Father called it the Arlathven. It was more people than Vashti had ever seen in her life. Aravels were scattered over the plain in every direction, making clan camps around the central gathering area. She went with Father and Mother there every morning, and Father spoke to and sometimes yelled at other Keepers about the shemlen. Then they'd go home and a parade of strangers came to see Master Ilen's wares, or to arrange marriages or other swaps. Father's First, Marethari, was old, and there were no other mages in the clan, so they'd arranged to take in a little girl from Nevarra. Vashti felt sorry for her, because she cried for her mother and father at night. But it would be nice, she hoped, to have a girl her own age in the clan. Tamlen and Fenarel could be very stupid, sometimes.

One day, there was even more yelling at the other Keepers than usual. Then, back at camp, Father argued with Marethari, which made little Merrill cry. Even Mother was snappish, and the the air felt unsettled when the clan bedded down for the night. Vashti hoped that the Arlathven would be over soon.

She woke to screams and snarls and her mother yelling for her to run. There was a horrible monster in the aravel, and Mother was fighting it with her trusty dar'missan. Vashti froze, suddenly too frightened to remember how to run and get out. "Mamae! Papae!" she cried. Where was Father? He should be destroying the monster with his magic!

The twisted thing struck her mother, dashing her back into the wall of the aravel and making it rock from side to side. Then it was bounding toward her, one step, two, and instinct finally overrode all else. Vashti turned to scramble out of the narrow hatch next to her bed.

Three things happened at once: the hatch popped open, she felt claws biting at her neck, and she heard her mother shout, "You will not harm her!" The world went white as Mother called down the wrath of Elgar'nan, and, bleeding and sobbing, Vashti tumbled out onto the guide's seat on the aravel.

The rest of the clan were rousing. Marethari emerged from her aravel with her staff blazing; someone grabbed one of Vashti's skinny legs and hauled her off the aravel. Flung over a shoulder and hastened away, she could see the aravel shaking and tilting before the monster burst out of the door. "Don't look, da'len, don't look," her clansmate (Ashalle, she realized dimly) said as she hurried her away, past the edge of camp, and other aravels blocked her view. She lifted her head, craning her neck, sure that she would see her mother and father emerge together from the aravel to help Marethari destroy the horrible thing. It hurt her and it hurt Mother and she wanted to see it die.

...oo00O00oo...

"Sp" before "St." "Sl" before "Sp." "Sm" between "Sl" and "Sp."

Another with soot stains on the cover. A careful rubbing with the gummy resin Ines had provided would take care of that. "Spirit" goes after... no wait, this one was about spirits. It belonged in the Fade section, not the Spirit School section. Someone had shelved it incorrectly.

Who, I wonder? And are they dead?

Finn sat suddenly, dropping into a chair at a reading table. It still hit him at odd moments, a sort of bewildered grief and guilt, mixed with impotent anger and a sense of betrayal. He'd been away; he'd been safe, while his home of over twenty years had been turned into a waking nightmare.

The templars hadn't been able to stop it, which left him wondering exactly what the point of the Circle was. Wasn't that the purpose of the Harrowing, to ensure that they were all strong enough to withstand a lifetime of exposure to hungry demons? Didn't they go along with being watched all hours of the day and night because they were promised that it would keep them safe from themselves? And it didn't. It so obviously, horribly didn't work.

And he could scarcely believe that Senior Enchanter Uldred had turned to blood magic; that he had his will bested by a demon and turned abomination was almost unthinkable. Uldred, who wasn't a senior enchanter just because he'd been here for years, but because he was intelligent. (And Finn was particular about to whom he granted that distinction.) But the survivors all agreed on both those counts. He'd not only learned blood magic, but taught it to a secret cabal of others, planning to overthrow the Tower's leadership from within. And then, once possessed, he'd turned on his fellow mages and...

Finn shuddered and dropped his head into his hands, trying not to remember Nathan's broken account of what had passed in the Harrowing chamber. That could have been me, Finn thought, recalling Knight Commander Greagoir asking him sternly if his excursion request was strictly necessary. If it had been turned down, if he'd still been here...

Soot stains.

...oo00O00oo...

The daughter of Asha'belannar was a young woman, but deemed old enough by her mother to undertake some of the chores that fell to a Witch of the Wilds. And that included meeting with the Dalish Keepers who passed through the Korcari Wilds and wished to give their respects.

As happened from time to time, Asha'belannar wished to claim a price for her protection in the swamp, Morrigan told them. Her mother required her to practice a certain ritual, and she in turn needed the aid of another mage. She had prepared a warded site, out in the swamp. Solan's First prudently recommended he take a guard with him, in case bandits or others should come upon them while they were performing the ritual. Morrigan had smirked but allowed it, telling them where and when to meet her the next night.

Moon-cast shadows were not deep enough to hide the nature of the ritual, and Ariane was grateful that she had a task to keep her eyes anywhere but the center of the wards.

It was mercifully short, and she heard a few comments exchanged in professional undertones; evaluating the results of her practice? Perhaps. She certainly wasn't going to ask.

Solan appeared at her side a few moments later. "Ariane, you - "

"Blind, deaf, and mute, Keeper."

He sighed, relieved. "Ma serranas. We should return to the aravels now and be - "

"Hold!" The deep voice was not Morrigan, nor her mother, nor any of their clan. Ariane wheeled, swords coming up - and was suddenly blinded by a wash of white light. Behind her, Keeper Solan cried out, and she heard him crumple to the ground.

"Wild elves?" The voice was closer and disappointed; she turned in that direction, trying to blink away the dazzle. "But the enchantments... You do your magics in the Witch's swamp?"

The dark sword on the pale shield was one of the first things to resolve itself. "Stay back, templar!" Ariane called, crossing her blades before her. "We are not your concern."

"This close to Lothering, placing runes and hexes upon the ground where any might stumble into them, to Maker knows what end... yes," he spat, "it is my concern. I knew if I returned here, I would find the apostate responsible eventually. Stand aside, girl, and no blood will be shed."

"I am the sword of my fathers!" Ariane leapt, one blade swinging high, the other following low a heartbeat later.

The templar swung his shield up to block the first, and parried aside her second blade with his own. "So be it."

The sound of steel on steel rang out through the darkness. If the young witch heard, she did not seem to think it was her business to return and interfere. Ariane fought fast and hard, knowing well that it was her speed and agility that would win her the battle; strength and endurance were on the side of the heavily armored shemlen warrior. She let fly a hail of blows, keeping the man on the defensive - right until his shield punched out, knocking her off her feet and to the sodden ground.

She rolled when she fell, and saw his blade come down. Putting her weight back on her elbows, she lifted both feet together and kicked, hard into the side of his knee. With a pained grunt, he staggered and dropped to his hands and knees. Abandoning her blades, she drew a dar'misu from her belt as she threw herself bodily at him, seeking a joint in the armor into which she could plunge the blade -

"Enough!" Solan croaked from nearby, drops of lyrium glittering blue-white on his lips in the dark. He cast at least three spells as Ariane tried to find a weak point and the templar tried to grapple her and pull her off. Finally, one took hold of the human and he froze, muscles locking in place. "Enough, Ariane. We go now."

"But Keeper, he was going to take you!" She was outraged. Deprive a clan of its Keeper, over a spell he hadn't even cast? He hadn't asked, hadn't listened, just saw them here and assumed -

"He defends his people as you defend ours. Let us give the Chantry no reason to send more of them."

"But - "

"Ariane! We go now." Solan's voice was iron.

She sighed. "Yes, Keeper." Still, she leaned down to roughly pull the gauntlets from the man's hands. "Because you have grabby hands," she said. "Learn to keep them to yourself."