The Architect looked at the man in horror. “What … have you done?” it gasped.
Remille snorted. “Did you really think that I would simply go along with your plan, you foolish creature? Originally I was planning on making our enchantments faulty, at least the ones in Orlais, but this makes things much, much easier.”
“But … the Blight!” the Architect protested.
“What do I care of the Blight? When you first approached me in the Fade, I thought I would play along. Nod my head yes, and tell you everything you wanted to hear. And you gave me your secrets, didn’t you?” He held his hand up, black energy crackling between his fingers. “You gave me that and the King of Ferelden both.”
“No! You cannot do this, human!”
“I can, and I shall.”
Bregan had known the mage for an opportunist and still had blindly allowed himself to be deceived, just as the Architect had been deceived. Only he had no such excuse as the darkspawn had. He knew full well what such men were capable of, and yet he had chosen to ignore it. Because he hadn’t cared.
What an utter fool I have been, he cursed himself.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” came another voice.
Through the haze of pain, Bregan turned his head and saw King Maric and the two other Grey Wardens, now freed from their chains. The King was brandishing his runed blade at the First Enchanter, while the elven mage was already lifting up her white staff and summoning a spell. Out in the halls beyond the great chamber, a terrible crashing sound sent quivers throughout the entire structure. The shouts of men went up in the far distance.
“I don’t suppose you’ll stand down quietly?” the King asked gravely.
The First Enchanter turned toward him and sneered. “No.”
19
Duncan watched Genevieve die.
After being struck by Bregan, Fiona had quietly helped Duncan back to his knees just in time to see Genevieve struck by the emissary’s spell. He had listen to her agonized shrieks, watched her spasm and writhe like an insect being consumed by black fire. It twisted him up inside to see it. Despite everything she had done, he had still managed to reach her in the end. When he had shouted to her, she had looked at him, and in that moment he had seen the woman he knew before this madness had eaten her up.
Then, as the fight began between Bregan and the Architect, Duncan noticed that the First Enchanter was merely standing to the side, waiting. He knew then that he couldn’t dwell on his grief. They had watched helplessly until now, chained and unarmed, but this was the moment to act.
Stretching out with his leg, he was suddenly glad that First Enchanter Remille was so engrossed with the combat. He strained hard until his boot caught the edge of the wrapped bundle that Bregan had so quickly tossed aside, the one with their weapons. Maric and Fiona watched him with wide eyes, nodding as they realized what he was doing. With effort he dragged the bundle closer, close enough that he could reach it.
Maric’s dragonbone blade was the key. It was enchanted, and he was willing to bet it could cut through the manacles. Duncan stared at the First Enchanter, willing him silently not to turn around as he pressed his restraints down hard on the sword. It was an awkward position, and once his hands slipped and the blade cut sharply into his arm, but then he tried again. He clenched his teeth, shaking with the effort, until finally the manacles snapped. The edge sliced open the side of one hand, but he pulled away quickly before he lost it entirely.
Ignoring the pain, Duncan moved fast. He reached into his belt and found his lockpick. It took only seconds for him to undo the lock on his chains and slip out of them.
“Hurry!” Maric whispered urgently.
Fiona gasped as the chamber filled with a bright flash of light. The peal of thunder that followed hit Duncan with enough force to knock him over, and briefly he wondered if the First Enchanter had noticed him after all. He jumped back to his feet and saw that, no, the mage had turned on Bregan and the Architect.
“What? Are all mages such evil bastards?” he wondered out loud.
“I’m a mage!” Fiona snorted.
Good point. Duncan worked quickly to undo their restraints. As soon as they were free, Maric jumped to his feet and snatched up the bundle off the floor. He handed Fiona’s staff to her and passed the black-bladed dagger to Duncan. The moment Duncan touched it, he felt a strange pulsing deep within the metal. It was cold and strangely … off. Yet it had never felt like this before. What could be happening to it?
“I can, and I shall,” came the First Enchanter’s pronouncement. Duncan saw the mage lording over the terribly wounded Bregan and the Architect. Frankly, they both deserved to die, but at the moment there was one madman mage to deal with.
Fortunately Maric felt the same way. “I wouldn’t count on that!”
First Enchanter Remille turned around, scowling as he saw his prisoners freed. Black energy swirled around his fingers. He was surrounded by an aura of power that chilled the air.
“You needed to announce our attack?” Fiona whispered, annoyed.
“Sorry,” Maric sighed. Behind them, Duncan could hear a great crashing sound outside the chamber. It almost felt as if the entire tower was being torn apart; he could feel the vibrations in the floor. Men were shouting to each other in the far distance, and he heard the sounds of battle. Was this Teyrn Loghain, then? Had he broken into the tower by somehow coming through the walls?
“I don’t suppose you’ll stand down quietly?” Maric asked gravely, raising his sword at the mage and trying to ignore the commotion behind him.
“No,” Remille snarled.
“I didn’t think so.”
Maric rushed at the mage, swinging his longsword around him so quickly that the magical runes left a trail of bluish light in the air. Remille snorted with derision and held up a hand. White energy formed and circled around him and he cast a spell, the same spell that Duncan recognized from the night they arrived out of the Deep Roads.
As the First Enchanter launched the spell at Maric, it suddenly hit an invisible wall directly in front of him, its energies dissipating harmlessly. The mage shot a withering look at Fiona, who had just finished casting a counterspell and now watched him warily.
“I see,” Remille snapped.
Maric slashed at the man, slicing through the material of his Circle robes, but the mage jumped aside too quickly for the strike to be lethal. He waved an arm at Maric, a surge of power sending the King hurtling away to crash into the rows of empty benches in the gallery. Then he turned his attention more fully to Fiona.
She brandished her staff, the tip of it forming a ball of flame that was slowly growing as she concentrated. “What a pathetic waste,” she growled. “It is men like you that ruin our reputation!”
He snorted. “The mundanes fear us, as they should.” Holding up his hand, a surge of black energy surged out of him and lanced toward Fiona. It was the same power that had slain Genevieve, Duncan saw. Fiona responded by shooting a bolt of flame from her staff. The two energies struck each other, creating a whirling inferno of shadow and flame in the center of the room, each struggling to push through the other. It became a duel between the two mages, each of them concentrating to pour more power into the magic racing forth from them.
Duncan gripped his black dagger tightly and crept around the First Enchanter in a wide arc. He didn’t want to be noticed, and clearly rushing at the man as Maric did was not going to do anything useful. Glancing toward where he had seen Maric land, he saw the man slowly regaining his feet—not dead, then. Perhaps the King was almost as lucky as he claimed.