"The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss."
Chapter 4
She could smell the sea even from such a distance. The southern winds drifted upon the sleeping plains before them, carrying with it the scent of water and the sounds of the city. Traffic on the roads was still less than what she was used to, but given the current climate in Orlais, unsurprising. Still, Ashe was wary as their company was even more obvious with fewer travelers in which to blend. She doubted that two armored riders and a shifty elf would attract only a few inquiring glances.
Ashe twisted on her mount and scanned the horizon behind her. As she suspected, Dierk was still on their tail, although more visible than the day before, and the day before that. He had joined them at their campfire each night, sharing what game he caught, but otherwise kept to himself. She thought she caught him about to speak on a few occasions, but nothing came of it. Instead, the trio remained quiet in the evenings, each pondering their own private thoughts. It was a routine that Ashe was comfortable with, and given her recent incarceration, allowed her to enjoy the sounds of the evening without interference. It was the first time in over a month that she had slept peacefully, although she doubted it would remain so.
"It would be wise to tuck that thing under your leathers." Ratimir's low voice cut through her thoughts. His eyes remained forward, but Ashe shot him a questioning look even so. He gestured absently. "That medallion will bring us more attention than I'm sure you're ready to attract."
She frowned, her eyes catching the silvery sheen of the Inquisitor's sword hung about her neck. She had believed herself careful, hiding it away underneath her clothes each morning she rose, and confirming it remained hidden each night before she retired. Truly such a small thing need not be so troublesome, although it was that very trait the office seemed to epitomize.
Ashe sighed reluctantly and did as Ratimir suggested, deciding that there was no point in keeping the truth from him any longer. He had not asked her of their mission, did not request any order, but did as he always had. He would await instruction by her leave and only then inquire into the mission objectives. He was more patient then Ashe and deliberate in his inquiries, often addressing issues she herself had overlooked. He was invaluable to her as a sounding board as well as a respected comrade.
"I suppose you can guess what responsibilities I was given." A harsh note of sarcasm slipped into her tone despite the attempt she made to hide it.
"The Divine is rebuilding the Inquisition?"
Ashe nodded, noting Ratimir's slight frown. "You don't approve?"
He snorted, his nose twitching slightly as he did so. "We were always thought of as mage hunters before the order collapsed. This is no different."
Ashe cocked an eyebrow and awaited further elaboration. When none came, she turned her eyes back to the road. "There is a war on. That is the difference."
He grunted again. "As you say, Captain."
Ashe glanced to their rear again, recognizing Dierk's wiry frame in the distance. He was deep in the high grasses, the tip of his bow barely distinguishable at this distance. She suspected he hunted game, but as long as he remained civil, he was no concern of hers at the moment.
"When we arrive in town, I need you to head to the docks and book passage for Jader with the first available ship."
Ratimir nodded his assent, his eyes still upon the road ahead. "We're headed south?"
"South-east."
"To Ferelden then?" Ashe need not see his eyes to recognize his mild surprise.
"The Divine has tasked us with an examination of the area, specifically the effects of the Warden's actions."
Ratimir briefly pulled his eyes from the horizon and studied her. "To what end?"
"She requires an 'unbiased measure of the current climate.'" Ashe shook her head, briefly contemplating whether or not to share her true opinion on the matter, but as Ratimir turned his eyes forward once more, she decided to hold her tongue. No doubt he understood the matter better than she. What little she knew of his history before their first posting together, Ashe gathered he had seen his fair share of schemes.
Given what little information the Divine provided, Ashe couldn't help but wonder as to the end goal. She had intelligence dating back to the start of the fifth blight, prior to even the Warden's joining. Somehow, the Divine thought that Empress Celine's secret correspondence with the late King Cailan warranted her attention. Although she couldn't imagine what an abandoned alliance would mean to the Ferelden common folk now. The blight was over, the country rebuilt, and the Orlesian occupation only a memory. Granted, the Bannorn may be concerned with the political climate in Orlais, but they were not her primary objective. Ashe had had enough of the Orlesian Game. No reason to go rushing headlong into foreign political waters.
However, matters within the Circle – the former Circle – were a different issue altogether. Ashe again reviewed the records she had all but committed to memory. Justinia V had included a listing of the circle mages from the Ferelden tower, including those present during the Warden's Harrowing. It was not an unusual piece of intelligence as the Chantry kept impeccable records of all the mages in their care, but what Ashe found odd were the roughly scribbled notes in the margins. She had read enough of the Divine's orders to recognize her handwriting, but why did she feel it was important enough to note persons of interest when the records already indicate the manner in which the Warden was recruited.
Ashe frowned again in thought. Perhaps it was a point of interest for the Divine, a direction in which she wanted Ashe to go. Or perhaps it was nothing more than a noted curiosity.
Justinia's Nevarran agent had turned up little concrete information in her Kirkwall investigations. Although the tale presented to her was interesting, her main source was not an objective measure and the growing unrest in the wake of Hawke's activities had given birth to more than a few outlandish variations. However, Ashe reviewed the Seeker's notes on the matter, her interrogation techniques of other witnesses, and a pattern had indeed emerged. The task before her now was to determine just when the cord of tension in Kirkwall and the Free Marches would be pulled overly taut, nigh unto snapping. It was a disconcerting thought and Ashe frowned at the approaching horizon.
Her mission was not a difficult one, save for avoiding the usual political pitfalls and general unrest that seemed to be brewing across the land. She was curious to see how Ferelden fared as her previous visit was too brief to measure the country's relative stability. The reports on the state of Fereldan affairs were few and far between given the tension between the Chantry and its king. One would think a former Templar would welcome Chantry involvement, although many disavowed that notion after his attempt to free the Fereldan Circle – a boon requested by the Hero of Ferelden it was whispered.
Pondering the Divine's collected intelligence, Ashe found that she was very much looking forward to the mission and another visit to Orlais' neighbor. Her frown dissipated at the thought of traversing the country once more. Contrary to popular belief, Ferelden did not smell of wet dog. Well, not always.
o O o
He pulled the shaft of the arrow cleanly from the hare, the hardwood slick with bright blood and hot against his fingers. Dierk wiped it clean on the hare, checking the head for nicks before returning it to his quiver. Better not to waste an arrow when it can be reused.
Dierk unceremoniously tossed the hare into his pack and stood slowly, surveying his surroundings and spotting the two Templars still traveling side by side. They made an odd pair to be sure, but neither bothered him regarding his presence, nor did they seem to care overmuch – at least not outwardly. He had seen some of the looks the large man shot him at camp and had caught the woman searching for him in the grasses during the day. Still, they tolerated his presence and the woman seemed more satisfied with his hunting skills than her companion's cooking.
They spoke little between them, Dierk noted, and less of whatever business they were about, but he did not survive all these years on luck alone. The elf recognized what was not said: the absence of prayers typical of the Templars he had known, the anti-magic rhetoric they all seemed so fond of, and most importantly, absence of commands. Of the Templars he had known, and the unlucky few he had been unfortunate to cross, all had ordered him about like a simpleton, a base servant, because they were the martial arm of the Chantry and had the power to do so.
The last Templar to order him about found himself a purse lighter. When he went a-hunting in the alienage for the supposed thief, he found himself pelted with mud by the local youths. He left howling in rage and vowing revenge, cursing elves and Andraste's knickers along with a string of additional curses. Dierk snorted at the memory.
He turned his attention once more to the riders on the road and watched as they veered off to the right. The sun was low in the sky, which meant only that the woman had decided to set camp for the evening. She was the first Templar not to treat him like a servant. She knew what he was and what he had attempted, but she had released him still. He had watched her as she left the city that day, confused and suspicious as to her motivations, but yet he was free and she seemed not to care a whit about the incident. Granted, she had surprised him with her quickness, although he blamed the rain for that little slip-up, and yet he had remained free. Dierk snorted again. As free as an elf in an alienage could be.
He had watched those gates every day for her return, intent on trying his luck again, mad enough to prove it wasn't an accident she caught him. He had learned something of pride in his trade, proof positive of his skill was the simple fact he'd not yet landed in the dungeons as many of his brethren had. Still, the mystery of that day compelled him to action, but when she returned to the city it had been in chains.
Even in the alienage gossip surfaced of a Templar gone rogue, a Templar who treated with abominations, or Dierk's personal favorite, a Templar seduced by a blood mage and sent to assassinate the Divine. All untruths to be sure, but Dierk did not deny his love of entertainment, and gossip and lies always held a hint of truth.
He followed the riders south of the road and into the hills, creeping through the high grasses as the sun fell lower in the sky. He tossed his pack to the large man, whose name he'd learned was Ratimir, and plopped down by the fire. The woman – Ashe – nodded in acknowledgement of his contribution, but said nothing. Ratimir set to work cleaning his catch while Ashe left to care for their mounts.
He was not uncomfortable with their silence, but somewhat about it set him on edge. Neither one appeared overly interested in him or their surroundings. Ratimir's bulk crouched by a well-worn black pot, heating whatever creation he had invented this eve, while Ashe returned to the fire, settling in beside him. She met Dierk's gaze and studied him, even as he studied her. Of the two, Dierk had yet to determine which to be subordinate as the balance of their partnership seemed to teeter one end to the other.
An odd pair indeed.
