Once Oswyn was safely on his way out of the dungeons, Una and her team turned the opposite direction, working their way deeper into the warrens of rooms. She wondered why this all existed—while it was well within Howe's capabilities and interests to have had all these dungeons built, this was the Arl of Denerim's residence, and she'd never heard that the Kendalls were all that bloodthirsty. Then again, no doubt she wouldn't have heard if they were. Torture wasn't exactly juicy gossip, or at least, not among her set.
"Perhaps we could finish this up," Wynne said, her normally gentle voice hard and filled with urgency. Oswyn's condition had clearly upset her.
"Gladly." Una led the way farther into the dungeons. At the back of a room filled with Howe's men, a hard-fought battle, they found a block of cells. Most of those inside were dead, but one, a thin elf, came weakly toward the door of his cell, gripping the bars.
"Please, what month is it? Are you ... are you some enemy of Arl Uriens?" His voice was weak and hoarse, but he was fighting hard to stand on his feet, and Una respected that.
"Arl Uriens is dead."
"Dead? Then who's ruling? His son, Vaughan, he—" The elf paused, looking at Una and her companions, particularly Zev, closely, then went on, his voice a little stronger. "He struck me down and I ended up here."
"For a vicious crime, no doubt," Zev said with heavy sarcasm.
"On my wedding day," the elf replied. "After he took my bride and her wedding party for ..." He swallowed. "For his own pleasure."
Una closed her eyes, wincing. It didn't surprise her; Vaughan had always had a bit of a cruel streak.
"King Cailan is dead; Vaughan hasn't been seen. He may have died on the battlefield, I don't know." Where was Vaughan? she wondered. "For now, the throne is in the hands of Queen Anora and her father, Teyrn Loghain, and the arling in the hands of Rendon Howe."
"I don't know that name." The elf passed his hand across his face. "Will you—can I go? I want to see my family."
"Of course." Una nodded at Zev, who began on the lock. "Is there anything you need? Healing, supplies?"
The elf was staring at Zev's hands, hungrily, as if he could taste the free air outside the dungeons. "No. I just want to go home."
The lock sprang free and Zev stepped aside. There were smiles on all their faces as the thin elf made his way through the dungeon and out the door.
At least, Una thought, they had done some good here today, no matter what else lay ahead. Oswyn and this too-long-imprisoned elf were on their way home.
Zev led the way back out into the main passageway, and paused outside a heavy iron door. He glanced back at Una.
This was it. Something in her told her that this was where Howe would be—concealed behind a thick layer of metal, prepared and waiting for whatever came through the door. She closed her eyes, picturing her family. Her father, her mother. Oren. Oriana. Fergus. This would be for them, and for Rory Gilmore who had bought her time to escape with his life and for Mother Mallol and Nan and all the other servants and retainers whose life had been lost to this man's greed and betrayal.
She opened her eyes and nodded at Zev, who made quick work of the lock for once. The door swung open.
Una stepped through, and stopped just inside, looking down at the man who stood in the center of the room. He seemed small and somehow frail in his light armor.
Howe crossed his arms over his chest, clearly not seeing the situation the way she did. His lip curled in disgust as he looked her over, her fine armor splashed with blood, her face and hair sweaty. "Well. Look here. Bryce Cousland's 'little spitfire', all grown up and still playing the man. I never thought you'd be fool enough to turn up here." He gave an unpleasant smile. "But then, I never thought you'd live, either."
"More fool you," Una said shortly, afraid to trust her voice. She wanted to scream, and cry, and be sick. Clenching her teeth, she reminded herself what was at stake here. Her family's vengeance, yes, but also Ferelden herself. This was no time to lose control.
Sighing in annoyance, Howe said, "Is this about your family? Still?"
She didn't need Zev's faint murmur from behind her to be aware that Howe was baiting her and not to fall for it, but the reminder that she wasn't alone helped.
Howe's smirk said he knew how his words were affecting her, and she let him see her increasing agitation. Let him think she was on the edge, ready to snap, impulsive and lacking control as she had been the last time they'd seen each other in Highever Castle. Howe didn't have to know how she had changed since then, or how much she had learned.
He went on, feigning earnestness. "I have done so much more than merely wipe your family's name from Fereldan memory. All that's left now is a fool husk of a daughter likely to end her days under a rock in the Deep Roads."
How on Thedas did he know about that? Una wondered. That was supposed to be a Grey Warden secret. Or maybe it was only secret from hapless new recruits ... maybe the ruling factions all knew how the Grey Wardens worked. When she returned to Arl Eamon's, Riordan would have a few extra questions to answer.
"Oh, did you expect me not to know? Shame, really, that even the Wardens are gone now. No one to answer all your endless little questions." Howe's voice dropped, silky and smooth. It made Una's flesh crawl. "You are the last of nothing, my dear. This is all so pointless. You've lost."
Una shivered, fighting the effect of his words. He wanted her off-balance, emotional, uncontrolled, but she had learned too much to fall for that, done too much. "I know your game," she said. "Stop it. No shadows; no lies. Just you and me. You owe that debt of honor to my father."
Howe's eyebrows flew up. "Honor." He gave a small, incredulous little laugh. "You outdated fool. It's time for you to join your parents."
"You go first," Una snarled. "Tell them I sent you."
His composure was shaken for the first time. "Ah, there it is. That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that ever kept me down. Perhaps you have made something of yourself after all—you've certainly been a thorn in my side. Your father would be so proud," he sneered. "I, on the other hand, want you dead more than ever."
"Give it your best shot." Una stood there, hands at her sides, waiting.
Howe raised a hand, signaling the mage who stood behind him. Una moved quickly aside at the signal, and Wynne appeared in the doorway behind her, a fist of earth barrelling across the room to catch Howe's mage square in the chest and send him sprawling backward.
Out of the corner of her eye, Una saw movement to her right. She ducked just in time for the second mage's blast of energy to whistle over her head. He never got off a second one—Zev appeared in the doorway and a dagger flashed briefly in the air before embedding itself in the mage's throat.
Oghren was charging one of the two archers in the room, and Wynne had the second one temporarily frozen. All of which left Una free to target Arl Howe, the way every drop of her family's spilled blood was screaming for her to do.
"I am going to pulverize every bone in your body. Slowly," she promised him. She dragged her thoughts away from poor little Oren—if she thought of him, or of Orana, she would weaken herself. Instead, Una thought of Rory Gilmore. He had stood firm to the last, holding the doors that she could escape. Her mother had stood over her father's body with a single dagger. Una would be worthy of them today.
"You may try," Howe said. "I was defeating better fighters than you when your father was still learning how to buckle his armor."
"Maybe so. That just means your day is past. My day is here now."
They were circling each other slowly, feinting a little here and there, but neither of them had opened the battle. Around her, Una was aware that the rest of her team was victorious. Something in her said she could stop now, take the man prisoner, but she couldn't, not and live with herself afterward.
"My day is right now—I own this country," Howe said, a self-satisfied smile crossing his face.
Una couldn't help but smile. "The Archdemon owns this country. I wish I could let you live to see his domination—it would richly reward you for your treachery. But the rest of Ferelden doesn't deserve the vengeance that would be most appropriate for you."
She struck out with the hammer, but Howe dodged away from her nimbly. He had a pair of gleaming daggers in his hands suddenly that hadn't been there before, and he was darting in to get inside the reach of her weapon. But Una had practiced with Zev and Leliana for just that reason. She waited for him to come, and then took a large step to the side, swinging as she went.
The broad head of the hammer caught Howe in the side, sending him staggering. He dropped the right-hand dagger, clutching his ribs. "I'll kill you," he growled, turning to face her again.
"You have to reach me first." She swung again, catching him in the shoulder. He cried out.
Another blow, this time landing on his leg. And another, again in the side. He was down now, on the floor.
"Beg for your life," she said, standing over him. Her cheeks were wet with tears she had no memory of shedding. "Beg the way my sister-in-law did for her son's life, the way my mother did for my father's!"
He looked up at her, the venom in his eyes undimmed. "I will never beg you. I deserved more than this." Howe gasped for breath, groping about him for his fallen daggers. "Maker spit on you."
Una bent over, grabbing his head by the hair and pulling it painfully backward. "Forget the Maker. You'll never see his face. I spit on you, instead—for everything you've done, for every life you've ruined, for every moment my family wasted in friendship on yours." She suited the action to the words, watching the horror and disgust in his face as her spit trickled into his eye, and then she snapped his neck, wishing only that it could have taken longer and he could have suffered more.
She step back, nearly stumbling, staring down at the dead face of her father's dearest friend. Una had expected to feel ... something, but there was nothing. Her mind was a blank.