Chapter 1: Change of Plans

Zevran leaned back on the wagon and surveyed the scene. Broken crates lay scattered about, and two dead oxen were laid out on the ground. Concealed traps blocked the paths up the sides of the gorge to where the archers laid in wait, and a beautiful woman was standing by to lure the unsuspecting adventurers to their doom.

He couldn't suppress a smile. The odds they would be caught by surprise? Nonexistent. Maddalena had a mouth as hard as flint, there was no way seasoned warriors would mistake her for a helpless damsel. Even if they did, her story of an attack upon their wagon would bring the Wardens to him with weapons drawn. But success was not the goal of this particular operation. This would have come as a surprise to Maddalena, but then he had chosen her as supporting mage in this operation chiefly because of her lack of mental acuity.

A scout sent to track the Wardens reported that they would be on the road to Redcliffe Village from the Mage's Tower three days ago, ample time to arrange the ambush site. Zevran had his men in place yesterday, and expected the Wardens at any time.

Indeed, Maddalena ran into sight from around the bend in the trail. Zevran felt a familiar jolt of excitement. Soon it would be over. Shortly behind her jogged the Wardens' party, alert, heads up, weapons in hand. There was a warrior with sword and shield, that would be the senior Gray Warden, and a Qunari warrior carrying a battleaxe. A woman in leather armor had an arrow nocked and her bow half-drawn, beside her was one of the Ferelden war hounds. The final three carried mage's staves–a young male elf, the other Gray Warden, a gray-haired woman, and a woman in strange garb. Zevran found himself wondering for a second how she kept that shirt on, but snapped back to the task at hand. Three mages, that was practically unheard of in a skirmish. His spy had reported only one, the Gray Warden. For a moment Zevran started running through possible strategies to remove one of the mages as rapidly as possible, then remembered once again that there was no need to worry. In this case, failure was success. If they had three mages, so much the better.

Maddalena reached his side and gave him a nod and a sly smile before turning to the party. Heart pounding, Zevran gave the signal and shouted "The Gray Wardens die here!" On cue, assassins on the ridgetop cut the ropes holding up a sawn-through oak, dropping it to block the group's retreat. As his assassins stepped out of their hiding places Maddalena began a spell that Zevran recognized as a glyph of paraysis. But the party had already sprung to the attack.

"Mage!" shouted the elf. The mabari shot past Zevran like a ballista's bolt. The senior Warden followed, heading for Maddalena, but Zevran and two of his men intercepted him. Zevran parried the Gray Warden's slash and slid his dagger in under his shield as the mercenary beside him distracted the Warden with a swing at his head. Zevran's dagger caught at the gap under the Warden's breastplate, but he twisted and the blade slid harmlessly over the steel. Undeterred, he stepped back as the Warden recovered his guard.

The man to his right had been sidling around the Warden looking for an opening, and did not see the Qunari behind him. The giant swung his battleaxe and nearly cleaved the man in two. He dropped with barely a sound, and the qunari jerked the battleaxe free and raised it for another swing, turning towards one of the other men attacking him.

The other mercenary facing the Warden pressed his luck too far with a sword thrust at the Warden's abdomen. The Warden parried and counterattacked with a slash that severed his carotid artery and jugular vein. The mercenary's blood sprayed Zevran's face as he slumped to the ground. Zevran grinned–the counterattack had left the Warden vulnerable. He swung with his sword at the man's waist, and when he dropped his shield to block the attack lashed out at his throat with the dagger in his off hand. His dagger cut the man's neck, but he jerked back far enough that the cut was only shallow.

Meanwhile the Wardens' oddly garbed mage had run up behind them as well, and with crisp efficiency of motion sent a cone of ice roaring past Zevran, presumably at Maddalena, if she still lived. Zevran did not see Maddalena's fate as the Warden, angered by the cut, bashed him with his shield and knocked him flat on his back. Zevran rolled to avoid a sword slash and sprang back to his feet in time to see the elf mage cast a glowing glyph upon a second glyph at the ridgetop to the north. There was a flash of light and a roar almost beyond sound and the archers were struck paralyzed.

Zevran looked back at the mage in time to meet his eyes, and recognized he was casting another spell with Zevran as the target–with no time for him to respond. The mage lowered his hand and suddenly the warmth drained from Zevran's body. He felt as if he'd fallen into icy water, and the cold bit into his bones like a wolf's fangs. He felt the weight of his sword drop from numbed fingers and saw the Gray Warden raise his shield, but couldn't move to avoid him. The Warden slammed his shield into the side of Zevran's head and he blacked out completely.

A jab to the ribs awakened him–aching all over, chilled to the bone, but alive. He looked up to see the elven mage with his staff lifted, ready to jab him again. "I was expecting to wake up dead–or not at all," he said aloud. The elf raised an eyebrow and Zevran realized his precarious position. He had expected to be killed, it was another thing to be captured. He scanned the faces of his captors. They all looked angry, but none of them looked like they were gleefully contemplating removing his fingers and toes. The senior Gray Warden looked the most angry of the bunch, which was understandable considering Zevran had cut him. The other Warden, the elf, was less angry, possibly leaning towards being merely annoyed at the attempt on his life. True, his party had crushed the attackers like ants under their boots.

"So I am not dead, you must have something in mind for me. What is it?"

"I was planning on torturing you, personally," the mage replied with an edge to his voice.

Probably a bluff, Zevran told himself. Although Zevran well knew that youth and cruelty sometimes went hand in hand, he thought the young Wardens didn't look like the type to torture–at least not without reason. And Zevran did not intend to give them reason. "Torture is usually used to extract information. That is unnecessary, in spite of the potential for fun. I will tell you anything you want to know." Within a few minutes the party knew all there was to know about this particular assignment–the contract placed by Teyrn Loghain, the exact arrangement between the Teyrn and the Crows, and Zevran's precarious position now that he had failed in fulfilling the contract.

Zevran found himself thinking that maybe he should try to follow this path a little further. He had been seeking the escape of death. He could still arrange to meet death at any time. Yet how many times did one get a chance to escape the Crows and live? Was it even possible to talk himself out of this situation? How could he resist such a challenge?

Oddly, it seemed that the elven mage was the leader of the group, since he had taken charge of questioning him. He addressed the mage directly, "Now if you are done with your questions I have a proposition for you. Let me live, and in exchange I will serve you."

The mage laughed in disbelief. "And why would I agree to that?"

"I have many skills. I can fight–today I was unlucky–use stealth, pick locks. I know the Crow's methods, and can warn you if I see another attack coming. I am also good at entertainment. I know jokes, twelve massage techniques, and six card games. I even know a little poetry."

The elf looked incredulous. "And what's to keep you from trying to wrap up this contract later?"

"The Crows have a reputation to uphold, and are not forgiving of failure. The punishment for failure is death, and there are no pardons. Killing you now would not alter their plans for me, and would remove the only impediment in their way."

The other Gray Warden spoke up, rubbing the newly healed scar on his neck. "You aren't seriously considering taking the assassin with us, are you?"

"Yes. You'd rather we just kill him? You've got your sword out, would you like to kill him yourself?" the elf asked irritably.

"Well, no. But we could just leave him. Why take him?"

"Because I said so," said the elf with a chilly tone.

"Fine! Excuse me, I'm just a peon in your command structure!" The other Warden turned and stalked away, swinging his sword more than was perhaps safe.

"I agree with Alistair, for once," said the oddly-dressed female mage. "If you bring him, you'd better be careful of your food."

"I already am," he answered curtly. There must have been more to this statement than was initial apparent, because she rolled her eyes and walked away, bending to search a nearby assassin's corpse.

Zevran smiled inwardly in surprise and amusement. Apparently the elf was in charge of the group, even able to force his will upon the group. Since the matter appeared settled, Zevran cautiously stood.

For the first time he had a chance to look the elf over. He had hazel eyes and his long, reddish-brown hair was pulled back in a braid. He wore a mage's robe marred by faded bloodstains, probably not his own. His only weapon was the mage's staff he carried, although Zevran supposed a mage needed no weapons. He did seem very young, and Zevran doubted he was much past 20. And all Ferelden's hopes were pinned on this youth and his fellow. Well, looks could be deceiving. He bowed slightly and said, "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you. I am your man, without reservation. This I swear."

The elf cocked his head and gave him a skeptical look, but responded simply, "Don't forget your weapons."

Zevran bent slowly and picked up his sword and dagger. He was still chilled from the spell the mage had cast on him, and his numbed fingers were clumsy as he wiped the blades before sheathing the weapons.

The elf watched him with interest. "Your lips are blue. I've never used magic on someone and not then killed them. What's it feel like? "

Zevran gave him a disbelieving look and said, "Very cold."

The elf shrugged at his terse answer and said sarcastically, "Maybe it will keep the bruising down."

Zevran reached up and felt the lump over his temple where the Warden's shield had struck him. He checked his fingers–no blood, but he'd have quite a headache for a day or so. He supposed it was too much to expect that one of the mages would heal him.

The other Gray Warden approached them again and said snidely, "I hope my armor didn't chip your blades."

"Fine Antivan steel, but thank you for your concern," Zevran answered.

"Alistair, give him a chance. I think Zevran will be a fine addition to our party," the archer said with an Orlesian accent.

Zevran took a closer look at the woman. She was quite attractive, with fiery hair and full lips. "Ah, and may I count you among my new companions? I did not know that such visions of beauty were to be found among adventurers!"

"Or maybe not," the woman muttered, then turned to retrieve her arrows from the corpses of Zevran's dead companions. Ever practical, Zevran gathered his gear and joined her in searching the bodies of the fallen.

He reached Maddalena's body and saw now how she had died. It was impossible to tell if she'd bled to death or had her neck broken. The mabari had knocked her down and mangled her throat. Zevran glanced towards the huge dog, which was gleefully rolling against a ripening ox carcass. Blood covered the dog's face and chest. Zevran glanced back down at Maddalena's staring eyes and felt a twinge of guilt, which he quickly suppressed. She had not been destined for a long tenure with the Crows.

Having stripped the bodies of useful equipment, the party gathered by the broken cart. Zevran handed the elven Warden several lyrium potions he had retrieved from Maddalena's pouch. "You may find these useful."

The Warden gave him an unreadable look and said, "Thank you." He slipped the potions into a pocket in his pack. "So, introductions. I am Blair. This is Alistair, Leliana, Sten, Wynne, Morrigan, and Greagoir." He almost scratched the mabari's ears when it ran up to him, but wrinkled his nose and pulled his hand back at the smell of carrion.

"Really, Wynne, I don't know why you bother bathing him," Blair said to the elderly mage.

Zevran surveyed the group. Alistair still looked grumpy at Blair's curt dismissal of his very reasonable concerns about letting Zevran join the group. Wynne looked gravely disapproving, although it wasn't clear if she disapproved of the mabari rolling in carrion or Blair sparing Zevran's life. It was anyone's guess what the Qunari was thinking. Leliana was the sole friendly face, flashing him a smile before turning away.

The party headed up the path, leaving the ambush site and Zevran's life as a Crow behind them.

Zevran spent the next couple days trying to figure out the group dynamics, and what his role was in the party. Blair appeared to be the leader, but that seemed to be more because no one else wanted the job than because he wanted to lead. It was not even clear how much the group liked the young mage. Morrigan seemed to dislike him, but then she seemed to dislike everyone in the group. There was little regard between the two Gray Wardens as well. Blair thought the younger Warden hopelessly callow, which amused Zevran since Blair didn't seem to realize he was equally green. Blair appeared to get along better with Leliana and Wynne. They, on the other hand, seemed to prefer Alistair's company. If the two Wardens had been Crow masters, the question of group leadership would have been settled emphatically as one or the other would have ended up dead in his bedroll by now.

Zevran began to think that perhaps he should extricate himself from this situation. It seemed likely the darkspawn would wipe out the fragmented party sooner or later, and he did not care to go with it. But, unfortunately, there was the small matter of his vow, and that generally did mean something. He decided to stick with the decision for now. He wanted to see how the party did in combat. They must manage to work together better under fire than they did without a common enemy, since they had managed to defeat his ambush with no casualties. Since Zevran had spent most of that combat unconscious he could not say how they had managed it.

Perhaps partially because of the instability of the group structure, Zevran's role also was very unclear. He was not treated as an equal member of the party, but not as a servant, and not entirely as a prisoner. He carried his weapons, but was not trusted to stand watch at night, and Blair had him sharing a tent with Sten. This was partly because their weren't enough tents to go around, but Zevran thought also so that Sten could keep an eye on him. Zevran found Sten unnerving anyway–it was impossible to tell what the huge Qunari was thinking–and his Crow training left him unable to sleep soundly with someone else nearby. He got only brief snatches of sleep. After the second restless night Blair asked him about it. "You're practically dead on your feet. What's the matter?"

"I haven't been sleeping well."

"That much was evident. Why is that?"

"I didn't survive over two decades as a Crow without learning to be extremely cautious. I find it hard to sleep with someone else nearby."

The mage frowned. "I see." He didn't say anything else, but walked away to join Sten.

That evening in camp Blair called him aside. "We're shuffling things around. I'm sharing a tent with Sten, you can have my old tent. But don't go trying to sneak off, because Greagoir will be watching you." He put his hand on the mabari's head, and it managed to wag its tail at Blair while simultaneously growling at Zevran.

"Thank you," Zevran said, surprised. "But threats are unnecessary. I do plan to stand by my vow." He decided to try to shake the mage up a bit. "Alternatively, you could share a tent with me, so as to keep a closer eye upon me."

"And once again you would be unable to sleep."

"There are other things we might do," he said with a suggestive smile.

Blair gave him a scathing look. "That's a ridiculous suggestion. Not only would you be tired, but I would be as well. That's worse than the current situation." He shoved the tent bag into Zevran's hands and joined Alistair by the fire.

As Zevran pitched the tent, he tried to figure out just what Blair's reaction meant. He'd expected anger, embarrassment, or maybe casual flirtation, but not to have the pass treated as if it were a serious suggestion. The mage was either being incredibly literal-minded, insinuating that he didn't consider the suggestion that outlandish, or attempting to befuddle him in retaliation. He suspected it was the last. In any case, it was more interesting than the predictable responses.

Zevran's first opportunity to fight with the party arrived a few days later in the village of Redcliffe. They learned that the village was suffering nightly attacks by hordes of undead. Zevran had learned that the party wanted to reach Arl Eamon, a political opponent of Teyrn Loghain, and said to have be ill with some mysterious ailment that did not respond to doctoring. The party had debated just leaving the doomed village, but Alistair had urged they stay to protect the village and try to get into the castle to find the Arl. Zevran thought it was unlikely he was still alive, but Blair was willing to try. "We've killed how many darkspawn?" he asked. "What's a few undead on top of that?" Morrigan and Sten especially seemed displeased with the decision, yet here they were.

The party awaited nightfall near the windmill at the top of the hill, near the gates to the castle. As the sun set, Morrigan and Sten stood overlooking the village, talking in low voices. The two did not appear to get along well normally, but were united in their opposition to aiding the village. Nearby Wynne was sorting through their potions, while Alistair talked with Ser Perth. The others were more idle. Leliana was throwing a stick, playing fetch with Greagoir. Blair was sitting cross-legged on the ground, plucking grass blades to see if he could make a whistle. Zevran walked over to sit near him. Since his arrival the party had relaxed considerably around him, although Zevran noticed that Sten had been watching him closely all day.

"Alistair can do this, but I can't seem to get the trick," Blair said, cupping a blade of grass in his hands. He tried to blow on it, but couldn't get it to make a sound. He dropped the blade and selected another one. Zevran was initially amused at his difficulty, but reflected that if he was locked in the Tower all his life this might be his first opportunity to do this simple thing. In the past couple days he'd spent much of his time traveling talking with the mage, and found him to be a strange mix of knowledge and inexperience, cynicism and childlike wonder.

Not wanting to bring up the Tower, Zevran moved to the question on his mind. "Sten has been following me. Not that I don't I like attention, but it's enough to make me nervous. I wonder about his intentions," he said.

Blair raised an eyebrow. "No need to fear for your virtue. I told him I didn't want you opting out of the battle tonight."

"I love battles. But I prefer a fight where my blades can draw blood, even though it does get on my clothes. . ." he trailed off. "Considering the scarcity of washerwomen in this accursed village, perhaps it is a good thing the enemy are already dead."

"You do look on the bright side," Blair said in amusement.

The mage had a charming smile, he noticed. It was a wonder he didn't use it more often. "I am eternally optimistic. Which is why I am expectant of getting you into bed any day now. I assure you I am a most attentive lover."

Blair laughed. "In that case you will be amenable when I tell you to go fuck yourself." Giving Blair a sidelong glance, Zevran sighed forlornly. "Ah, if only I could. If I were two of me, I would never leave my tent."

"Maker!" Blair exclaimed, throwing the grass blade to the ground. "Do you never stop?"

"Not until things reach their due conclusion," Zevran answered, grinning.

Looking up the hill, Blair stood and said, "Well, here's your conclusion. Time to get to work." Dark forms were beginning to cross the bridge leading from the castle to the village. As the undead approached the ruined gate, the party gathered around Blair, readying their weapons.

"All right, as we discussed, you all know what you are doing. We have plenty of help, so fall back if you get in a bad spot. Wynne and I will be healing. And Wynne and Morrigan, conserve mana. If you need to heal someone or take an undead out, do it, but if the other soldiers are getting the job done let them get about it.

"Oh, and don't blunder into the grease fire!" Blair finished as an archer launched a flaming arrow into the oil slick. It went up immediately in flames, sending up thick black smoke that blocked their view of the first approaching undead. And then they shambled through the flames, burning, and the battle began.

Zevran had been in a couple such battles before in his life, and those he had experienced in the streets of Antiva tended to be disorganized free-for-alls where often you weren't sure who was attacking you and from where. The Redcliffe battle by comparison had a beautiful simplicity: the enemy smelled like ripening corpses and attacked from arms' reach. There were casualties that night, mostly among the militia. The party had been waiting by the windmill to help the guards at the top of the hill, but were surprised by undead coming up from the lake. The Gray Wardens and their comrades had hurried down to aid them, but were not able to save everyone. However, none of the party was seriously injured, which made the whole experience a success in Blair's eyes.

Zevran managed to avoid anything more than a few bruises by refusing to engage the undead face-to-face, instead moving through the fray looking for opportunities to handicap the living corpses by severing a hamstring or breaking a knee. The undead were clumsy but hard to kill, and they found the best strategy was to cripple them, sever their limbs, or disembowel them and leave them tripping over their own entrails.

The battle did answer one question–the Gray Wardens' party was a force to be reckoned with. That much would be true of any party with three mages, but Leliana, Sten, and even Greagoir were also quite impressive. Zevran was beginning to suspect that Leliana had a more interesting past than she let on, since she was calm throughout the battle, even when placing an arrow in an undead's eye from mere feet away. Alistair had obviously been well-trained, but that on the practice field. He still needed more combat experience, but with their mission he was sure to get that soon.

Zevran ended up being mistaken about the undead being neater to kill than the living. With the living you had to deal mostly with blood. The undead, on the other hand, tended to ooze or sometimes gush unspeakable fluids. The morning following that battle the shores of the lake were packed with soldiers stripped naked and washing with harsh laundry soap–and not wading in too deep in case some undead remained submerged in the lake, hiding from full sunlight.

For most of the inhabitants of Redcliffe the battle was over, but the party still had to reach the Arl. By evening the day after the night battle they had fought their way through the castle to find out what had sent the undead upon the town. The Arl's son was an abomination.

Rather than killing the boy or wasting precious time returning to the Circle of Magi for backup, Blair chose to allow the blood mage Jowan to kill the Arlessa in order to send Blair into the Fade. From the stony look upon Alistair's face Zevran guessed that this decision was going to lead to more trouble. Zevran understood why it was necessary. The abomination could easily re-animate the dead that had survived being burned or hacked to pieces, and if that was unsuccessful it could turn its magical talents to destroying the village by other means. There was no guarantee Redcliffe Castle would still be inhabited by the living if they left before dealing with the abomination.

Zevran was impressed by the bravery of the boy's mother, who knelt praying while the blood mage began to cast his spell. Blair watched, jaw tense. None of them were prepared when the magic lifted the Arlessa into the air, and she screamed as the blood magic ripped her chest open. The magic hit Blair like a charging bronto and he fell to the floor as if dead. Leliana crossed to him, skirting the growing pool of blood, and put her fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse. "He's alive," she said.

Alistair and Sten took Jowan back to the dungeons. Leliana tried to cover the Arlessa with a tablecloth borrowed from a dining table nearby, but Bann Teagan stepped in and carried her body away. After that there was nothing to do but wait. Blair was unconscious in deepest sleep. Occasionally his brow would furrow or his hand twitched, but otherwise there was no sign that he was aware of anything. Finally, after over an hour, Blair opened his eyes.

"It is done," he said, sitting up. But instead of relief, Zevran saw a fleeting expression of . . . was it disgust? A moment later it was gone, and Blair somberly looked at the pool of bood remaining on the flagstones.

"Thank the Maker!" Leliana exclaimed. Zevran saw that Wynne was smiling. In spite of the fact that blood magic of a particularly brutal fashion had been necessary, they were glad that Connor was freed. Alistair, on the other hand, still looked angry. Zevran had already noticed he seemed very idealistic. He probably still thought going to the Tower was the right decision, and Zevran wondered what his reaction might have been if they had gone and come back too late to save anyone, including the Arl.

"I'll talk to Bann Teagan and then we need to leave. We need to track down that Urn." Blair still seemed disoriented from his trip to the Fade, but when Zevran offered to help him up gave him a scowl that made him take a step back. Zevran had been around the party long enough to know Blair was short-tempered, but that look was unexpected. Zevran watched him curiously as he went to find Bann Teagan, leaving the room without looking at his companions.


Followed by The Broad Road, First Interlude: Cats Always Land on Their Feet