Light throbbed in the dell. Blue eyes glowed as lightning bit bones and singed flesh. Four figures formed crooked, shaking runes around a bleeding man lying prone on the floor. Recruit Niall's teeth rattled and the taste of tin exploded in his mouth. He was helpless to watch as the maleficar – they hadn't seen him, how hadn't they seen him? – stalked around their band, smiling with satisfaction as he held their hot white leash.

As he reached the centre of the circle the body on the floor twitched back into life and the tattered man creaked to his knees. He gripped a hand to his blood drenched shirt and spoke through gritted teeth.

'Enough now. Just hold them.'

The maleficar snorted. 'This is holding them.'

The Champion groaned as his hands worked bright magic over his pierced shoulder. His voice was dangerous as he snapped. 'I said enough, Anders.'

The maleficar shrugged and the pain vanished. Niall wanted to sink to the ground in blessed relief but his bones wouldn't let him. He was stuck steady at the whim of the mages.

'You can let that one go.'

Initiate Niall's hopes fluttered for a moment before being shot dead by the sight of Knight-Lieutenant Jaspar, jaw slack, eyes vacant, blood streaming from his neck. Jaspar had had the privilege of landing the first blow on the apostate.

The Anderfel flicked his unnatural blue eyes and it was though someone had snapped a string; Jaspar tumbled to the ground with a wet thud, his limbs tangled and lifeless.

The Champion picked up the sword that had skewered his shoulder and studied it as a wife inspects a ham at market.

'Nicest sword.' He concluded. 'Best templar.' He pointed to the former Knight-Lieutenant Jaspar. 'I would like you all to seriously consider this when I ask you the following question.'

He stepped back to address all three equally. 'How intent are you on continuing this charade, despite your rather unfortunate position? Can we end the game here, shake gentlemenly hands and go our separate ways, or are you itching for a rematch?'

He stabbed the sword into the damp sod and leaned against it. He made a valiant effort at disguising a wince. He turned to the maleficar.

'They secure?'

'Oh yes.'

'Then let them answer.'

Initiate Niall felt his jaw unclench like a stiff buckle. He let out a whimper and revelled in the sensation. Before he could even form a thought he heard the piercing cry of Knight-Corporal Emelric.

'Foul creatures! We will never surrender – you will be subdued and subject to the Chantry's punishment!' The veins on the Templar's head were throbbing. Niall knew he was trying to conquer the magic, cleanse the dell and be free of its influence. But it was so much harder now, the instinct dulled and foggy, like running when drunk or remembering a dream.

'You refuse surrender?' The Champion leaned closer to Emelric, who did not flinch.

'I would rather die than allow maleficarum to wander freely.'

'You sure about that?'

Emelric's eyes bulged. 'Andraste as my witness!'

'Fair enough.' The Champion lifted his hand. Emelric's head snapped back. His throat gargled a victory for death as he stared blankly at the sky. 'Let him down Anders. Gently.'

The body of Emelric joined the Lieutenant's in the dirt.

Niall's blood froze as attention was turned to him. 'You.' The Champion's stare was unavoidable. 'Do you have the mettle of your companion, or are you a more reasonable sort?'

'R-reasonable, ser.'

'Ser Anghast! Remember your vows!' Harald's shrill whine pierced the air.

'I was not speaking to you, serah. But if you feel so strongly about your own vows, please do feel free to chip in.' The Champion inclined his head to the cooling boots of Emelric. Harald squeaked in protest, but fell silent.

'Very well. Perhaps Ser Anghast and I can finish our conversation uninterrupted. It was Ser Anghast, wasn't it?'

Niall tried to nod, but found his head still gripped by invisible hands. 'Yes.' he croaked, 'Niall Anghast.'

'Well Niall, would you kindly reveal the location of my companion's phylactery?'

Niall clamped his lips shut. He was glad that his body was still another's grip, for he knew otherwise his shaking would have been visible.

The Champion regarded him with interest.

'Ah – a challenge I see.'

He sauntered towards him. 'That's my fault.' His tone was chillingly friendly. 'I haven't told you what will happen if you don't tell me. A reasonable man needs facts to make an informed decision, yes?'

He brought his face close. Niall could smell the salt of sweat and blood clinging to his black beard.

'Niall,' he spoke in quiet earnest, 'if you do not tell me where the phylactery is, I will be forced to find it, and the quickest way to find blood is to draw it all to my hand. Whether it is in glass, on a sword...' He paused, and did not blink. '...in a body.'

He leaned back. 'I'd rather not do it that way – it's awfully unpleasant -'

'Messy.' The Anderfel chipped in.

'- messy indeed. But if you leave me no choice...' The Champion trailed off, and waved his fingers.

A tear slipped from Niall's eye that he couldn't brush away. He felt the weight of the glass tube against his breastbone. He wished it would fly out as if called, leaving his life and dignity intact.

'I have it.' The confession was no more than a whisper.

'Ser Anghast!' Harald started, before his jaw was stoppered. The Anderfel's eyes flared again.

'Go on.'

'I have it. It is around my neck. On a chain.'

'Thank you, Ser Anghast. I am going to reach in and get it. You be sure to tell me if you feel at all violated.'

The hand delved into his breastplate. Niall felt it making crabbed motions across his it found its prize. He felt a tug and the chain snapped, falling away from his neck. The Anderfel scowled as his companion held the small phial aloft. The tiny drop of liquid glowed angrily in return until the Champion slipped it into a pocket.

'Thank you Niall.' He said.'You have made a very wise decision.'

The Anderfel was shifting his weight restlessly. 'Hawke, what do you propose now? It is quiet here – they would not be discovered for some time.' His voice had lost the deep, unholy quality it had before, but the wistful young voice now was almost more frightening.

Niall gasped at the injustice, but before he could protest, the Champion snapped. 'I will not have this discussion again.'

His thick brows knitted as he regarded his remaining captives. 'We will bind them, but keep I will keep my word.'

'We are low on rope.'

'Then we shall improvise. Relesase this one's hands. Just the hands'

Niall shivered as the numbness slipped from his hands, slowly, almost reluctantly. He observed their movement will proud joy, like a father watching the first steps of a child.

When he looked up, the Champion was holding the Kinght-Lieutenant's sword.

'Niall, hands together in front of you please.'

His own sword! Where was it? He had dropped it when the lightning hit. There, at his feet! Perhaps if he could reach it he could fight from his rooted spot.

His captor tapped the pommel of his stolen sword. 'Hands. Now.'

Reluctantly, he brought his wrists together. As soon as they touched, the ground erupted beneath him and green fronds burst forth, twisting themselves around his hands and pulling him to his knees. He saw the Anderfel do the same to Harald, although much less gently. The blue seams on his face had knit back together, but his scowl still tore his face.

The Champion picked up Niall's sword and held it loosely before him. A slender branch worked its way around the pommel. The new sapling sagged under the weight of it but kept the pommel aloft, tantalisingly close to his fingers. 'This is a remarkably fast growing plant. I'd say two days at most before you find that steel in your hand.'

Niall's dry mouth ached in protest. The Champion tuned away, and began gathering his possessions from the churned ground. 'Who knows?' he said, wiping his staff on his sleeve. 'You may wriggle free first.'

The Anderfel's tone was dark. 'Perhaps if Templars spent more time caged they would be more prepared for an escape.'

The Champion finished loading himself and pulled Jaspar's sword from the mud. He gave it a few testing swings before shaking his head. He touched a hand to the bloodied sword, sending ice then flames chasing up the blade before throwing it into the low shrubs. He then did the same to the floor, turning the blood-soaked ground into a deep mire. Task completed, he turned to his companion. Without a word they fell into step together.

They had moved barely feet away when Harald rediscovered his voice. It did not surprise Niall that the man cherished the sound of his own preaching almost as much as his life. 'Andraste!' He faced the sky in entreaty. 'How does a man fall so far from you?'

The Champion placed a hand on the Anderfel's arm before walking back to the old man. He knelt and answered. His voice was quiet, and Niall was never sure he'd heard the answer correctly. As their backs disappeared into the forest's shadows and the first of thirsty nights stretched above him, he replayed the answer in his head, searching for wisdom.

They took away his cat.