“Nowhere to run,
Inquisitor.”
Mocking laughter from the Venatori mage standing above her. Lavellan could hear the sounds of battle. Dorian and Vivienne reinforcing each other’s barriers, desperately trying to conserve their magic for one last push. Cole surrounded by four Venatori, pinning him in place. They would not be able to reach her in time.
The blow had taken her by surprise, and she had been on her knees before it had even registered. She looked up into the face of the man who was preparing to kill her, his eyes full of triumph. A whisper of memory tickled the back of her mind and, inexplicably, she found her thoughts wandering. She heard a voice, as dear to her as any she had ever known.
It is called Veilfire. The tone was warm, patient. She recalled the words so easily. A memory of flame that burns in this world where the Veil is thin. Her eyes were drawn down to the ground. Earth, cracked and dry. But had it always been that way? Her head hurt, but she seemed to remember… Yes, a passage from a history of the region that she had skimmed while hiding in the library. This place had once been different.
The Venatori mage brought her back to reality with a kick to the stomach, obviously displeased at her calm. Lavellan gasped, looking up once again. Their eyes met. Then she grinned. The mage took a step back, but he was not quick enough. A torrent of water burst from the ground under his feet. The geyser flung his body into the air like a rag doll, flying in an arc before falling with a sickening crunch. Lavellan rose to her feet, turning just in time to see three more Venatori charge her. A second column of water downed them all, and in an instant she was joined by her allies. The remnants of the Venatori patrol did not stand a chance.
After it was over, Vivienne and Dorian approached their Inquisitor. Dorian clucked sympathetically over Lavellan’s head wound, but Vivienne gave her an odd look. When she finally spoke, she seemed to be choosing her words carefully.
“That spell, dear. I have never seen anything like it.” Lavellan looked up, blinking away dizziness. Vivienne continued. “And I was sure you had depleted your mana during the fight.”
“It…I read about it in a book.”
“The spell?”
“No.” Lavellan shook her head, then winced. “This place, it’s a dry lakebed. A century ago we would’ve been underwater. So I simply…drew that memory from across the Veil.” She smiled wanly. “It’s the same principle as when we fix a bridge.” Cole, silent as ever, appeared beside her.
“It remembers,” he said in that quiet way of his, a note of approval in his voice. “It wants to change.”
“How utterly fascinating.” Dorian’s eyes shone with interest, but Vivienne looked disturbed.
“You know, dear, you are beginning to sound like…” Lavellan’s heart gave a sick little squeeze, and there was a rushing in her ears. Cole moved towards her, feeling that raw pain, but she waved him away.
“We, ah, should be getting back to camp,” Dorian said, obviously sensing her change in mood as well. “Discussions on the principles of magic can wait until you get that awful-looking goose-egg seen to.” Lavellan gave him a grateful smile.
Before they left, however, she spared one last look for the fallen Venatori.
“Ma serannas, Vhenan,” she whispered. “You saved me again.” And as she turned away, the air behind her seemed to ripple.
Ar lath ma, Vhenan. Like the lake, the words would always be there. He was not gone, so long as she remembered him.