“I’m not sure,” Maric answered. “We’ll need to get higher up to see.”
“Wait,” Fiona sighed. She pushed herself away from the rocks and put her hands on his shoulder. Maric realized then that his shirt was mostly in tatters, and smeared with blood. He had several deep gashes in his chest, covered in dirt, and they were bleeding profusely.
She closed her eyes, summoning more energy even though she was still pale and weak. He stopped her and shook his head. “No, we can do that later.” She didn’t argue, which indicated, if nothing else did, just how depleted she was.
They slowly walked up the gentlest nearby slope, Duncan taking the lead and helping them both up. When they reached the top, Maric found that the bright moonlight allowed them to easily see the surrounding snowy countryside. They were in the foothills of the Frostbacks, with trees dotting the rugged hillside as it swept down before them into the flatlands and a thick forest farther out.
“We’re in the northwest, I think,” he said. He pointed out into the distance. “I think the Circle of Magi’s tower is that way. If it was daylight we might even be able to see it from here.”
Fiona looked at him, perplexed. “How can you tell?”
“You think I was born in a palace? Remember, I spent half my life hiding in these mountains. I didn’t think I paid that much attention, but it seems I did. We’re not too far from Lake Calenhad.”
Duncan rubbed his arms vigorously, apparently already freezing, and this time without even a fur cloak to keep him warm. He glanced oddly at Maric, who was without his armor and now almost shirtless, and shook his head in amazement. “Let’s get going, then,” he suggested.
They began marching down the hillside. Fiona did her best to try to reassemble the bloody tatters of Maric’s shirt, but it wasn’t much help. He didn’t mind, as it felt good to feel the breeze and the cold air, but he imagined he would mind it very much before the night was over.
As they walked, however, it became apparent that three figures were approaching them from the bottom of the hill. They emerged from the shadows, at first barely discernible, and initially Maric thought they might be darkspawn. He raised his sword in alarm, and Duncan drew his black dagger, but Fiona pointed excitedly.
“It’s mages!” she exclaimed.
And she was correct. They halted their descent as the three mages walked up toward them, their robes now evident as well as their staffs. In fact, the man at the head of the group was none other than First Enchanter Remille himself, smiling amiably and holding up his hand to wave at them.
“The First Enchanter?” Duncan asked, confused.
Maric thought it was strangely convenient as well, but Fiona looked purely relieved. “First Enchanter!” she shouted to him. “Thank the Maker you found us!” She picked up her skirt and began running toward the First Enchanter as the mages drew closer.
Maric held his hand up to restrain her, suddenly alarmed, but she slipped just out of his grasp. “Fiona!” he shouted. Too late, he saw the First Enchanter stop smiling. The man raised his staff above his head, magical energy crackling along its length. The other two mages did the same thing, and suddenly Fiona skidded to a halt, her excitement turning into bewilderment.
Duncan gasped and raced forward. Maric was right behind him, raising his sword and shouting. The mages unleashed a wave of magical energy at them not a moment later, and he felt himself become instantly paralyzed. His sword was frozen in the air, and he couldn’t move. Duncan was in midstride in front of him, and Fiona stood, stunned, not three feet away. An aura of power surrounded the three of them, a spell that held them fast.
Remille lowered his staff and smiled again, although this time his expression was far more malicious. He walked over to Fiona, patting her cheek and chuckling as she stared at him in frozen horror. Maric struggled valiantly to try to break free of the spell, wanting nothing more than to cleave the Orlesian mage in two, but he couldn’t.
“Well,” the man said in amusement, rubbing his pointed beard as he turned from Fiona to Duncan and then to Maric. “The Architect suggested that you might try to come out this way. I didn’t think it would be possible, yet here you are.”
He gestured to the two mages behind him and they moved forward, producing a sack from which they removed several long chains. Remille grinned at Maric.
“Lucky me.” He smiled.
18
Duncan bristled angrily as he and the others were led back into the Circle of Magi’s tower. They had been chained again, as well as gagged, and Duncan had been chained even more tightly than Maric or Fiona. Evidently the mages had been informed just who was likely responsible for facilitating their earlier escape.
So they were taken back on horse back, Maric and he exchanging looks of dread but otherwise being unable to talk. Fiona looked like she wanted to breathe fire, her fury was so great, and if the looks she shot at the First Enchanter could actually hurt him, he would be in a great deal of trouble. Duncan was inclined to agree. Genevieve and her brother being mad enough to work with the darkspawn in some scheme to end the Blight was one thing, but would the mages do it for the same reason? Even given what little he knew of such men, that seemed highly unlikely.
Remille chatted with his two fellows in Orlesian as they rode, although not a great deal, as they seemed in a hurry. It was enough to tell Duncan a few things, however. For one, all three of the mages were Orlesian. In Ferelden, that was not exactly common. From what he could gather, it also seemed like the tower had been taken over. There was mention of other mages being “brought under control,” and even killed.
So the entire Circle was not in agreement on this? Good to know.
It also seemed like there were darkspawn in the tower. Duncan assumed that this was a reference to the Architect, but that still surprised him. The idea of the emissary actually coming to the surface was hard to imagine. What if they meant other darkspawn, as well? What if they meant the tower was full of the creatures? Unthinkable!
There was a large boat waiting for them when they eventually reached an otherwise-deserted strip along the shore of Lake Calenhad, manned by a mage and two templars. Also Orlesian. The three of them were unceremoniously thrown into a shallow hold under the deck, pitch black except for what little torchlight came through the cracks around the hatch.
At least they were out of the chilly wind, Duncan thought to himself. And there were furs piled on the floor, so it wasn’t completely uncomfortable. They had put a shirt on Maric, as well, to keep him from freezing to death. Fiona glared up at the deck above her, and had she not still been gagged he was sure she would have been swearing a blue streak. Eventually, exhausted, he simply fell asleep.
He awoke to light suddenly pouring into the hold. He had no idea how much time had passed. Maric and Fiona were both awake and watching warily as three men came below. One of them, an elderly mage with a cruel look to his eyes, carried a lantern. The other two were scowling templars, heavily armed and holding their swords pointed at their prisoners as if they fully expected them to attack even though they were bound and gagged.
The three of them were marched up onto the deck, where Duncan realized they were in the cavernous dock underneath the tower once again. It was eerily quiet except for the rhythmic lapping of water against the boat. There was a sense of something very wrong in the air.
The old mage removed their gags one by one. Duncan gasped and spat when his was taken. Maric licked his lips, and then sniffed at the air. “Do you smell that?” he asked.