Yet he didn’t. He remained close behind the Architect, holding the glowstone out before him and watching the alien light it cast on the ancient dwarven halls. He wondered why the emissary wasn’t more concerned about its safety. Perhaps it had some sort of magical protection, something that would strike at Bregan if he so much as laid a finger upon it?
Or perhaps it simply knew better than he did that he wasn’t going to do that.
They walked for a short time through the ruins, all of it tainted almost to the point of being unrecognizable for the structure it once had been. Now it was a darkspawn nest, a thing full of black tendrils and sacs of corrupted flesh. The fact that he could no longer reach out with his mind and detect the creatures he knew to be out there disturbed him greatly. The humming surrounded him now, presenting a blank wall that his mind slammed up against.
It wasn’t long before the halls opened up into a vast chamber of some kind, the limits of which extended far beyond the reach of the glowstone. It was a point at which the dwarven stone carvings ended, that much he could see. The floors and walls were broken here, as if some force had simply torn the rest of it off and left it open to the underground beyond. Bregan could see natural rock, and the light gave it a sense of wetness, a great mass of something black and moist that filled up the shadows, with many things moving all around. In fact, the great mass of noise made him think of an insect hive. The smell of it was acrid and overwhelming. He couldn’t place what any of it might be, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
The Architect turned to him, its milky eyes wide and unreadable. “Do you see?”
“No, there’s not enough light. But I—”
His objection died on his lips as the emissary lifted up its dark staff. A deep purple glow surged forth from it, and suddenly Bregan saw the entire cavern clearly. It was vast, a great underground chamber that stretched out farther than he could possibly see, and it teemed with darkspawn. Thousands upon thousands of the creatures toiled, all so closely intermingled it seemed as if a mass of black maggots writhed in some festering carcass. The organic strands covered everything, great hives of it strewn like nerve clusters and dangling amid the horrific workers that moved among the shadows below.
Were they digging? He had the impression that the masses of them were all engaged in some sort of industry, all united in moving great portions of the rock out of the cavern and expanding it even further. Yet there were no sounds of tools crashing against stone, no hammering sounds or grunts of exertion. All he could hear was a rhythmic groan, a keening pitch that it seemed each of the darkspawn contributed to. The sound of it made his skin crawl, and he realized that the chorus in the distance responded to it. Like a cat that arched its back to meet a brushing hand it became ecstatic; it surged and almost overwhelmed his senses.
The world swayed around him and he felt himself stumble, only to have a strong hand grab his arm and steady him. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, and for a long minute the only other sound next to that powerful song was his own labored breathing. In and out. In and out, slow and controlled. He felt flushed, sweat pouring down his face.
He was ill. Perhaps he was dying.
“Be calm,” the Architect urged him. The purple glow from its staff ebbed and suddenly the vast cavern was cloaked in shadows once again. But now Bregan knew they were out there. He could feel them moving, their tainted forms bumping up against each other as they swarmed over the rock like ants. The fact that he couldn’t see them now almost made it worse.
He pulled away from the emissary’s touch, his breath rough as he leaned against the nearby rock wall for support. He stomach lurched, and had there been anything in it he might have vomited. As it was he heaved painfully a few times and fought to gain control over his revulsion. The smoothness of the rock, the coolness of its surface, felt good against his skin. He curled up against it, tried to ignore the blackness that trailed across it. Closing his eyes helped, if only for a moment.
“A curious reaction,” the Architect observed. Bregan opened his eyes and saw the creature watching him with clinical fascination. It made no move to approach him, content merely to let him convulse. Sweating and exhausted, he let himself slump down to a sitting position on the floor.
“There are so many,” he breathed. He really didn’t know what else he could say.
The Architect nodded solemnly. “The Old Gods call to them and so they search. They search because they have no choice. All who hear the call must obey, in the end.”
“Except you.”
“And you.” It inclined its head.
Bregan sat against the wall and tried to ignore the great, dark chamber that he knew was beside him. He wanted to retreat back to his cell, somewhere small and safe where he could pretend that there wasn’t a monstrous swarm all around him. Yet that, too, would be a weakness.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaky hand. “So what is it you want from me, then?” he asked, his voice quavering. “You want me to help them? You want me to tell you where the Old Gods are, to speed this all along?”
“So you do know where they are.” The creature seemed intrigued, but not surprised.
He laughed, a bitter bark that devolved into a fit of mad giggling that only left him hoarse in the end. The emissary seemed unmoved by his mirth. “Are you saying you really didn’t know that? Isn’t that why you brought me here?”
The Architect lowered itself onto its haunches to look Bregan directly in the eyes. Its brown robes rustled around it, and it placed its staff gingerly down on the ground. He didn’t want to look the creature in the face, but he couldn’t help himself. Those milky, dead eyes commanded his attention. They seemed so oddly serene, almost sincere in their concern.
“I did not bring you here to begin the Blight,” it said carefully, emphasizing each word so there would be no misunderstanding. “The numbers of my brethren grow with each passing year, and given enough time they will find one of the ancient prisons. They will unlock it and the cycle will begin anew. This will happen whether you were to tell them where to look or not. I have no desire to see it happen sooner.”
Bregan was flabbergasted. For a moment he could almost ignore the incessant humming that threatened to crack open his head and crawl inside. He stared at the darkspawn in amazement. “Then what do you want?”
“I wish to end it.” The Architect stood and walked to the edge of the cavern, and stared out into it with eyes that Bregan was sure could see far better in the darkness than any human. “My brethren have been subject to this impulse since our creation. We rise to the surface and struggle to eradicate your kind, and each time you drive us back and we begin again. This will continue until one of us is victorious, yes? Until one of us is eradicated forever, if such a thing is even possible?” It turned and looked to Bregan, a cool intensity gripping its every word. “But what if it didn’t have to be this way?”
“What other option is there?”
The creature crossed the gap between them quickly, crouching down with a look of such fervent excitement that Bregan almost recoiled. It clutched at his hand, holding it firmly. “In your blood lies the key,” it whispered. “Yours is the middle ground between human and darkspawn, the path to true peace.”
Bregan stared at the Architect, not quite certain he understood. “Middle ground?”
“Your kind will always be at risk from mine so long as our taint spreads and infects,” it insisted. “And my kind will always seek to destroy yours so long as the call of the Old Gods continues.”