toy. Nathaniel had unaccountably appeared, and was trying to coax Bronwyn to pull out her sword. Bronwyn realized that the Architect's roaring had stopped. When the paralysis hex dissipated, the Architect fell to the floor, blood gushing from his gutted belly. Bronwyn looked around, puzzled. Morrigan was slumped against the wall, pale with exhaustion. Anders was tottering between injured soldiers, trying to heal what he could. Who had cast that paralysis hex? Oh, here were Danith and her people.
"Hold still, Bronwyn," Niall said softly, sounding like he was underwater. "Those burns must hurt." Cool blue light washed over her in a soothing ripple. Was she burned?
Bronwyn looked at Niall in surprise, not expecting him to be here. Everyone was, though. Nathaniel was talking to Carver, who seemed to have lost his eyebrows. Now Nathaniel turned to her.
"I thought you were going to call me if you needed help!"
"Er..." She swayed. It was very difficult to speak. "I guess we were caught up in the moment. Hello, Maeve. Wait til you see the dragons!"
Scout was whimpering nearby. Niall should have a look at him. And there was Uldred, looking very smug. Someone was pulling Bronwyn away from Niall's grasp into his own.
It was Loghain. Bronwyn had a little trouble focusing on him, but she was pretty sure from the light blue eyes looking her over that it was Loghain. That and the big hands gripping her upper arms.
Bronwyn tried to smile, but her mouth hurt. "We won," she croaked. "Did you see the dragons? I rode one of them. It went up really high!"
Loghain's voice was slow and slurred. Or was there something wrong with her hearing?
"What's the matter with her? Did she crack her skull?"
Niall had her helmet off, and was feeling her head. "Not fractured, but she got hit pretty hard." Another healing spell, and his voice began to sound normal. "You're going to need some rest," Niall said to her. He turned to Loghain, and said, "She shouldn't ride back to Denerim. Have her rest in one of the wagons."
"Did you take care of Scout?" she managed to ask. "Is he all right?"
"He's fine, Bronwyn," Niall assured her. "I already healed him. He'll just have some strange hairless patches for awhile."
"She really did ride that dragon," Carver told everyone, adrenalin still pumping. "All the way up to the ceiling! You should have seen it!"
"I did see it," Nathaniel said, rather testily. "I was there."
"How did you get here?" Bronwyn asked Loghain. "Where—"
"We came through the front door," Loghain said briefly, reaching down to pat Scout. "We met up with Howe and his men, and then followed the dead darkspawn."
Nathaniel added, "The other tunnel at the fork led to the surface."
"Ah," Bronwyn nodded, trying to picture it. She supposed she could. Danith was offering her canteen to Idunn. Bronwyn waved at her wearily.
"Glad to see you all safe and accounted for!"
Danith gave her a brisk nod.
"We swept the woods for darkspawn. We killed many, including the speaking one called the Seeker."
"Well done."
Maeve and Quinn were helping Ketil with his armor. Some of the straps had snapped, and it was hanging on him crazily. Cathair was trying to retrieve his arrows. Or any usable arrows.
Anders reeked of lyrium already, but he downed another flask. Giving Bronwyn a manic grin, he said, "How about a nice rejuvenation spell?"
"Yes, please," Bronwyn said. "I'm not done here."
Zevran was burned too, and was lying down, eyes shut. Toliver was bleeding and looked distraught. He was holding Aveline's hand. Furiously, he snarled up at Bronwyn, "We shouldn't have fought him! We should have taken his deal!"
Aveline was unconscious. Two of the army mages were working on her. From what Bronwyn could gather, her skull was fractured and she had a spinal injury as well. There was more to be done for her before the mages felt she could even be safely loaded into the wagon.
Bronwyn put her hand on Toliver's shoulder. "We were never going to take his deal. He was a liar."
"Deal?" Nathaniel asked. "What deal?"
"My lords!" shouted a soldier from the doorway. "We found two dead dragons in a big chamber!"
"Yes, I know," Bronwyn said, feeling better by the minute. "We did that. We'll want to harvest them."
"One of them's the dragon Bronwyn rode!" Carver repeated, grinning, unable to get it out of his head. "It was so neat!"
Loghain and Nathaniel rolled their eyes at each other.
"Really?" Loghain asked Nathaniel in an undertone.
"Really. I thought every moment she was going to fall to her death."
Loghain shook his head, trying not to dwell on the image. To change the subject, he gestured at Utha's mangled body.
"Who's that?"
"Her name was Utha," Bronwyn told him. "A renegade..." she whispered in his ear. "...Warden. Don't you recognize her? She was in Maric's party."
Loghain grimaced. "Time...and the Taint have not been kind to her."
"Commander?" Ketil leaned out of the side tunnel. "You'll want to have a look up here."
"This is a prison," Nathaniel whispered. "That thing kept prisoners there."
This place smelled of Taint, death, and decay. There were a number of cells. In one they found the remains of what had been a dwarf. In another, they found... Griffith, one of Tara's Wardens.
Carver hissed. "That's him! I know it is!" He turned shocked eyes to Bronwyn. "Were they attacked? How did he end up here?"
This was terribly alarming. Bronwyn had absolutely no idea how a Warden scouting West Hill had ended up in a darkspawn cell in Amaranthine. "Get Anders."
With a little time to recover, Anders was not quite so high on lyrium when Bronwyn asked him to have a look at the body, and see if he could determine how long Griffith had been dead. The condition of his naked body bespoke horrible suffering.
Anders' cheerful mood vanished.
"He hasn't been dead more than two days, but he was drained nearly dry of blood, Bronwyn."
"One of your Wardens?" Nathaniel asked.
"Yes. One of the newest. He was scouting west of here. I'll have to send a courier to West Hill and see if the rest of the party made it there safely." Thinking a little longer, she said, "Anders. Go get Toliver. I want him to see what the Architect really had in mind for us."
She could not tell them every detail, but Loghain would plague her until she gave him something, and Nathaniel had stood by her.
"The Architect must have realized he was trapped. He tried to talk his way out of it by offering us a grand promise to end all Blights—or at least the Blights after this one— if we'd let him go. Except even that wasn't enough. He wanted to do blood magic using Grey Wardens in order to create more talking darkspawn."
"How did he come to be... intelligent?" Nathaniel asked.
"He claimed to have no idea. A pity we couldn't question him longer, but he was a liar, and just too dangerous." Bronwyn's head was clearing, and it was time to take charge. "Hear me! If you are not a Grey Warden, do not touch the bodies or the artifacts in these rooms. They are Tainted. We will take charge of them and uncover the secrets."
"We heard a darkspawn talk!" yelped one voice from behind a knot of soldiers.
"Yes, you did!" Bronwyn said calmly. "That creature downstairs called itself the Architect. It claimed not to know why it was different from other darkspawn. It was trying to teach other darkspawn to speak and think. But it's dead, and so are its disciples."
Further exploration discovered a workroom near the cells, filled with notebooks and incomprehensible equipment. There was a large metal tank that contained preserved blood. Morrigan said it was human blood.
"Do not ask me how I know. I just do."
Actually, it was part workroom, part torture chamber. A bloody rack was placed near a neatly kept writing desk. On the rack was a flayed human body. Or at least they thought it was human. It was quite unrecognizable. A notebook kept track of events in an eccentric but legible hand.
Anders picked it up and glanced through it. He paled.
"This is bad, Bronwyn," he said softly. Bronwyn took the notebook from him and read:
...The Seeker has collected two Grey Warden specimens, both male and human. They exhibit fear and anger and claim that they have left the Grey Wardens, and are thus no longer what we want. One has promised to lead us to a large group of Wardens, including females, if I will release them. Curious. I will question him further before moving on to the tests.
...One of the Wardens is accommodating, allowing me to take his blood for my work. Perhaps he thinks I'll release him if he cooperates.
...What happens if the Old Gods perish? Does the song die with them?
...My Disciple Acolyte reports that a large party, including Wardens passed through the Wending Woods today. Some of the Wardens were female. I shall have them keep watch in future, with orders to capture the Wardens if the party is under four in number.
...Unfortunate. The second Warden has died under questioning. I cannot always predict how hardy the specimens are. Perhaps I pressed him too hard. However, I have a general idea where the female Grey Wardens are. I will lead the Seeker and the Disciple Acolyte there. It would be interesting to see what a thinking Grey Warden Mother could contribute to our cause...
...The blood is the key. The blood is always the key.
Bronwyn thought she was going to vomit. At least she had something she could read aloud to her people, just in case they complained about not making friends with the Architect.
"Well, gentlemen," she said to Loghain and Nathaniel, with a forced smile. "We now know what the Architect really wanted. A female Warden. Perhaps Utha was too old." When they did not quite understand her, she explained. "In order to reproduce his kind. That's what darkspawn do. They steal women of all races. Apparently, the Architect thought a talking Warden Broodmother would be particularly useful." Briefly, for Nathaniel's benefit, she recounted what she had seen in the Dead Trenches. The soldiers overhearing her—above all the women—were properly horrified.
But they were impressed, too. Bronwyn could hear them talking about her; about killing two dragons; about standing toe-to-toe with a talking darkspawn mage that seemed the soldiers that the personification of an ancient magister. Some of the Wardens joined in; telling their own tall tales.
Not everyone cared to gossip, of course. Morrigan, her hands carefully gloved, pawed through a stack of books. Some of them were ancient manuscripts, some were printed. One in particular caught Anders' eye.
"'Phylacteries: A History Written in Blood.' Isn't that the truth?"
On a stand was a dog-eared grimoire, written in Arcanum. Morrigan clearly coveted it. Uldred was edging closer. Bronwyn hoped there wouldn't be a tacky fight over plunder.
"Niall, collect that grimoire please. We'll put all the loo...er, evidence... in a single wagon so that it can be cleaned as far as possible. We have no intention of keeping secrets that do not pertain specifically to the Grey Wardens." She muttered to Morrigan. "We'll probably have to share, but you can have first look, once it's safe."
Morrigan shrugged. "Very well." She possessed a very sharp knife, if she came upon a page or two that she wished to keep to herself.
Loghain steered Bronwyn away from the throng, and tilted her head back, trying to see under the blood and filth. "Are you really all right?"
Bronwyn knew she must look like nothing human. "Considering what a hard day this has been, I really don't feel all that bad."
Thanks to my reviewers: Trishata96, KnightOfHolyLight, Embertoinferno, Jygilagg, Kyren, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, JackOfBladesX, Robbie the Phoenix, Psyche Sinclair, Mike3207, Tsu Doh Nimh, Zute, Pirate Ninjas, Nemrut, Darksky01, Jenna53, Phygmalion, Halm Vendrella, Doom-N-GloomGal, Girl-Chama, Herebedragons66, EpitomyofShyness, Josie Lange, and kdarnell2.
No, I didn't give the Architect time to give his "more in sorrow than in anger" parting speech, or to prepare himself further for battle. Bronwyn had already done enough talking about why she was going to kill him. There really is a rack in the Architect's workroom, as well a lot of mutilated bodies. In canon, the Architect claims that all the Wardens brought to him were already dead, but that is clearly a lie. It's not clear to me why people assume the Architect is making his offers in good faith. And no one ever seems to consider what they would mean to the dwarves.
And another thing. Anybody else have trouble with the huge plothole here? How are the darkspawn raising healthy, untainted dragons, when their very touch taints the Old Gods, and turns them into Archdemons? Of course I can see why the Architect would be interested in such research. I just don't see why it would be successful.
Any ideas?
In canon, the Architect's bolthole is that tunnel that leads from the gallery above the big, ornate dragon chamber. In canon, the Architects blocks pursuit with a rockslide when he flees down it. The next time we see him, he is at Drake's Fall. I posit that there are connecting tunnels and remains of the Deep Roads under Amaranthine that connect the silverite mine, Vigil's Keep, Kal'Hirol, and Drake's Fall. Otherwise, somebody might notice the Architect as he's hiking through the arling.