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-o-
“You want power for the mages, don’t you, Uldred?”
Uldred opened his door to find Navine and Jessa standing in the hallway, both wide eyed and half out of breath. One day, he was sure, they would both be Libertarians, and he knew them well. Navine was tall and handsome, olive skinned, the sort of apprentice that everyone wanted to like. Jessa, his friend, a slight girl with dishwater hair. He took a small step back, and they pushed past him, Navine carefully closing the door behind them.
“I want liberty.” Uldred said carefully. “They aren’t always the same thing, apprentices. You must understand, our position with the Chantry is very delicate.” He motioned for them to sit.
“Did you hear what they did to Melis?” Jessa didn’t seem to have heard him. Her skin was flush, and neither of them sat down.
“They locked her in the basement,” Navine said. “Solitary. They left her there for a week, all alone with the rats. Didn’t even give her a candle.”
“The templars said she was ‘insubordinate.’”
Uldred felt his breath tighten. Melis was one of his own, one of his favorites, a sweet Enchanter who never hurt anyone. He knew she was afraid of the dark. He frowned, his mouth tightening. “Yes. I did hear that.”
“We aren’t even human to them—”
“You both know that I’m a Libertarian.” Uldred had represented the fraternity for two seasons, now, voted in when Rickon joined the Isolationists. It had been unexpected election and an upset victory, surprising many who had expected a senior enchanter to take his place. Their surprise only made him more resolved. Uldred looked from Jessa to Navine. “What is this about?”
“I found something.” Uldred watched as Navine reached into his robes and pulled a small razor from his pocket. "In one of the old books in the back of the grand hall. It was so dusty. I don't think the templars even knew it was there."
Navine looked at Uldred once more before he freed the razor from it's leather binding. Uldred watched, spellbound, as Navine drew it suddenly across his palm. It must have hurt but the pain didn't slow him. Blood welled up, drops of bright red on his dark olive skin. Uldred stopped breathing.
Then Navine spoke something in Tevene, words Uldred couldn't understand, and then the blood changed, turned black, and flowed into something else. Power, flowing straight and pure, from Navine's veins.
“The templars always warned us it was powerful,” Navine said, quietly, “but I never guessed it was so...” He spun his hand, the dark magic licking at his fingers. “Easy.”
“This is blood magic, Navine.” Uldred felt his heart pounding. He knew exactly what would happen to them, to the entire fraternity, if Irving ever even suspected. He caught his breath. “You know… you know how I feel about this." He looked at Nadine. "It’s too dangerous.”
“All magic is only as dangerous as the mage who wields it. Aren’t you the one who said that?” Uldred nodded slowly. This had been his calling card, his slogan in the campaign. It played well with the fraternity he had chosen. Navine’s dark eyes grew darker, so dark they were almost black, the dark magic swirling in reflection. “The Libertarians listen to you,” he said. “With your help, I could teach this to them.”
“You could teach them.” A voice growled low in his mind. A weaker mage would leap at such power, would follow anyone who could give it to them. He looked at Jessa, could see the way she was looking at Navine. “The Libertarians are my fraternity,” Uldred said. “I’m responsible for their safety.”
“Do you think we’re safe now?” Jessa said. “How can we be safe when they can decide at any moment that we’re dangerous, that we don’t even deserve to be Harrowed. That we’re insubordinate.” Uldred was seeing her for the first time. Jessa was usually so reserved. Uldred knew her as a quiet girl who bit her nails and sneezed at dust.
She reached out and took his hand. Her grip was firm, stronger than he would have imagined, and Uldred’s arm went limp. He made no move to stop her.
“Here,” Jessa said. “Let me show you.”
-o-
Uldred closed his eyes. He reminded himself of what would happen if Irving found out on his own. For the greater good. The others will understand. He opened his eyes and looked at Irving. “I saw Navine and Jessa both draw daggers across their palms, and then cast some sort of spell on each other.” Uldred clasped his own hands together, hiding the trace of scars. “They were practicing blood magic, both of them.”
Behind him, one of the senior enchanters gasped— Niall, he thought— and a muttered whisper of horror swept around the room. Only Wynne was silent, her lips pressed into a line of heavy disappointment.
“I feared as much.” Irving sighed. He tapped a finger against the worn surface of his desk. “What brings a mage to this? I will never understand it.”
"It is pride." Wynne’s voice was clipped. Uldred turned to see her grey eyes on him even as she spoke to Irving, and she crossed her arms under her breasts. "Some mages think they are stronger than the rules."
Uldred met her eyes, his brow creasing. “Or perhaps it is fear,” he said tightly. “Fear that those rules will close in on them, and they will not be strong enough to save themselves.”
“Navine showed such promise...” Irving lowered his hands, as if the weight of his inevitable decision had pressed them to his desk.
“Yes, he was a good mage. They both were.” Uldred remembered how Navine had been so eager to impress him, how Jessa had been one of the first to support his bid to represent the Libertarians. They put your people in jeopardy, a voice reminded him. He lowered his eyes.
“The Circle owes you a great debt, Uldred.” The First Enchanter looked over the room. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say that it is high time you were raised to Senior Enchanter. What do you think, Uldred?”
His breath caught, and he looked back up at Irving. The old man had always treated him like a student, but he was looking at him differently now. Like a man who had something to contribute.
Like an equal. Uldred felt warm in the light of Irving’s trust, and he realized he was grinning. That was inappropriate; he tipped his head slightly. “I can only hope to be worthy of your faith in me, First Enchanter.”
A vote was called, and the motion passed with one dissenter. He clenched and unclenched his fist as the others offered praise and took their leave. Only Wynne remained. The old mage smiled thinly at him.
“Congratulations, Uldred.” She held out her hand. After a moment Uldred did the same, expected her to shake it, or maybe pat him condescendingly, but instead Wynne gripped his wrist and turned it with surprising strength, exposing the palm. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the trace of scars that lined his palms.
“Cut yourself, Uldred?” She looked up at him. “Was this before or after you saw other mages doing blood magic?”
Uldred pulled his hand away sharply. "I had to play along, Wynne. How else could I have caught them?” He shook his arm, so that the cuff of his robes slid down, covering his scars again. “I didn't cast anything real. I'm not stupid." He frowned at her. “Is that why you voted against me?”
For a moment Uldred thought she was going to deny it. Then Wynne sighed. “No,” she said. “I voted against you because a senior enchanter is more than just a great mage. He must be a teacher, he must be an example.” Wynne frowned. “You’ve never mentored apprentices, Uldred. You’ve never done anything to help the Circle.”
“Never...?” Uldred held up his scarred hands. “I did this for the Circle!”
“And I’m sure that had nothing to do with your own advancement.” Wynne squinted at him, and he glared back at her. “The Circle appreciates your service, Uldred.” She folded her arms. “But be careful not to cut too deep. If we would compromise ourselves, we are nothing.”
Easy for her to say. When was the last time Wynne the Perfectly Perfect ever had to make the hard choices? Uldred smiled through gritted teeth. “Thank you for your advice,” he said. “But I think I can control myself.”
-o-
Uldred sighed. “They were not one of ‘us,’” he said. “They were apprentices, and so are you. Please remember that you are here at the indulgence of your seniors, Jowan, and I will explain.”
He looked around at the other Libertarians who had gathered when he called. Melis, a pretty young mage in purple robes, who never raised her voice, who only wanted to see the sky. Bel Gruce, short and dark-haired, who was so quick to anger, who never talked about what had happened to her before she came to the Tower. Fonst, tall and gawky, always so quick to believe. Rhonus, a balding enchanter who would never be senior, who had seven different plans for escape but was too afraid to try any of them. And Boson, tall and broad shouldered, a senior enchanter who always questioned but never faltered, even though his fingernails were gnawed to the skin.
And there were the apprentices. Apprentices were not allowed to join fraternities, but Uldred always let them sneak in, if they had the inclination. They would be enchanters some day, and Uldred wanted them to choose the right fraternity. There was Jowan, of course, so desperate to prove himself, and there was Prist, and Luvan, both elves from the city. They had been bunkmates since they arrived, and always talked about fishing as though it were a secret code for freedom.
“Irving already knew." All eyes were on him, at that moment, and he took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "If that path had led back to us... you have to understand, all it takes is a rumor, just the barest suspicion of apostasy. Circles have been purged for less." Uldred shook his head. "I regret the loss of our friends, I truly do... but I did it to save you." He looked up. "For all of you.”
“See?” Beside him, Melis nodded. She hugged her arms around herself, squeezing to keep her hands from shaking. “I knew it had to be that. Something like that.” She glanced at the door, as if it might burst open at any minute. “Maybe we should stop meeting like this, wait for...”
“No." Uldred put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed her gently. She looked up at him gratefully. "Navine was misguided, but he was right about one thing. Until we’re free we will never be safe.” Uldred sighed, releasing her shoulder, and he looked at the others. “Irving won’t come looking after us now, he has his scapegoat. ”
“What will happen to them?” Bel asked. She crossed her arms, her plain face made more striking by anger. “They did it for you, you know. They wanted to be more powerful for you.”
“I know.” Uldred glanced away. When he closed his eyes he could still see Jessa. He remembered the feeling of power in the air when she cast her spell, the feeling of horror and amazement when he realized he was under her control. Blood is power, and power is freedom. Mages can never be safe until they are free.
Uldred shook his head. “I understand the lure of blood magic,” he said. “I do. But if we make even a small mistake, they will never allow us any freedom. Not ever.” He spread his hands. “If we would compromise ourselves, we are nothing.”
Bel scowled. “Sounds like something Wynne would say.”
“No blood magic, Bel. I don’t know why this is even a debate.” He closed his hands, feeling the scars ache as the skin pull. He lowered his head and took a breath. “This is not why I called you here. Cailan has called for mages to join his battle against the darkspawn,” he told them. “Now that I’m a Senior Enchanter, I’m going to recommend we volunteer.”
“Why should we help their king?” Bel asked. “We’re Libertarians. We don’t hop when they bid.” He looked at her and she crossed her arms. “Frankly, I think we should all just run away. Anders did it.”
“And now Anders is in solitary, and he’ll never see the sky again.” Melis flinched, and Uldred could see she was shaking again. He hated to see her like that. He looked at the others. “We can’t all run away, my friends. I don’t know any secret spaces large enough. But Ostagar is a true path to freedom. If we can show Cailan that we can be trusted, that we can even be useful, he can be our ally. And if there is one man with more power than the Chantry, it is the King.”
The other mages looked at him, chewing over his words. He felt the warmth of their consideration. He saw Prist and Luvan exchange a silent look. Then Boson grunted, and Uldred saw him nod, just slightly. He relaxed a little.
“Ostagar,” Fonst said. “That’s in the south isn’t it? Past Lothering.”
“Good ale there, I here.”
“Wish it were near Amaranthine, though. The weather...”
Uldred smiled a little as they spoke, their chattering voices rising in excitement, like children. Even Jowan, his past anger forgotten in the glow of what Uldred had promised. They love you. Melis touched his arm, and he looked back at her.
"Do you remember anything about the outside, Uldred?" she asked.
Uldred did remember one thing. He remembered a bright summer day, he was four and he had just learned to make bubbles of spirit magic pop between his hands. He hadn't known yet what they were, but he knew it was special. He remembered his delight. And he remembered his father's rage when he showed him, remembered trying to fight back, remembered soft balls of iridescent light floating uselessly into the sky.
"Not really." Uldred shook his head. It wasn't worth repeating.
"I remember my parents, a little.” Melis smiled wistfully. “My mother had brown hair, like mine. Brown eyes. She didn’t even look at me when they took me away.” She bit her lip, her skin going pale between her teeth. “Uldred… the outside world hates us.” Her voice quavered. “How can you know we’ll be safe out there?”
“I can’t.” Uldred thought of Melis, alone in the dark. And he thought of Navine and Jessa, their foreheads freshly branded, staring placidly back at him whenever he closed his eyes. He looked away. “Safer outside than here, though, trapped like animals, waiting for the templars to turn on us.”
“But I don’t know anything about fighting,” Melis said.
“But you do, Melis. You’re the strongest woman I know,” Uldred took her hands and looked at her. Melis’ hair was pulled back in two tight braided knots, revealing soft features, kind eyes. “They've done a terrible wrong to you, but you've never broken. Never been anything less than yourself. How could a darkspawn even touch you?” He brushed a hand against her cheek. “Melis, please. I can’t save you if you won’t come with me.”
She took his hand. “I’m with you, Uldred,” Melisa said. She smiled and took his hand. “Of course. We all are.”
The others were quick to add their approval, and Uldred smiled. Prist and Luvan looked up at him and began to clap.
This is what a mentor is. He wasn’t the mentor Wynne wanted, but he was the mentor these mages needed, and soon they would prove themselves, soon they would walk in sunlight amongst free men. He only hoped that he could protect them.
Don’t be afraid. You are stronger now. He looked around the room, at the young mages who still followed him, who needed him, who trusted in his power. He hoped it would be enough.
-o-
The sky was cloudless, and the sun at Ostagar was beating down on the bare skin of his head. Uldred looked up into the sky and squinted. The last time he had been under the sun he had lost everything. He could almost see those iridescent bubbles, glinting in the glare of the sun. He hadn't been able to save himself then, hadn't been able to make his father love him.
No mage should ever feel that helpless.
Uldred stood straighter. He was not a child any longer. This fact seemed lost on the Revered Mother, though, who had tailed him in particular since the moment he arrived at Ostagar. He didn’t know what he’d down to earn her attention, perhaps she just didn’t like his face, but she was standing at his shoulder even then, like a starved gnat, always circling. He turned to scowl at her, and she glared back at him.
This was meant to be their moment, their chance to prove themselves useful to the King. He had promised his fraternity. They were counting on him. And yet here they were worse than useless.
He scowled at the Revered Mother. This woman treated them like children, keeping them always on the templars leash, sending that Warden templar to harry them, following him everywhere. Even there, in the war council, she was breathing down his neck, her obvious distrust so thick he could almost smell it.
“So I won’t be in the battle?” The young Warden was speaking. Uldred looked at him, his brow creasing. A noble boy with smooth skin, a few inches shorter than he was. At most he was sixteen.
They can’t even see you. They trust a child before they trust you. Uldred threw up his hands. “Your Majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary,” he tried. “The Circle of Magi can—”
“We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage. Save them for the darkspawn!” The Revered Mother. Again with her ridiculous suspicions. He turned to her, to respond, to say anything, but the meeting went on as if he hadn’t spoken. The King didn’t even seem to have heard him.
They won’t see anything unless you make them see.
The sun set, and the Revered Mother retired to her tent and left the mages to their rest, but Uldred could not sleep. He had wanted to be of use. He tossed on his bedroll, thinking of the other mages in his fraternity, and how displeased they would be if this were all for nothing. He felt a cold sweat rising, a cold dread, the keen anticipation of their disappointment. You will lose their favor. Uldred sat up. He would not allow this, he decided. He stood suddenly, dressing in his robes again before he slipped out into the night.
The King was not in his camp, and the attendant outside his tent didn't seem to know where he'd gone. Following after one of the Wardens no doubt. Uldred found himself circling the general’s tent. Of the group he seemed the most logical, Uldred thought. Perhaps he could see reason.
“Are you going to pace out there all night, or do you have something to say to me?” The Teyrn’s voice. Uldred turned to see him standing in the entrance, a sheepskin thrown around his shoulders and a weary look in his eyes. He cocked a brow. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
Uldred glanced over his shoulder, half by instinct, and Loghain rolled his eyes. He turned and went back inside his tent. After a moment Uldred followed him.
“Something bothering you, mage?” The Teyrn sat down on a hassock, and motioned for Uldred to do the same. “The Revered Mother isn’t in here. You can speak plainly.”
The offer seemed sincere, and after a moment Uldred sat opposite him. “My name isn't ‘mage'" he said. "It's Uldred. And it just seems rather a waste, doesn’t it?”
“What does?”
“Sending legendary warriors up some ancient tower to light a beacon, when any mage in their first year could light it with a spell.” He waved his hands. “Or I could send a firebolt directly into the sky, where any soldier could see it. Or... or a lightning storm. Or anything.” Uldred sighed. “You have twenty mages here, and frankly each of them has twenty different spells that would be better ways to signal men than a big tower and.. and a torch.”
Loghain was listening with some interest. “You may have a point.” He understands, he sees who you are. “Why didn’t you say that at the meeting?”
Uldred gave him a pointed look. “You know why.”
“Ah, yes.” Loghain gave him half a smile. “The Revered Mother has been somewhat unreasonable, hasn’t she?”
“Somewhat, yes, your Grace.”
“Things may become more difficult than Cailan suspects, in this fight against the darkspawn. He doesn't understand that wars are won by more than reputation." Loghain looked off, and the weariness in his eyes became something more than fatigue. He sighed, and looked back at Uldred. "I think that you do. If this is a true Blight, I think you could be a great help to me.”
“The Revered Mother has made certain I’m not much help to anyone."
“It rankles that she has so much power over your kind, doesn't it?" Uldred nodded slowly, and Loghain stood up. "I understand, you know. I was a freedom fighter myself, once. It is a sore thing to bend the knee for someone who you do not think deserves it." He looked down at Uldred, giving him a considering look. “If you help me win this war, perhaps I could help you win your freedom? For you and any mage who helps you?”
Uldred rose to his feet. “Your Grace, if you could give me that,...” Uldred imagined bringing his Libertarians on this quest, leading them in a fight for their freedom. He could see their faces as they looked at him. Their savior. He felt his blood warm again. “For such a boon, I would follow you to the Black City and beyond.”
-o-
Neither part of the army nor the Wardens, his mages were the last to hear the call to retreat, and they brought up the rear when Loghain turned and fled, leaving the King to die. The order worried Uldred. You can't trust Loghain, you can't trust anyone but yourself.
And yet, he saw no other choice. He remembered the way Loghain had looked at him, how he had listened and understood. And Uldred had promises to keep. Their company turned and headed back North again, back to the confines of the Tower.
The attack came at midday, in the full light of the sun. Two dozen genlocks and hurlocks, separated from the main horde, flanked them and cut them off from the main column. The mages were quickly overwhelmed. Many of them had never been in a real fight before; Uldred himself had only read about them in books. The genlocks were vulnerable to magic, but they were strong, and he was quickly drained as he struggled to push them back.
He fought his way to Boson. A hurlock closed on him, and he used the last threads of his magic to knock him down, his body smoking as he fell.
"How much lyrium do we have left?"
Boson looked at him wearily. "None."
Uldred felt a sinking sickness in his gut. "None? How could…?"
"The Revered Mother restricted our supply," Boson said. Out of the corner of his eye, Uldred could see a genlock swing a mace at one of the Aequitarians who had joined them. Henley, an elemental mage from West Hills. Uldred saw him fall and his body tensed. "We were supposed to get a fresh lyrium from the templars when the fighting started, but with the retreat our lines have been rearranged, and I guess..."
His voice trailed off, and Uldred looked away. All around them the hiss and fizzled with magic, and the creaking roar of darkspawn, but he couldn’t hear any of that, only the roar of his own blood in his ears. He knew that his fellow mages were also tiring. They couldn’t last much longer.
The Chantry betrays you. They will always betray you. Trust only in your own power.
He heard a woman scream. The sound was too familiar; he had heard that scream sometimes in the night, crying out against the dark. He left Boson, running, searching for Melis.
He found her cornered between a hurlock and a cliff face. She tried to cast but it was obvious that she was out of magic, too. He could feel that own emptiness still inside him. The hurlock closed in, raising a heavy bastard sword high above his gnarled head. Uldred looked down at his hands, at the faint trace of scars. His own power.
Melis raised her hand but she was so slight. Uldred threw himself between her and the hurlock, trying to stop his blade with his hands. Steel met bone, bone and something more than that, and impossibly the hurlock stopped. Blood spilled from Uldred’s hands, hot and thick, and in his mind he heard that voice again.
Egel cruor est egel volod.
That spell. He could see Navine in his mind, but it was not Navine’s voice who spoke to him, then. The words were Tevene, but the words were familiar and somehow Uldred understood. He reached for that power with conviction as his life’s blood spilled over the bastard sword.
Dark magic whorled around his hand, pulling the light out of the day. Suddenly the hurlock went stiff. Uldred took a step back. He clenched his fist, and the hurlock stopped breathing, then twisted and fell prone to the ground. The spell flickered out, like a snuffed match, leaving the smell of sulfur. Uldred dropped to his knees.
“Your hand...” Melis reached for him, and he let her take his hand.
Melis tried to draw power to heal his wound, but she was still drained, and nothing happened. Blood oozed from his wound. Around them the battle was drawing to a close, as the mages and their templar shadows rallied the last of their power, routing the remaining darkspawn. But Melis only looked at him, her brows knit, her face paled.
Uldred knew that it wasn’t the cut that troubled her. He covered her hand with his good one. “I didn’t mean to...” he tried. “I couldn’t let... I promised I would save you.”
“I know, I...” She swallowed, her eyes darting to the left as her voice dropped to a whisper. “I won’t tell.”
He followed her eyes and saw Wynne, running towards them. “Are you hurt? I saw-”
She reached for him, but Uldred pulled his hand away. “It’s nothing. Just an old wound that tore open.” He looked at her, noticed the limp in her step that hadn’t been there before. “You’re injured.”
Wynne didn't answer, only frowned and looked at Melis. A cold sweat gathered at the base of Uldred's spine. How much had the old mage seen? Wynne has never liked you, never trusted you, she will ruin everything, even now, when you were so close...
Uldred looked around, blinking, assessing the damage. It had not gone well for them. Three of their mages had died, and four of their templars. He tried to imagine what he could say to his fraternity now, and he held onto hope that Loghain was still the answer. And there was still the problem of Wynne.
“You must go back to the Tower.” Wynne spoke to Melis but Uldred still heard her, heard her even more clearly than Melis did. “You must tell them... what happened here.”
Uldred looked at Wynne, but the old mage wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. She suspects, she knows, she will betray you. Uldred took Melis by the arm. “Wynne’s right. We have to go.” Power flowed from deep inside him, and he felt his palm begin to heal himself. Uldred stood up. “Irving needs to hear from us.”
-o-
He woke in a cold sweat. Uldred looked down at his hand, and he clenched and unclenched his fist until his heart rate dropped. The scars were stiff but healing.
Magic is only as evil as the mage who wields is. Blood magic is no different.
Uldred spun his hand. Lyrium was so hard to come by, subject to the whims of the dwarves, of the Chantry, of merchants.... but there was always blood. The elder mages said blood magic wasn’t safe, but the dangerous thing, Uldred knew then, was relying on others for your own safety.
He remembered Jessa, so bold, and Navine, stronger than he had ever been when he followed the Chantry’s rules. He felt his heart racing again, felt the power of his own life flowing through his veins. There is more power in blood. Blood makes a man warm, it fill him, it keeps him alive.
Blood is survival.
He travelled with his mages, the Libertarians, surrounded only by those who were loyal. The road back to the Tower was frantic, harried, punctuated by the occasional darkspawn attack. It was never more than two or three, but they were always running. Uldred's boots were thin and his body ached from travel.
Somewhere between Ostagar and Redcliffe they slipped their templar handlers. There were so few of them left anyway, Uldred didn't know if they had died or gotten separated, but it didn't matter. For a moment they were free. It was a heady feeling, realizing suddenly that he was not being watched, realizing that for the first time he could do as he liked.
When they broke to rest, he went off on his own, trying to recreate that moment when he had come to Melis' rescue. He found a knife and cut his hand, just like with the darkspawn, but the words wouldn't come. The power stayed just out of reach. He cursed the shortsighted rules that kept this power from them. He had never been one to invent his own spells, and trying to find this magic on his own was like stumbling in the dark.
Redcliffe drew closer and Uldred knew that he was running out of time. He gathered the others. "I know that none of this turned out as we'd hoped.” His mages looked to him for guidance. He could see that they were also wandering in the dark, looking for a sign. He held up his hands. “Ostagar was not the panacea that I'd hoped for, I'm sure you all can see that. But all is not lost. We can still throw our support behind Loghain, and we can still earn the respect that we deserve."
"And if that doesn't work?" Fonst asked. "What then? Are we still to bow and scrape for the templars and Irving, waiting for the next time they want us to risk our lives for people who would rather we didn't even exist?"
"And what about blood magic?" Bel again. "Are we all learning that now? Or are you a special exception?"
Uldred looked at Melis, who shrank under his scrutiny. "She already knew," she said, quietly, although she didn’t quite look at him when she said it.
The other mages began muttering, frowning and demanding he explain himself. A cold breeze blew over their camp, giving him a chill.
Now is not the time to hesitate. That voice goaded him, and Uldred took a deep breath. He had hoped to wait until he had mastered the art, but it was clear the conversation would not wait. He lowered his head.
"I can see now that I was wrong," he said. He held up his hands, so that they could all see the wounds, still raw, that ran across his palms. "Blood magic is not the enemy, it is only a means to an end. I see that now. Any mage who wants this power, and can use it responsibly, should have it. We can learn it together.”
“A little late for this revelation, isn’t it?” Bel crossed her arms. “How Navine would laugh at you now. You know, if he still could laugh.”
“Bel...” Melis reached for her, but Bel pulled away.
“How do we know this isn’t how he tricked him and Jessa?” she demanded. “How do we know he isn’t going to turn on us like you did them?”
Uldred wheeled on her. “Don’t you think my heart breaks for them?” He closed his hand, tearing open the half-healed wound. Blood fell in a thin line from his fingers. “I was responsible for them. I’m responsible for every one of you.”
“Why?” Boson this time. “Why does it have to be you?”
Because no one else understands. No one else is strong enough. That voice again, louder now. Uldred shook his head. “Because no one else will,” he said. “And I have a plan. Loghain has promised me that if we help him, he will help us. He is a powerful man. If we fight for his side, he can give us everything I’ve ever promised you.”
“Why should we trust Loghain? How is this any different than Cailan?” Bel waved a hand at the forest around them. “We should just run, make a break for Lothering-”
“And how long do you think we’d last before they caught us again? What then?” And the others... Luvan and Prist, Jowan, all the apprentices who couldn’t come to Ostagar, his mages still trapped inside the Tower. “We have to go back,” Uldred said. “I have to save the others.”
“Well, you don’t have to save all of us.” Bel turned on her heel. “Allow me to lighten your load. Here is one mage who can take care of herself.”
She left them without looking back. Uldred turned to Melis, feeling heavy. He knew they had been friends. “Are you going to leave me, too?”
“No.” She turned to the others, and he saw a light in her eyes that he had not seen before. “Uldred saved me. And he can save all of us, I know it.” She turned back to him, and held up the smooth surface of her palm. Uldred looked at her, her clear eyes shining in the dark. He drew his knife and cut across her skin. Melis did not even flinch.
“Egel cruor est egel volod!” Her sweet voice rang with power. “Do you to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, or do you want your freedom?”
This power is yours by right. “Friends, the Chantry controls the lyrium, but this is a power that I control.” And you can control it, you are strong enough, they know you are strong enough. He held up his hand. “This power is inside me, inside all of us. It is the power we were born to wield.”
He drew the knife across his palm again, this time cutting from thumb to forefinger, the cuts crossing each other. “Egel cruor est egel volod.” My blood is my will; the words came to him again, in that familiar voice, as they had on the battlefield. This time dark magic flowed from his veins into the air, swirling around his fingers, waiting.
Around him, the others began to taste the same power, freeing blood from their veins, speaking the same words. Blood magic darkened the night, pulling light from the air, blinding him. It hissed and sang in the silence, like the sound of blood pounding in a cupped ear, like the heartbeat of a dying beast.
Melis stood beside him. She reached for his hand, pressed her torn palm against his, warm skin against skin, their blood mingling. He felt her power join with his.
“I love you, Uldred,” she said, quietly, but the words were lost in the din.
-o-
He had their rapt attention, and it warmed him, calmed him, gave him that safe assurance that he was right. “I do know this,” he said. “If we continue to assist Teyrn Loghain in this war, he will assist us. He is a powerful man, and he could be an ally for us in our coming struggle with the Chantry.”
“Typical Libertarian hyperbole.” One of the Loyalists, Samuel, spoke first. “We don’t have a ‘struggle’ with the Chantry.”
“The Chantry restricted our access to lyrium at Ostagar, First Enchanter,” Boson said. “The Revered Mother nearly cost us all our lives. We lost Henley because of the Chantry’s meddling. If that isn’t a struggle, I don’t know what is.”
“Maker,” Niall said, under his breath. He closed his eyes. Niall had been close with Henley, Uldred remembered, and they were both popular with the Aequitarians. He thought this might work to their advantage.
Then Irving folded his hands. “It’s an interesting story.” He looked over Uldred shoulder, at the empty space in his office, and he tilted his head. “I notice Wynne didn’t return to you. Is there anything I should know?”
“Wynne stayed behind to help the wounded,” Uldred said. Irving relaxed a little at the news; Uldred knew they had been close. He tapped a finger against his leg, and managed a smile. “You know how she is.”
“Mmm.” He frowned as he considered everything that Uldred had told him. “Well, our various motives are not important,” he decided. “If Loghain is the man left the task of fighting darkspawn, I think it is in everyone’s best interest if we join our forces with his. Are we agreed?”
They were, and the meeting adjourned with the Aequitarians and Libertarians united, for the first time that Uldred could remember. He felt slightly giddy. Boson was waiting for him by the door, his hands folded in front of him.
“There’s something else you should know,” Boson said. “While we were gone, Jowan... he used blood magic. I don’t know all the details, but I know that Irving saw him. Jowan’s gone.”
Uldred sighed. It could not all be good news; Maker forbid. Jowan must have learned from Navine before Uldred stopped him. He could see then why Jowan had been so upset. And then Irving had found him, of course. It was not terribly surprising, knowing Jowan.
Uldred looked at Boson. “Prist and Luvan?”
“They’re still here,” Boson said. “I don’t think they were involved. Prist was Harrowed last week, actually.” Boson managed a smile, and added, “She passed.”
“At least there’s that.” Uldred had always known Prist would make a great enchanter one day. He raised his head. “I have a good feeling about this, Boson. With the Aequitarians beside us we’re stronger than we’ve ever been. This is going to happen. I’m going to win our freedom.”
“We’ll do our best,” Boson said, carefully. Uldred gave him a look, and Boson sighed. “I will follow you into the fire, Uldred, but sometimes... well. Pride comes before a fall.”
“Pride come before a lot of things, Boson.” Uldred clasped his hand and smiled. “It is a good day, Boson. Our time is coming soon.”
Boson tipped his head and left, but his words remained, circling around in Uldred’s mind.
Pride comes before a fall.
The phrase was Rivaini, from the legend of Ser Austice. Austice was a general, a war hero, a man so beloved by his people that they nearly worshipped them. At first he loved them, but as time passed the glow of their admiration changed him, until one day he came to look down on them. Started to believe his own press, as they say. Then Austice fell victim to a pride demon. In the end his cause was lost, his people turned against him, and his lands were overrun and turned by Qunari.
It was not a story Uldred wanted to think about. He could not imagine a fate worse that this, to be consumed by one’s own failure, to lose everything. And he had enough to worry about without demons.
What do you know of demons? That familiar voice, like a scratch in his thoughts. Uldred stopped where he stood. You know only what the Chantry taught you, it went on. You have heard that they are evil, that they cannot be controlled. But the Chantry also taught you that blood magic was evil, and you have seen this isn’t true.
Uldred felt a distance growing in his mind, no longer trusting his own thoughts. He swallowed. “Is that what you are?” he asked, out loud. “Are you a pride demon?” His voice echoed in the empty room.
In response there was only silence, a void where that strange voice had always been. The silence stretched on. Uldred could not remember when he had first heard that voice; he only knew that it had always been there.
He knew then that he was right.
He felt lightheaded, and he reached out for the back of a chair, steadying himself. Uldred had known six mages in his life who had been possessed, and it had never ended well. He bit his lip, trying to remember how it had begun for them. Had Sean ever heard voices before the desire demon tore through his freckled skin? How long had Eloise been tempted before she gave in to sloth, her body surrendering to endless sleep? What had Ser Austice known before he succumbed?
Uldred did not want to end that way. His mission was too important.
And yet. He let go of the chair, regaining his sense of balance. Pride was the apex of the demon pantheon; they only deigned to court the strongest mages. Uldred could see he had been chosen. He did not need to ask why.
He looked down at his hands, at the cross of scars that had become a spiderweb, thick and deep. He knew that he was strong, as strong as any mage in the Tower. Irving supported him, and even if that changed, his people could defend themselves. But doubt still niggled at him.
Blood magic will not be enough, the voice tried again, softer now. Blood magic couldn’t save Jowan. The demon’s words echoed his own thoughts, but Uldred knew the voice for what it was. He pushed it down, back to the Fade, buried it in the darkness of his mind.
He would not be tempted, he decided, and his thoughts would only be his own.
-o-
Boson shifted uneasily in his chair. “This doesn’t look good,” he said, under his breath.
Uldred agreed. A line of templars sent a particular sort of message, when Irving could have easily sent an apprentice.
“I’m sure it’s only to make plans,” Uldred said. He leaned in close to Boson. “If there is a problem, I will make a signal. You will know it when you hear it. Come in force.
Boson nodded, and then Uldred stood and let the templars lead him away His cup was bitter. He was unshackled, but flanked by templars he might as well have been in chains. He felt the walls closing in. The templars stopped outside the First Enchanter’s office and Uldred walked, uneasily, inside.
The same council of senior enchanters lined the walls. Uldred looked them over and swallowed. “Why am I here?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
“Wynne has just returned from Ostagar,” Irving said. He tapped his finger against the desk as he spoke, that idle tick again, as though he knew the hammer was about to fall. Uldred stopped breathing. “She has some new information I think we should consider,” he went on. “She’s on her way now.”
Wynne will ruin everything. If they waste time talking now, none of this will matter. You will lose your only chance. Wynne knew the truth about Loghain, and maybe more than that. If she even suspects...
“What does it matter what she says?” Uldred demanded. Irving looked startled, and he realized his voice had gone shrill. Uldred tried to steady himself, but panic seized him. He began to shake. “Why can’t you just trust me?”
“It’s not a question of trust,” Irving said. He stood, and laid a heavy hand on Uldred’s narrow shoulder. “I know how chaotic a battlefield can be. We just want to make sure we have the full story.”
If she has remembers even a tenth of what she saw, you’re dead. Uldred took hold of Irving’s hand and forcibly removed it from his shoulder. “No.”
“Uldred, I don’t-”
“No.” He didn’t even remember drawing the dagger, didn’t even remember bringing it, but he felt the sharp pain in that same old wound and then Irving was flung hard against the wall.
Everything that came after was a blur. His Libertarians must have been right outside, waiting; they stormed in with the full force of their magic, daggers drawn, blood flowing, and his whole world went pear shaped. He saw Niall flee the room and he screamed and joined the fray.
You are strong enough. But Uldred could see that he wasn’t. Irving and the others were senior enchanters, blood magic or not. They were so much stronger than he’d imagined. He saw Samuel strike Fonst with lightning, and then he saw Prist and Luvan fall. His heart broke for them.
They need you. Melis pushed herself through the room to stand beside him, brave as she had ever been, but it was only a matter of time. Uldred could not bear to lose. And you know you are strong enough. You are strong enough to control me.
He stopped, letting the full meaning of the demon’s word flow over him. He was strong enough. He had to be. He had been chosen. The world slowed down. Uldred dropped his dagger and let go.
“Uldred what are you-” Uldred turned to Melis, looking down at her from such a great height. Her eyes went wide with horror.
“Don’t worry,” Uldred said. “I can control it.” His voice vibrated with infernal power as his pride finally consumed him.
Melis turned from him and ran, but he let her go. He didn’t need her any more. He didn’t need anyone but himself, and he turned on Irving and the others. He could still save them. He had everything under control.
-o-