And he ignored them.
The Architect bowed low, respectfully, and then gestured back the way they had come. Bregan adjusted what little clothes he had left and began to stride purposefully down the passageway, back into the depths, and this time the darkspawn followed him.
7
It was impossible to tell the time in the Deep Roads, but Maric suspected that they couldn’t possibly have rested more than a handful of hours. He had only slept in fits and starts, himself, and whenever he did awake he was aware of the Grey Warden’s commander pacing outside.
It wasn’t long afterwards when Genevieve finally stirred them from their tents, her tone insistent. No doubt she had waited until she simply couldn’t take it anymore. Young Duncan grumbled, but a deadly look from her silenced the lad. Maric would have laughed had he not been certain he would have received a similar reaction.
The Grey Wardens began to efficiently pack up the tents. A hush had descended over them. Whereas the previous day had been filled with Duncan’s amiable chatter, among other talk, now there was only tense silence.
They insisted on packing up Maric’s tent for him. He’d started to do it himself, but Utha interjected herself between him and the tent. He’d spluttered in protest, but the dwarf had simply ignored him. And how did one argue with a mute, anyhow? So reluctantly he’d given in, and it was probably just as well. The others had the pro cess down to a science.
Kell ventured ahead, the large hound bounding after him. Maric had wondered how wise it was to bring an animal down into the Deep Roads, but it was increasingly obvious that Hafter was no ordinary creature. He and the quiet hunter appeared to share a bond that went beyond that of master and servant. Kell rarely needed to give the dog commands. Hafter never went too fast or got too excited, either. He was as cautious and suspicious as the hunter, keeping an eye on every shadow. It was quite easy, in fact, to stop thinking of Hafter as merely a dog.
The only person other than Maric who appeared to have nothing currently to do was Fiona. She stood nearby, pointedly ignoring him, the beacon of white light from her staff providing the only illumination in the ruin now that the campfire was extinguished. Its flickering glow cast shadows on the ruin’s walls, a virtual puppet’s play cavorting high above them. Since she was holding the staff, the shadow behind Fiona was the largest, looming high over her as if about to pounce. How fitting that the fiery elf should cast the most dominant shadow, he thought.
Fiona bristled under his scrutiny. She made as if to ignore him, but finally she could take it no longer. “What is it?” she demanded.
“I’m wondering why you aren’t doing anything.”
“I am doing something.”
“Making it glow? Wouldn’t a torch suffice?”
She glanced toward her staff, doing her best to suppress a smirk. “No, not that,” she said. “That barely takes any effort. I’m keeping an eye on the darkspawn. Someone has to.”
“An eye?”
“So to speak. They’ve been getting closer. The brooches that Remille gave us seem to be working so far … it doesn’t look like they know we’re here. But we can’t take any chances. As soon as they spot us, they’re going to tell the rest of the darkspawn.”
“Couldn’t you kill them before they do that?”
The mage’s amusement grew, and she arched a brow at him. “They’re connected to the rest of the darkspawn through the taint. What ever one knows, they all know.”
“How inconvenient.”
“The brooches will keep them from tracking us, but if they become aware of intruders they will begin to swarm. It will be better if we can keep them unaware of our presence for as long as possible. Kell’s gone to see how many there are.”
“Won’t they see him?”
She chuckled. “No. They won’t see him.”
A few more minutes and the tents had vanished into the Grey Wardens’ backpacks, and the rest of the camp along with it. The smoldering campfire and the disturbance to the layers of grime and dust that covered the ground were all that provided evidence of their passing. Genevieve passed out torches to Duncan and Utha, and as soon as those were lit, Fiona allowed her staff to stop shining.
A good thing, Maric figured, as its brilliance would have alerted the darkspawn from miles away. He had to wonder just how many torches they had stored. He remembered there being phosphorescent lichen to offer light in some places, but that was irregular and difficult to count on. The idea of being stuck in smothering darkness down here in the depths was discomfiting, to say the least.
Genevieve wasn’t interested in discussing the state of their supplies, however, and with an intense look she waved to everyone to follow. The speed of her gait made it obvious that she wanted to make up for lost time, and knew exactly where she was going.
The hours that followed were exhausting. Time crawled by slowly, and it was all Maric could do to keep up with the torches ahead. They were two points of warm light, slowly bobbing in passages so thick with shadows it felt almost as if they were swimming in them.
It wasn’t anywhere near as cold as it had been up on the surface, but there was still a chill in the air that worked its way past Maric’s armor and made him shiver. Duncan was too distracted to complain about it, at least. The lad kept his eyes peeled nervously, as did the others, with one hand on his daggers. Maric supposed that if the darkspawn were closer, those daggers would very likely be in his hands rather than in their sheaths.
The stillness was as maddening as he remembered. Nothing moved in the darkness except them, and despite the fact that they tread quickly on hard stone they made very little sound. It was like walking on a field of snow; every whisper was absorbed and every step was hushed. The fact that no one spoke now made it worse.
Sweat poured down his forehead and his legs ached, but he didn’t fall behind. Genevieve pushed them through the long tunnels mercilessly, one hour blending into the next. On the few occasions when they reached a fork in the Deep Roads, she would irritably call for Maric to be brought forth and he would look around and try to remember which way they had come the first time.
He would have thought that after eight years it would be harder, that he would struggle to recall the path. Things had changed here, after all. The spread of the darkspawn corruption was worse, for instance. It didn’t matter. He had no trouble at all remembering the way. He might as well have been here last year, or perhaps a few months ago.
Fiona caught his eyes once. She noticed his grim expression, perhaps, or the way he looked off into the distance. She said nothing, though she appeared curious. He ignored her and turned away.
Eventually Kell returned, the hunter and his hound emerging from the deep shadows of a side passage so suddenly that Maric jumped.
“What did you find?” Genevieve asked, waving at the others behind her to halt.
The man’s unnaturally pale eyes almost seemed to glow from under his hood. He shouldered his bow and then gestured toward his leather jerkin. Maric noticed black blood there for the first time, splashed violently across much of the front. “I was forced to kill a few,” he muttered, obviously displeased with himself, “and the others I led away. None saw me, but they know something is here that should not be.” He turned his head and stared off down the passage, his eyes piercing deep beyond the shadows. “There are more coming, now.”
The Commander frowned, but did not seem upset. “That was inevitable.”
“It is worse. There is a large group directly ahead.”
“Then we will need to detour.”