Sinead clutched her mother's hairpins close to her chest and huddled near the fire, shoulders stooped. She avoided the critical glances of the Dalish that shared her fire as they ate and chatted amongst themselves. Some eyed her warily, others with outright hostility. A bowl of thick stew lay untouched by her feet.
Keeper Yemet sat next to her, picking up the bowl and setting it in her lap.
"I'm not hungry," she said mechanically.
"It doesn't matter, asha. Put the food in your mouth and chew," he said sternly. "You may have lost your mother, but you have no time to mourn. The next few days will be strenuous for all of us, and I will not allow one weak human girl to slow us down."
Sinead stared at the bowl, stomach tight with grief.
She barely registered the last few leagues to the Dalish camp, running behind Eluard and the elven scouts in a fugue. Keeper Yemet greeted them on the outskirts of the camp, grasping Eluard's forearm and giving her master a small smile.
"You sent word that there would be two," Yemet said, frowning at Sinead.
"Her mother was killed," Eluard said shortly.
Yemet nodded, unsurprised. "We have bedrolls ready for you both. Rest, my friend."
Eluard shook his head. "You know I cannot. This isn't my only stop today."
This statement roused Sinead from her fog. "What do you mean, Master Eluard?"
He stiffened and turned to her, his face a mask of sadness.
"Maker, you're leaving me, aren't you?" He stepped toward her, but she backed away, heart sinking. "You're leaving me here alone!"
He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Listen to me, child. You and your mother are not the only people I've charged myself with protecting. I've already failed once today. I cannot fail again."
"But what will I do? What –" Panic choked the rest of Sinead's words.
"Keeper Yemet's clan will take you through the Passage to Gwaren. There, you will get on the first boat available heading as far away from Ferelden as its sails will take it." He dug in a pouch on his belt and handed her a number of sovereigns. The coins were heavy in her hand – more money than she had ever seen in her life. "Hide that on your person. Even a full ship may take you if you show them this coin. Heed this." he leaned in close to her, crouching a bit so that his face filled her vision. "Do not use magic until you reach the ship's destination. And when you arrive, go immediately to the nearest Circle."
"A Circle? But –"
"Girl, they are gilded cages, but they will feed you and clothe you," Eluard said firmly. "That's more than I can do for you for now. Whatever you do, once you are in the confines of a Circle, do not use blood magic. Never, not even in an emergency. Is that clear?"
Sinead nodded, barely processing this flood of information. "Please don't leave me," she said, her voice small.
Eluard sighed deeply. "When this is all over, if I still live, I will find you, child. I promise you, I will not let you fade away in a circle." He hugged her tight. "You must stay safe. For me. For your mother."
He let her go, nodded at Yemet, then downed a golden potion and took off running into the twilight forest, never looking back. Silent tears streamed down Sinead's cheeks as she watched him disappear into the trees.
And now she sat by the fire, a stranger among the indifferent and hostile Dalish, protected by her Master's old, unknown alliance. For the first time, she wondered at just who Eluard was, and wondered why she never thought to ask him where he went when he wasn't teaching her. A flash of memory at her mother's skill with her daggers, unseen until the fight with the darkspawn, brought on the same question about Glidda. But thoughts of her mother pained her, and she shoved them away.
Yemet still stared at her, chin squared. She filled her spoon and took a bite of the stew. It was like sand in her mouth, but her body reacted to the sustenance, her stomach unclenching enough to welcome the meal. Yemet nodded and moved away, leaving her to chew silently on unanswered questions.
The Dalish moved swiftly through the forest, far faster than Sinead thought a clan of fifty or so members and a number of aravels could move through such a heavily wooded area. The aravels seemed to float over exposed roots and squeeze unnaturally between trees. Everyone's gate was a hurried walk – even the children managed to keep pace, running to the front of the train of people and wagons, then lagging until the last wagon passed them, then running to the front again, making a game of it. Scouts were constantly coming and going as the clan traveled, and the train adjusted as messages were called through the trees, words Sinead could not understand but assumed were warnings of danger ahead.
Every day with the clan passed much the same as the last – Sinead woke as a horn blew to mark the beginning of the day. She twisted her braids around her head, holding them in place with her mother's hairpins, and quickly rolled her bedroll and stored it in a waiting aravel. Breakfast was a fast meal of unleavened bread and cheese, and then the walk would begin.
And every day she was given a task to complete while she walked. Yemet demanded it of her. "Every pair of hands must contribute to the clan," he said on the first day, handing her a pack of roots and a knife and leading her to a couple of elves who were peeling the roots as they walked and tossing them in a barrel tied to the side of an aravel, prepping them for the evening meal. She clumsily followed their lead, her hands nowhere near as deft as theirs, nor her pace as fast, trying to peel and walk at the same time. Even worse was when it came time to cube the roots – she kept having to stop, making her cut, then running to catch up to the barrels.
The day she was given a pack of stockings to mend left her with hands filled with pinpricks.
Still, she didn't mind the work. It gave her something to focus on, something to help her forget her grief, or why their pace was so swift, or what she was to do when the time came to leave the clan. It was easier to let go and simply do. And it let her ignore her loneliness – only the Keeper spoke to her, and even when he did, it was in short, clipped commands.
They reached the Brecilian passage within two days, and travel became easier, swifter. There were signs of fleeing refugees in the passage, hobbling people passed without word, goods that were brought along in flight but ultimately found too cumbersome and left on the side of the road. A few of the Dalish scouts were given the task to root through these goods and salvage anything of value that wouldn't add too much to the travel load. It made Sinead's heart sink to see them bring back sturdy clothes and cook pots, knives and ceramic cups. She wondered if that was to be the fate of her little cabin – all the goods she and her mother made a home with looted and shared among the scavengers. At night she would take the word game from her pack and place the hairpins within its wooden box, grateful for these two small momentos from the life she left behind.
One afternoon, a call came from above the rocky face of the passage, and the clan stopped its progress. Scouts huddled around the lead aravel, speaking in hushed tones with the Keeper and a few other elves Sinead had marked as leaders of the clan. She paid them little heed, trying to carefully unknot and wind a large ball of spare bow strings that had become tangled during travel and was tossed to her by an indifferent hunter that morning. But she took notice when one of the scouts turned and stared at her as the others spoke.
Keeper Yemet walked over to her and took the tangled ball from her. "I need you for a task only you can do," he said, throwing the ball to a lazing child and leading her to the front of the train. "Ahead there are a number of humans stopped in the road. Walk to them."
"Alone?"
"There will be scouts watching." He pointed at the rocks lining the passage, then took her hairpins from her hair, letting her matted braid fall down her back. "Look small and weak. Helpless," he said, putting the pins in her pack. "Ask for food and water. Will you do this?"
She glanced at the stony-faced scouts. She would do anything that would make these people look at her with less resentment. She nodded. Yemet allowed her a small smile. "Go, then."
She felt self-conscious, walking away with the eyes of the camp at her back, and was relieved when she turned a corner and they disappeared from view. She walked about a mile, winding through the passage, when a group of people appeared around another corner. It was a larger group than the clan had passed before – around ten people or so, wearing a combination of leather and chainmail. They lined the passage, up in the rocks and on the side of the road, though they didn't seem to be attending the road as she neared. She could hear them chatting and laughing with each other.
Her heart began to pound. Bandits, she thought. I'm bait. She tried to stifle her anger. She agreed to this task, said she would look small and weak. The scouts were watching.
"Oi, look at this lil' one!" one of the men called out from the rocks. He slid down the face of the passage wall and hopped lightly to the road, blocking her path. "What troubles are you running from, lass?"
She held on to the straps of her pack and ducked her head. "The darkspawn." Her voice was rough from lack of speech. "My mama and I ran. They killed her. Please, sir, do you have any food? I'm so hungry."
"Oi, you think we should give food to the young lady?" the man barked. The others laughed.
Another of the men sidled up next to his comrade and leered at her. "She ain't so young, Arrison. Look at her – pretty as a portrait on a tyrn's wall."
"Leave off, Wallace." More of the men were coming, moving to surround her. "She ain't a day older than my sis."
"Yer sis has great tits, Sid," Wallace replied. He took Sinead roughly by the arm. "Looks like this 'un's hasn't grown in yet." Sid pushed Wallace off Sinead as the other men laughed and sneered.
"I'll have non o' that, Wallace. Not for a mite like this 'un." Arrison pulled a dagger from his belt and leveled it at Sinead. "Just give us the pack, girly, and we'll leave you be."
Sinead trembled, pulling at her mana. Where were the scouts? "It's everything I have."
"Then either give us everything you have, or die," Arrison said coolly, putting the dagger to her neck. "Your choice."
An arrow struck his throat. He gasped, blood flowing from his mouth, and fell back. Two more arrows flew, striking down Sid and another man.
"Dalish!" the men leapt into action, knives and swords drawn, charging up the wall toward two scouts. Two more were picked off before they reached the elves. The elves turned and ran and the bandits gave chase – until a hail of arrows from the other side of the passage rained upon them, snuffing out their lives. Corpses rolled down the passage wall, stopped by the rocks.
Sinead could not stop staring at the unseeing green eyes of the man Arrison. He died clawing at the arrow through his neck, and his hands propped up his head. She ran to the side of the road and vomited up her midday meal.
"You did well, asha." One of the scouts approached her as she wiped her lips, offering her a water skin. "We did not want to attack until we were sure they were bandits."
Her anger flared, but her voice barely rose above a whisper. "Why did you use me?"
"You are human, they were human. An elf on the road may be attacked simply for being an elf. To attack a young human girl, however, means bandits. Or worse."
She took the skin and drank deeply.
"It wasn't like the darkspawn," she said shakily, handing him the skin. "The darkspawn were inhuman. Monsters. These were just men."
"Monsters come in all types," the scout said with a shrug. "You needn't be cursed with blight to become monstrous. Go on back to the clan. Let them know the way is clear." He patted her on the shoulder and joined his companions in pilfering the dead mens' bodies.
Sinead did as she was bid, dragging her feet back to the camp. That night she slept fitfully, green, unblinking eyes haunting her dreams.
Another day of travel passed uneventfully before the clan found its way to the outskirts of Gwaren. The scouts called a halt, and Keeper Yemet fetched Sinead and brought her to the front of the train. He handed her a small bundle of food, and took her hand between his.
"This is where we part, asha," he said, not unkindly. "Your Master Eluard spoke highly of you when he visited us, but I admit I had my doubts about how a young shemlen would take to our way of life and means of travel. But you did admirably."
"Thank you. For helping me." She tried to say more, about her mother, or Eluard, or the bandits, but for some reason her tongue refused to move. It was curious – the words were all there, lined up in her head, but she couldn't get them out.
"Go on then," Yemet said, not knowing her struggle. "Follow this road into the town. The scouts will follow you until you pass through the gates. I wish you a safe journey."
He let go of her hand and pushed her gently in the direction of the town. She took a breath and began walking, joining a small throng of travelers making their way down into the town. Most looked to be like her, former forest dwellers running from the encroaching darkspawn, travel weary and in mourning for what they lost. She walked through the town gates, past two grim Templars, ducking her head to avoid being noticed. She wondered if they could sense her, and tried to tamp down her mana, ball it up within. But they gave her not even a glance as she passed.
Gwaren was bigger than anywhere she had ever been, with its stone buildings and cobbled streets, its crush of people, and its mixed stench of food, smoke, bodies, and human filth. She felt small and alone – far more alone than she had with the Dalish. For the first time in her life there was no one charged with her survival but herself. She kept her head down and moved through the crowd, heading east where she knew the sea and the ships should be. But going due east in a large town was not like traveling through the forest. The streets wound around themselves, becoming narrower and less populated and thick with a dense sludge that she hopped around to avoid. Ragged people lay in doorframes, watching blearily as she passed. Eventually the street simply ended in a large stone wall. She stopped to regain her bearings – she had crossed a larger street some yards back. Perhaps if she followed it, asked for directions…
She turned, and found that she was blocked in by two ragged young men.
"We've been followin' you, love," one of them said, the leader of this duo. He closed in on her, came so close that she could smell the sickly sweet decay of his breath. "I like the look of those hairpins," he said, backing her against the wall. "Almost as pretty as you."
"You think she'd be willing to give us a kiss, eh, Jass?" The other man, stocky and covered in black fur, stroked her arm. She slapped him away, and he laughed.
"Maybe a kiss, maybe more," Jass said. "Maybe if you do what we like, we won't take everything off you. What do you say love?" He pushed up against her.
"Don't touch me!" Sinead struggled in his grip, panicking. There would be no Eluard, no mother, no elven scouts to help her. Just two grimy lads and their hands, laughing and groping and moving their lips on her neck.
Her thoughts cleared. She pulled deep from her mana and grabbed the stocky man's hand from around her waist, freezing it solid. She slammed it into the wall behind her, and it shattered. The man screamed, holding his frostbitten stump.
"Mage!" Jass blanched and stumbled back. "A mage! It's a mage!"
Sinead bolted, fleeing from their cries. She wound through alleys, splashing through the muck and jumping over the sullen people. She stumbled out of an alley and onto a main thoroughfare filled with people. Stalls lined the street.
"Excuse me," she panted at one kiosk owner who hawked skewered meats. "Where are the ships?"
"Follow this road til you get to the fountain in the square. Take a left. Now if you aren't buying anythin', be off with you."
She nodded and ran, people passing in a blur, and burst free of the buildings to find a long stretch of docks and moored ships. She gasped at the sight, and at the sea beyond, shimmering and never ending. A wave of sea air hit her, stinging salt against her cheeks. She walked down to the docks, unsure of which ship to choose.
She soon realized that she had little choice in the matter. There were small crowds gathered around each ship, people crying out to be taken on, accusing the ships' crews of leaving them to the mercy of the darkspawn.
"We're full up!" one ship hand roared at the crowd mingled around his vessel. "Can't even take a small dog, so leave off!"
Another ship's crew was dodging stones thrown by its angry crowd as it prepped for launch. One hit a man square in the temple, and he fell to the deck. The captain drew his sword and brandished it at the crowd.
"If you don't clear the docks and leave my men be, I swear I'll give them the order to kill every one of you!" The crowd jeered at his threats, but cleared hastily when the captain called "all hands on deck! Prepare for battle!" and the crew jumped into action, armed and ready for a fight.
"We're taking children and mothers only, damn you!" Further down the docks a crewman pushed a man off the gangplank of his ship. "No one else will board this ship, do you hear?"
Sinead heard. She pulled her hairpins out and stashed them in her bag, then pushed her way through the crowd of angry people. She was battered in the crush, but she broke free and climbed the gangplank, trying to look as small as possible.
"Can I please board?" She said to the crewman, not meeting his eye. "Mama said to get to a boat as fast as possible."
The crewman gave her a once-over, his face softening a bit. She glanced down at her clothes, noticing for the first time how grimy they were – stained from travel and blood magic. She must have been caked in dirt. "I'd say you can, lass. You can pay the first mate when you're aboard. Meals come with travel, so no worries about that, eh?"
"Thank you." She bobbed her head and passed him, then turned and asked, "Where is this ship going?"
"Free Marshes, lass," the crewman said shortly. "Kirkwall."
