Spellbound

25. Necromancy

If someone had told Lavellan a few weeks back he would fight side by side with a necromancer one day, he would have scoffed at them and denied those people even existed. The nuances of blood mages were unimportant, they were all equally horrific. They used blood - rarely their own - for powerful rituals to gain might and riches. Countless elves got sacrificed for these macabre hobbies, and many more would die, for blood magic was still widely practised, especially in Tevinter. It turned honourable mages into vessels for demons.

Yet here he was, side by side with Dorian, as he shot magical arrows from his bow and the mage wielded a golden staff that had been a snake until earlier.

How the world had changed.

The new perspective shook Lavellan to the core. He needed a break to think about Dorian, about his magic, about Lavellan supporting him. However, the fight raging in the foyer left them no such time to waste. Fenris bled from multiple wounds, and Danarius slashed through the rows of the dead with his fire.

Since Lavellan couldn't fathom how powerful Dorian's magic truly was and if the horrific alliance with the corpses would gain them sufficient power, he couldn't tell whose direction the fight inclined to. Danarius tired from his demon rituals as the vicious fiends fed off his life force for their vitality. Dorian, on the other hand, wove his purple magic with steely grey eyes that never fatigued.

Fenris' lyrium wraith was flickering. Its raw strength ran out of fuel quicker than the growling elf liked, and his movements became cumbersome. The more awareness he gained of his injuries, the more they restricted him.

The Iron Bull was fast enough to create a path through the dropping bodies of enemies to protect him from what might have been a deadly slash by a demon's claws.

"No, no! I want him alive, you bastards!" Danarius called out as his barrier caught another hit from a groaning corpse.

"I'm here, knife ear, no need to worry," the Bull called over Danarius, uncaring of his scowl. The Tal-Vashoth's massive frame arrived at Fenris' side moments before his frenzied power depleted. He staggered and the tip of his sword clanged to the ground with a jarring shriek. Panting, he leaned into the Bull's side and cradled an injury at his flank.

The dead created a circle around them and escorted Bull and Fenris away from Danarius and the corner. Danarius hollered in rage, but no matter his hateful commands at his demons, they couldn't permeate Dorian's phantoms by the time Bull and Fenris reached the staircase.

Fenris struggled weakly, sword dragging behind him as Bull carried him more than pulling him along.

"Let me kill him. I need to kill him," he gasped, his breaths strained around heaving lungs. His eyes still carried the most emotion Lavellan had ever seen on him, though the mixture of terror and rage was painful to watch. Fenris wanted to collapse and curl up, beg his old master for forgiveness; the trauma ran that deep. Yet his desperate fight for survival fuelled him with fury.

"Take it slow. If anyone kills him, it's you, but you can't do that if he kills you first," the Bull argued, dragging Fenris up the stairs. The flailing limbs of the lean elf didn't deter him.

Danarius glanced after them with ineffective ire when Dorian blocked yet another one of the paralysing spells he threw at the pair. When his distorted features focused on Dorian, the mage gave a breathless chuckle.

"Finally. I thought I had to wilt from the lack of attention," he chuckled as he intercepted a warning fireball bigger than a horse. Lavellan flinched back, but the barrier cast around Dorian included him. Its barely visible white shine flickering in the air was not nearly enough for Lavellan to feel protected from getting his face burnt off his skull.