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Nobody lowers their weapon, but nobody goes on the offensive, either. Instead, you all wait on a knife-edge of tension to see what the unusually placid darkspawn will do.

One of them—a little taller and broader than the rest, or maybe it’s just that this one doesn’t hunch over and sidle like most of them do when they’re not attacking—steps forward. Your hand tenses on the hilt of your sword, but you don’t move.

It hisses, “Mage.”

You stare at it. It can talk? Can they all talk?

Mae, who is astonishingly self-possessed under the circumstances, says, “We’re looking for a mage.”

The darkspawn hisses, “Mage. Thisss way.” It beckons for you to follow it down one of the adjoining tunnels.

You look at one another.

“This could be a trap,” Tarquin says quietly.

Ashur nods. “Everyone stay on your guard.”

But you follow. After all, how else are you going to find out what’s going on?

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