For the first several minutes, they trekked in silence, interrupted only by a few stray wolves that kept their distance. The cool air left goosebumps over her arms, and when she huffed out a breath, it rose in front of her in a fog; Highever was much warmer than this part of Ferelden.
"So we're supposed to just wander around this freezing marsh until we find some darkspawn willing to attack us?" Daveth groused.
"Actually, it's not a marsh, it's a swamp," Jory corrected.
"What?"
"It's a swamp," Jory repeated. "Marshes have the flooded ground, just like this, but are incapable of supporting large plants like all these trees." Everyone stared at the knight, who slowly grew red in the face. "What? It's true."
"Ser Jory's original point stands," Castielle pointed out. "Do we just hope to run into the body of the horde or something?"
"We'll find some darkspawn, don't you worry," Alistair replied. "Though we're far from the actual horde itself."
"I don't suppose you can tell us anything about this Joining or why it needs darkspawn blood, can you?" Daveth asked pointedly. Alistair was shaking his head before the thief even finished.
"That's not my place to explain, and at this point it would just distract you," he replied.
"I'm liking this less and less," Jory groaned. Castielle had to agree.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a weak cry some ways ahead.
"Did you hear that?" Castielle said, looking around. Jory, Daveth, and Alistair looked around as well, and Kitty raised her snout to sniff the air. The mabari gave a bark and bounded off, with the humans in the rear.
"Over here!" she could hear someone calling out in a pained voice. They all sped up and finally arrived at the scene. A wagon was off to the side, tipped over, and an ox lay on its side covered in blood and its belly ripped open. Castielle gagged at the smell; Ser Jory, Daveth, and Alistair seemed likewise affected. A dozen or so human bodies lay scattered, all bloodied and still. Then, one of the bodies moved.
The wounded soldier peered up at them all, apparently dazed. "Who…is that? Gray Wardens…?" he ground out. Castielle knelt next to him, looking him over to assess his wounds.
"Well, not half as dead as he looks, is he?" Alistair said lightheartedly.
"My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn," the soldier gasped. "They came out of the ground…Please, help me! I've got to…return to camp…" He shuddered with a new wave of agony, and blood leaked through his fingers that he held clenched to his side.
"Come on, we can take you back," Castielle reassured him.
"If you just…bandage me up, I…can get back myself," the soldier panted. Alistair knelt next to her, already pulling his pack off his back to get the bandages. He helped tightly bind the bandages around the soldier's middle, staunching the flow of blood from a deep cut, and helped him back into his armor.
"Thank you," the soldier groaned as he staggered to his feet. "I…I've got to get out of here!" With that, he limped off in the general direction of the Ostagar ruins.
"Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!" Ser Jory burst out.
"Calm down, Ser Jory. We'll be fine if we're careful," Alistair reassured him. The knight didn't look convinced.
"Those solders were careful, and they were still overwhelmed," Jory stressed. "How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army in these forests!" By this point, even the thief Daveth looked a little pale.
Alistair shook his head. "There are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde," he said calmly.
"How do you know?" Jory demanded. "I'm not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back."
"We're far from helpless here," Castielle interjected. Jory turned to face her.
"I still do not relish the thought of encountering an army," he said forcefully.
"Know this: all Gray Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here," Alistair said in a soothing tone.
"You see, ser knight?" Daveth spoke up. "We might die, but we'll be warned about it first."
"That is…reassuring?" Jory said, sounding unconvinced.
Alistair quirked a smile. "That doesn't mean I'm here to make this easy, however. So let's get a move on."
They continued moving steadily north, avoiding the murky puddles of freezing water and the pits of mud that threatened to suck the boots off their feet. Off to one side, a splash of color caught Castielle's eye. She stepped over to investigate and found herself looking at a small white flower growing on a felled log. Closer inspection revealed a splash of red in the middle. She leaned close and sniffed; it had a delicate scent that reminded her of her mother's perfume. Longing welled up in her and for a moment she had a lump in her throat.
"That flower," a voice behind her piped up, pulling her out of her reverie. She turned to see Daveth had stepped close, admiring the flower as well. "White with a red center. The kennel master at Ostagar was asking about those."
"Why did he want them, do you know?" Castielle asked halfheartedly, not really interested in the answer.
"The kennel master said this flower can help dogs that get sick from biting darkspawn," the thief explained. "At any rate, he was offering a reward if someone went into the Wilds and brought him one. Might want to think about it, is all."
She looked at the flower more closely. She waited till nobody was looking at her, and plucked the flower and tucked it into her pack.
They hadn't gone another fifty feet when a terrifying bellow echoed through the trees. Castielle shot a look at Alistair, and the look on his face confirmed her suspicion. Out of the trees ahead of them ran about half a dozen darkspawn, the tallest of which towered over them by at least a foot. Nothing that she had ever been told could have prepared her for how horrific the creatures were.
The Hurlock charged them, jagged sword raised high. Its mouth opened inhumanely wide to let out another rancid-breath bellow as its sword came down on Castielle's raised shield. She sliced at its midsection and black putrid blood burst forth. She parried another attack and bashed at it with her shield, forcing it to stagger back a step, which gave her the room to slice the thing's throat. It hit the ground with a thud, and let out one gurgling death rattle before it died.
Alistair had already taken down two more and was helping Daveth with a genlock hacking at him with an axe. She turned to spot Ser Jory struggling with another Hurlock, the two of them with swords locked and Jory looking as if he was going to either scream or vomit. She rushed over and buried her sword hilt-deep in the creature's back; it fell to the ground with a cry, twitching.
"Everybody alright?" Alistair asked as he wiped the black blood off his sword. Castielle and Daveth nodded, no worse for the wear, but Ser Jory still looked as if he were going to vomit any moment.
Once everybody had regained their composure, each of the three recruits took out their vial and filled it with the black sticky blood of the darkspawn they'd personally had a hand in bringing down.
"Excellent," Alistair exclaimed. "Now we just need to grab those scrolls from the Gray Warden archive. The ruins should be this way." He gestured northward, and once more the group set off.
Two hours, fifteen darkspawn, six wolves, and one angry badger later, the spires of another set of ruins appeared between the trees. The group trudged up to the ancient stonework, by now tired, muddy, and sticky with darkspawn blood. In the center of the ruins was a huge open area, across which Castielle could see a heavy, ornate stone chest. Alistair gestured for her to go ahead and open it.
The lid creaked softly as it rose, and Castielle's eyebrows contracted as she laid her eyes on the contents of the chest. Or rather, the lack of contents. "It's empty," she exclaimed. Was this some kind of trick?
"Well, well, what have we here?"
Castielle jumped at the voice and turned around. At the top of a stone flight of stairs stood a dusky-skinned woman with raven hair pulled back from her face. She began descending the stairs almost leisurely, and at this point Castielle noticed the towering staff strapped to the woman's back. Castielle stood and warily approached the bottom of the stairs, hand resting on the hilt of her dagger almost unconsciously.
"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" the strange woman mused aloud. "A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" The woman finally drew close, and with a shock Castielle realized the mage's eyes were as golden yellow as the ornate turquoise-studded golden necklace with rested around the woman's neck. Out of the corner of her eye, Castielle spotted the three men sizing the woman up, with particular interest to the conveniently-placed red scarf the woman had draped around her neck instead of armor or even a shirt. She also wore a skirt seemingly comprised entirely out of leather belts and straps. The woman crossed her arms over her chest. "What say you, hmm? Scavenger, or intruder?"
Instead of giving an answer, Castielle raised an eyebrow. "And just how are these your Wilds?"
The woman chuckled. "Because I know them only as one who owns them could. Can you claim the same? I have watched your progress for some time," she continued, striding through the group and stopping a short distance away. The mage stared off into the forest. "'Where do they go,' I wondered. 'Why are they here'? And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"
"Don't answer her," Alistair said under his breath. "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.
The mage scoffed. "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" she taunted, waving her arms dramatically.
Alistair scowled. "Yes, swooping is bad."
"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is!" Daveth suddenly interrupted. "She'll turn us into toads!"
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" Her gaze turned to Castielle. "You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."
"You can call me Castielle," she said. The witch nodded, and somehow Castielle felt like she had gained this woman's approval somehow.
"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish," the mage replied. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"
"'Here no longer'?" Alistair repeated. "You stole them, didn't you? You're…some kind of…sneaky…witch-thief!" he accused. Castielle fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Morrigan seemed to feel the same. "How very eloquent," she drawled. "How does one steal from dead men?"
"Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Gray Warden property, and I suggest you return them," Alistair said forcefully.
"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened," the mage said haughtily.
Castielle sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation. This bickering was beginning to give her a headache. "She's toying with us," she said to the men. "Let's go."
"Why so petulant?" Morrigan called after her. "You wish to know who removed your papers? 'Twas my mother who did the deed."
Castielle stopped, staring at the woman. "Your…mother," she said flatly. "Is that a joke?"
"If so, it seems the truthful rather than funny sort, no?" the witch replied.
"Great, she's a thieving, weird-talking, funny sort of witch," Alistair groused from behind her.
"Not all in the Wilds are monsters," Morrigan sighed. "Flowers grow, as well as toads. If you wish, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."
"We should get those treaties, but I dislike this Morrigan's sudden appearance," Alistair muttered to Castielle. "It's too convenient."
"I say we go with her," Castielle shrugged. They needed the papers after all.
"She'll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch!" Daveth exclaimed distrustfully.
"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change," Ser Jory interjected.
"Follow me, then, if it pleases you," Morrigan offered. She turned and began walking, and after a second's hesitation, Castielle followed. She could hear the three men following her, only grumbling slightly.
A half hour's walk deeper into the swamps brought them within sight of a small, plain hut. An old woman in a dirty dress stood beside the door, watching them approach with beady eyes.
"Greetings, mother," Morrigan called ahead. "I bring before you four Gray Wardens who-"
"I see them, girl," the woman said in a raspy voice. She glanced over them all as they drew close. "Hmm…much as I expected."
Alistair snickered. "Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?"
"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe," the old woman replied. "Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide; either way, one's a fool!"
"She's a witch, I tell you!" Daveth whispered loudly. "We shouldn't be talking to her!"
"Quiet, Daveth!" Ser Jory snapped. "If she's really a witch, do you really want to make her mad?"
"Yes, there is a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will," Morrigan's mother said cryptically. She turned her gaze to Castielle and stepped close. Castielle held the woman's piercing gaze; the woman had golden eyes, just like Morrigan. "And what of you? Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?"
Castielle mulled briefly over her possible responses, but settled on what seemed the safest: "I'm not sure what to believe." Morrigan's mother nodded.
"A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies," she mused. "Be always aware…or is it oblivious? I can never remember. So much about you is uncertain…and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems I do!"
"So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair chuckled behind her.
"Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan must have told you that," the old woman interrupted. Alistair's face reddened as he realized his mutter had been overheard. "She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it!" She clasped her hands together. "Oh, how she dances under the moon!" The woman let out a cackling laugh. Behind her, Morrigan looked rather displeased.
"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother," Morrigan said tersely.
"True, they came for their treaties, yes?" she said, opening the door to her hut and rummaging through a container just out of sight. She came back outside, a few scrolls bound together in hand. She held them out to Castielle, who took them. "And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these."
"You…oh," Alistair stopped, surprised. "You protected them?"
"And why not? Take them to your Gray Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize!" the woman exclaimed.
"Thank you for returning them," Castielle said, inclining her head. The old woman let out a chuckle.
"Oh, do not mind me," she replied. "You have what you came for."
"Time for you to go, then," Morrigan interrupted.
"Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests," the old woman lectured.
"Oh, very well," Morrigan sighed. "I will show you out of the woods. Follow me," she said, setting off. Castielle gave the old woman one last searching look before she and the three men followed the mage back into the forest in the direction of the Ostagar ruins.