Bregan nodded. “There have been nothing but complications.”
“It may yet be resolved. It must, lest we lose our only opportunity.”
“It will,” he assured the darkspawn, then looked questioningly at his sister. “Provided Genevieve gets over her cold feet and helps us.”
She stood there, indecision written over her features. She backed away slowly from the Architect, glancing warily toward the approaching First Enchanter. She seemed like a cornered cat, he thought. Or a dog. A very stubborn dog.
“What you are planning is wrong,” she whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.
“Since when has that ever stopped you before?” Bregan snapped.
Genevieve glared at him hatefully, but said nothing. For a long minute their eyes locked silently. There was a single moment when Bregan thought she was about to break down, to finally accede to his demand. At that moment, however, the dark-skinned rogue chained next to the King spoke up.
“You can still stop this, Genevieve!” he shouted angrily. “You can still do something!”
Bregan snarled and spun around, slapping the lad so hard across his face that he flew back and struck his head against the floor. His chains rattled loudly, and he groaned in pain. Bregan turned back to Genevieve, scowling, and saw it in her eyes: The moment had passed. Her decision had been made.
She drew her greatsword, the metal reflecting the sunlight off its smooth surface as she brandished it toward him. Her look was steady, hateful. “I’m not going to allow you to do this, Bregan,” she stated. “Taking part in this was a mistake.”
He drew his own sword, a growl emerging from deep in his throat. It surprised him how much he wanted to kill his sister. She was just like the rest of the human waste out there, wasn’t she? It had always been coming to this. All the years of jealousy and pride, all those years of resentful glances despite all that he had done for her. He should never have agreed to the Architect’s plan to recruit her. He should have killed her in the Deep Roads when he’d had the chance.
“Let’s rectify that, then,” he said icily.
A blast of black fire struck Genevieve in the chest. She screamed, a peal of terror that turned into torment as she fell back onto the floor. Bregan turned and realized that it was the Architect that had cast the spell, its pale hand still held out before it and wreathed in black flames.
Genevieve clutched at a pool of shadow that spread across her torso. It grew, and appeared to be eating her. Bregan watched in dull horror as her screams turned into shrieks. She spasmed wildly, dropping her sword and struggling as the Architect’s spell slowly enveloped her. It washed over her arms and her legs, and then finally swallowed her head. Her screaming ended abruptly. The shadow-covered body flailed about twice more, and then the blackness simply collapsed, leaving nothing more than a pool of liquid on the floor.
She was gone. The liquid slowly oozed across the stone, hissing and sizzling wherever the sunlight touched it.
Bregan spun angrily on the Architect. “What did you do?”
The darkspawn studied him curiously, as if his response was unexpected. “It was clear she had changed her mind. I did what was necessary, to preserve our task.”
“I don’t care about your task! That was my sister!”
“Who you were about to slay, Warden.”
“No! No, I wasn’t going to do that!” Bregan felt the hate building up inside him again, but instead of fueling him it made him feel sickened. The corruption crawled through every inch of him now, like maggots. He wanted to cut it out, burn it out, whatever he had to do to get rid of it. “You’re lying!”
The Architect blinked its large pale eyes at him. Utha put up her fists and crouched down, glaring at Bregan, but the darkspawn restrained her with a withered hand. “I am not lying,” it said. “Were you not aware of your argument? Did you not hear her decision?” It steepled its fingers together under its chin. “Perhaps it was a mistake to attempt to bring more Grey Wardens down to us. I assumed they would be more amenable, given that their leader had already changed his mind.”
“A mistake?” Bregan scoffed. Then he shook his head incredulously at the creature. “You don’t understand us, do you? Not even remotely. We’re like insects in a jar that you study, and poke, and cut their wings off if it suits your purposes.”
“You know my aim, Warden. I have been forthright with you.”
“You’re a monster!”
The Architect stared at him blankly. “We are not so different, now.”
It was right. Bregan was a monster now, too.
He launched himself at the creature before it could cast one of its spells, slashing hard with his sword at its head. The emissary reacted more quickly than he could have anticipated, however, pulling back at the last second. Bregan’s sword sliced across the darkspawn’s chest, cutting deep and fast.
The creature stumbled back, a look of shock on its face as it clutched at its wound. Black ichor spurted out between its fingers. Bregan didn’t intend to allow it a moment to recoup, leaping up into the air with the intention of stabbing his sword down into the Architect’s head.
Something slammed into him before he landed, however, knocking him down to the ground. It took Bregan a moment to realize it was the dwarven woman, Utha. She had tackled him in midair and now was slamming her fists into his face. They were like stone hammers coming down on him, pain exploding as she busted his nose and cracked his jaw.
Fighting through the flurry of blows, he reached up and grabbed her throat with his gauntleted hand and squeezed. She gritted her teeth, pressing her thumbs into his eyes as the two of them struggled for control. He was blinded, the agony burning through his skull, but finally he felt her strength lessen for just a moment. Taking advantage, he roared and slammed the dwarf’s head down at the ground beside him. It struck the ground with a loud crack, and he threw her aside and off of him.
As he did so, a dark blast of magic struck him. It was the same black energy that had assaulted Genevieve. He screamed as he felt it begin to eat away at him, chewing away at his chest as the darkspawn sent more and more of the magic streaming toward him.
His vision blurred, and for a moment he couldn’t see where the Architect was. He clenched his teeth and willed himself to stop screaming despite the excruciating pain firing through his body. Then, through a dark haze, he saw the vague shape of the emissary. Shouting, he raised his sword and raced toward it. He ran against the stream of magic, feeling it lance into his chest and spread inside him like ice, and when he reached the Architect he brought his blade down and chopped off the creature’s hand.
It shrieked, ichor pumping from the stump, but its spell was broken. Bregan slumped to the ground, most of the breastplate covering his chest having been eaten away and his flesh bloody and still sizzling from the dark magic. The Architect fell, too, grasping at its arm and attempting to staunch the flow of ichor from its wound. Its robes were black with its blood.
Bregan forced himself to his feet with agonizing slowness. The pain in his chest was torture. It was as if someone had carved a chunk out of it, leaving nothing but a vacant hole. He lifted his sword, trying to keep it from shaking, and advanced on the Architect. The creature bared its fangs in a defiant hiss. Bregan raised his sword above his head—
—and suddenly lightning struck them both. The flash of light was blinding, and the boom of thunder threw him off his feet. The agony that raced through him forced him to convulse on the floor, electric currents still arcing their way across his body. The Architect reeled in agony as well, not ten feet away, the jolts of electricity leaping from point to point.
“This is convenient.” It took a moment for Bregan to realize that this was the First Enchanter speaking. He looked up, quivering from the pain, and saw the mage approach them calmly. His hand still smoked from the spell he had unleashed.