Chapter 145: Barrier to Entry

All of our forces had lined up in ranks, five across, in front of the opening leading further underground. There weren’t as many as I’d hoped, between the injuries and those left to guard our rear. The soldiers themselves seemed tense, as though their numbers were weighing on their minds as well. We’d been subjected to hours of stress punctuated by periods of intense combat; though the Wardens faced the worst of the fighting, it had to be affecting the soldiers, many of whom were probably farmers or similar prior to the Blight. And there’s no way for someone to be become used to this sort of thing, Warden or not.

But for all that, they were, by now, professionals. Nate gestured, and the fidgeting stopped as they prepared to move.

With all of the rooms and passages behind us explored and soldiers guarding them, we could be fairly certain the Architect and his darkspawn – and, apparently, the ghoul Utha – were somewhere in front of us, but we had no way of knowing exactly what we would be walking into. We couldn’t guess at numbers, had no way of knowing what traps –magical or not – the Architect might have arranged, or even how deep these tunnels went. For all we knew, the Architect could already be long gone. And we could only hope we would find Anders and Solona somewhere along the way. Unharmed, please Maker, if you’re listening.

I wanted to scout ahead, make use of my curious, still-unexplained invisibility to most darkspawn to see what lay before us. However, Aedan had completely put his foot down, and to my dismay, everyone – Nate, Trevian, even Alistair – agreed with him.

“Be reasonable, Sierra. This isn’t like before, when it was unlikely for you to come upon the Architect the minute you came through the door. He could be literally right around the corner, and he can see you,” Aedan explained, speaking slowly as though talking to a particularly dense child.

I scowled. “We don’t know that. I attacked him last time, stole his mana. All the darkspawn can see me after I attack them. We don’t know if he could see me before that. And if he was that close, I’d be able to feel him.”

“The risk is too great. If he can see you, you could be captured, even killed. We’ve seen that he can control his darkspawn; if he can see you, he can direct them to attack you. You’re not going in there alone.”

I didn’t agree; any potential danger to me was more than outweighed by how valuable the information I could glean by scouting ahead was. We’d managed much better in the past than the game would indicate – in the Deep Roads, even in Redcliffe and the Circle though for different reasons – because of the warning I could provide. But I could see by the stubborn look on his face that Aedan was not going to change his mind – and at some point, I had sort of agreed to follow orders in the field.

Besides, short of climbing over the group of soldiers between me and the tunnel – none of whom, I was sure, would be cooperative – there was nothing I could do except give my brother dirty looks. Which I did. A lot.

Sighing, Aedan led the Grey Wardens to the front of the ranks, followed closely by the Legion of the Dead. Once set, weapons in hand, Aedan whistled loudly and we all began moving forward. We made no pretense at stealth; after the fighting we’d already done, there was no chance that any darkspawn further in were unaware of our presence. We would just have to hope that superior skills – and hopefully numbers, though we couldn’t be sure – would carry the day.

It felt sort of bad ass, if I was honest – like one of those movie poster moments, when the superheroes stride bravely towards the villain, confident and righteous. All we need are a few capes, and a stiff breeze, maybe an explosion in the background. I snorted out a laugh, and Alistair, clearly feeling it too, shot me a dazzling grin.

His grin – and my temporary good mood – dimmed as we progressed deeper and deeper underground.

The tunnel we were in widened progressively as we went, and the soldiers behind us kept readjusting their lines, trying to ensure that the entirety of the tunnel was obstructed and that as many as possible were at the front to meet the enemy when the time came. The Wardens spread out, the Legionnaires right behind us filling the second row. The torches, carried by a few well-protected soldiers scattered throughout the ranks, cast eerie shadows on the walls and ceiling, the acrid smell of smoke and decay and taint unpleasant, though like in Bownammar, we’d grown somewhat accustomed to it.

We stumbled across a lone scout – lookout? – almost immediately after turning the first corner. I wasn’t sure how much warning he might have been able to provide for the darkspawn behind him – they have to know we’re here by now! – but it was moot. Before anyone else could react, before the hurlock could so much as open his mouth to shout, an arrow pierced his neck, and he dropped to the ground, black blood fountaining out of the wound, air bubbles churning it into a disgusting black froth. I looked around to see Nate lowering his bow, a grim scowl marring his handsome features.

The body was slung to the side for later burning, and we stepped past it without further comment.

We’d gone perhaps two hundred feet further – just how big is this place, anyway? – and around a couple of broad curves when we finally met a group of darkspawn. I could see no reason for their placement; the tunnel hadn’t led into a room, and there was nothing to differentiate this spot from any other we’d passed, but we came around a corner to the sight of the largest group of darkspawn we’d encountered since we’d entered these Maker-forsaken tunnels.

With screeches and grunts, the darkspawn rushed us as soon as they saw us; moving into our by-now familiar battle lines, the Grey Wardens and Legionnaires carved into probably more than fifty ‘spawn, the soldiers prepared to deal with any who made it through that in one piece. Arrows flew over our heads, exchanged between Nate’s archers at the back and a bunch of genlocks wielding bows, and I felt Alim draw on his mana and cast first a barrier, then an enormous storm over the rear of the horde. The arrows plunked harmlessly against the barrier, and I heard darkspawn scream as the storm ramped up, raining down lightning like Odin in some story from Norse mythology.

I could feel two emissaries in the back begin to cast; with almost vicious glee I seized their mana, throwing shields over everyone that I could see, delighting in the shouts of surprise as darkspawn attacks that should have been successful bounced. As I turned back to the battle around me, I engaged a genlock carrying a jagged longsword and a battered plank as a shield. With the benefit of my strange darkspawn ‘invisibility’, I easily buried my dagger in its flank between the plates of its ill-fitting, scavenged armour when it tried to make a lunge at Alistair. I heard my husband shout ‘duck!’ from behind, and I dropped to one knee as he swung his heavy longsword over my head, decapitating the hurlock I hadn’t seen on my other side. Alistair hauled me bodily to my feet before I could be trampled – there wasn’t much space, despite the enormous size of the tunnel, with so many combatants involved. We exchanged quick smiles and dived back into the fight.

With the emissaries helpless without their mana, the darkspawn’s organisation suffered, making them easy targets. Every swing of a Warden weapon near me hit its mark, and darkspawn started dropping all around me. Unfortunately, so did soldiers – with less experience, less expertise than the Wardens, there were a handful of soldiers being dragged back out of the way by their fellows. As awful as it felt to watch injuries happen, I couldn’t spare the time to stare and nurse my feelings. There were more darkspawn to kill.

Seeing no sign of the Architect, I crept past Alistair to the side of the crowded tunnel, working my way to the back to begin cutting down archers when Alim’s storm finally abated. The darkspawn archers were bedraggled, burnt by lightning and soaked by magical rain, and none of them noticed me until it was too late. I slit one throat, then buried my blade in the abdomen of a genlock before any of the others had even noticed. I was relieved that there didn’t appear to be any sort of coordinated effort to locate me; whether the Architect hadn’t considered me a risk or just hadn’t fully understood the implications of my strange ability, I didn’t know. But I’ll take it!

As I looked across the room, I could see that Zevran and Wulf had more opposition – but also considerably more skill – and between the three of us, the archers and two emissaries died while the rest of the battle raged.

Those deaths proved the turning point, however; without any ranged backup, the soldiers were able to engage, thinning the ranks of darkspawn, and there were literally piles of darkspawn corpses around the rest of the Wardens and Legionnaires. I backstabbed a shriek trying to flank Trevian, earning myself a tired smile, then made my way back towards Alistair, stabbing and slicing with impunity. I didn’t think I’d ever stop enjoying the ability to so effortlessly rid the world of the monsters. I felt useful, even needed, something I’d never had back on Earth, and it felt good, even if it involved cleaning a lot of darkspawn blood off of myself. I’ve come a long way since being that scared little girl who couldn’t use a weapon to save her life ... literally.

When the battle was over, several of the Wardens had suffered minor injuries, one of the dwarves had taken a bash to the head that knocked him out, and some of the soldiers sporting various wounds had to be helped – or carried – back to the camp on the surface. No one had died, however, and none of us could sense the taint in any of the injured troops. Small mercies.

Alim spent nearly the last of his mana on healing, vocally wishing for Anders’ help with the worst of the injuries but refusing to take one of our few remaining Lyrium potions. He was concerned Solona or Anders might need them once we found them – and none of us could disagree. We hadn’t brought along a bunch of extra potions, having no idea the two mages would be anywhere near the Architect.

Aedan sent Alim back to camp with the injured, much to the elf’s dismay; a confused Justice accompanied him while nursing a broken arm that would require more healing finesse than Alim had. I almost laughed as I heard the frustrated elf trying to explain the concept of bones and muscles to the curious spirit. I’d assumed Vander’s knowledge of injuries would translate, but it seemed like sometimes Justice preferred learning things for himself to accessing those memories.

We left the darkspawn bodies where they lay, deciding to burn them when we were finished. I wasn’t looking forward to that – the stench of burning darkspawn in enclosed spaces was not something I wished to experience again. Though I suppose marrying a Grey Warden makes it sort of impossible to avoid. Not wanting to waste any more time, or allow the Architect more chances to prepare – or escape – Aedan ordered the remaining Wardens, soldiers, and Legion dwarves to form up. I gripped my daggers, anxious and overly ready for the whole thing to be done. I smiled grimly at Alistair, and he reached up to touch my cheek gently with the back of his gauntlet.