Chapter 10: The Healer
It did not take Reaper long to find the mage.
As the sun continued to its descent, he continued the hunt. The magic he had sensed called to him, like a beacon, it was child's play to stay on track. He could follow the trail better than any Seeker now. The flames that had given him his new abilities had done nothing to dull the old ones; in fact, sometimes it seemed that his old Templar skills had been enhanced. Since his…cleansing Reaper was almost drawn to the presence of magic, drawn, but not a slave to its call. He wielded the powers of the order without tiring easily, and lyrium, it was no longer a factor. Whatever had changed him had taken away his dependence on the dust; he felt no craving, no desire to take up the philter again. He no longer required it, either as a crutch, or a leash. He had truly been set free. That had worried some of the sisters back in Haven, but Sister Leliana saw it as providence, proof that he was meant for more than just praying in a chantry. So she asked him to become her hand, her hunter, and he was one of the best. Once he had got the scent of magic he could trail it better than a bloodhound.
That last part had intrigued Lord Seeker Lambert more than anything else.
Dee had advised him that he should not be so open about all his gifts, especially to men like the Lord Seeker. Men of power were always looking for more power, or ways to exploit those that had it. He agreed that she had a point, after the fact, and promised to remember what she had said in the future.
Thinking of his partner made him smile. He was eager to finish this job and return to her side.
He could almost see her gentle smile then, those cloudy blue eyes that even though they could not see, could still radiate a sense of caring.
"Now is not the time to be thinking of me Reaper," the smile seemed to say, "you have a monster to hunt, stay focused."
He nodded.
The paladin quickly pushed any thoughts of Dee, the Seekers, and Val Royeaux out of his head. Such distractions could be fatal when on the hunt. Somewhere out here, a monster was lurking, it might even be watching him right now.
Until it was dealt with, he could afford to focus on nothing else.
As the last rays of sun faded from the sky, he caught sight of a small campfire. His Templar senses all pointing here as the source of the magic he had sensed.
He paused and tried to figure out exactly who and what he had discovered.
Two people moved around the fire. Both lithe and slender of build. Both were clad in robes of leather straps, feathers and deer skins. The taller one sat down on a log, casually smoking from a long clay pipe. While the smaller of the pair fed the fire, both wore hoods and cloaks, but that did not mean that Reaper was unable to figure out who and what they were. When the wind was just right he could just make out the some of their conversation, the sound of their voices, they were not speaking the king's tongue, that was clear, the language was more musical than that, older somehow.
Reaper smiled slightly.
Dalish, he thought to himself, wild elves of the forests.
He knew little about the Dalish, only what the history books taught. These elves descended from the nobility that had once ruled the elven nation long ago, after their defeat during the Exalted March of the Dales, they had chosen not to go with the rest of their kin into the Alienages; instead they had chosen to remain apart from the world. They had wandered free since the fall of their kingdom.
He knew he was dealing with, now he had to decide on how best to proceed.
Reaper took a deep breath and reached out with his senses.
Dalish normally travelled in clans he knew, yet he sensed only these two, and saw no trace of other elves.
Could be a hunting party he thought to himself, or perhaps some wandering mystic on a pilgrimage, on his way to the same ruins as a certain paladin, perhaps? Pure speculation, he realized, but it was possible. He was not sure if the ruins he sought were elven in origin, but if it was possible he might just have found someone who could shed some light on what he might face when he finally reached the heart of the forest.
He made for the campfire, making sure that his hands were nowhere near his weapons. Leliana's warnings about the Dalish here not being overly fond of humans came back to him.
He would need to proceed cautiously.
He took only a few steps before he felt the presence of the wards, the magical traps the mage had set to protect his camp. The magic sent a shiver down his spine. It was strong, and not to be trifled with lightly.
He stopped, not daring to take another step.
These magical traps the mage had set had likely been what had drawn him here. He could have dispelled them easily enough, they were strong, but nothing that his Templar ability couldn't handle. Of Course the mage would likely not think kindly on that might even see it as a hostile act, and if he simply tried to approach, he could not guess what the wards might do to him. How such spells were used often depended on the caster. Most wards only repelled the person that tripped them, repelled or held them in place; of course there was always the aggressive mage out there who thought that such a response was not good enough.
Reaper had heard tales of some magical wards, freezing a person solid, or melting the flesh off their bones, cooking a Templar in his armor.
The paladin had no desire to end up like that...
He could not go through the wards, and did wish to startle the mage by dispelling them.
He sighed that left him with only one option. Not the best perhaps, but likely the safest, if he wanted answer.
He called out to the two elves, and hoped for the best.
He hoped that they were friendly.
"You there, he shouted, "By the fire! Hello! May I approach?!"
The smaller of the pair was on his feet in seconds, shouting something in the elven tongue, reaching for one of the staves to the right of his sitting companion. That one, the one closest to the fire raised his hand, silencing his companion, stopping him from doing anything rash. He then looked out into the darkness staring towards where Reaper stood.
When he spoke it was with a small degree of amusement in his voice.
"You have a light step, friend," he called out, the voice was calm, educated, he spoke the king's tongue without a trace of a Dalish accent, "I might not have realized anyone was approaching if you had not called out."
Reaper let out the breath he did not realize he was holding.
If the elven mage was going to attack, he probably would not have bothered speaking first.
The mage, Reaper was now certain that this was the mage who had cast the wards rose; he slid back his hood revealing a pale face with a long mane of fiery red hair. Reaper guessed he might be in his thirties or forties, but it was hard to tell with elves, it was rare that an elf looked wizened, even when he had entered old age.
The mage smiled.
"You seem to be standing just outside the range of my wards, human. I'm guessing you know where they are?"
"I do," Reaper replied.
"And you are clearly armed and armored," the mage added, "A mage would not come so protected. Are you of the Templar Order then?"
Reaper's eyes narrowed.
Be careful, he thought.
Templars and apostates were rarely on friendly terms. He could lie he supposed, but that might be worse than telling the truth. This elf was clearly no fool.
"I was of the order," the paladin admitted, "I'm not anymore."
"Fascinating," the elf said.
The other elf was almost shouting in elven now. Reaper could not understand the words, but he could guess the intent.
Now that they know I was a Templar, they might just try to kill me for the past sins of the order.
"I mean you no harm," Reaper called out, he raised his hands, to show the two elves he was not even reaching for his weapons.
"A beast murdered a boy from a nearby village. I've been chosen to find it, and make sure that no one else is killed."
"Chosen or paid," the other elf shouted, a young boy by the sound of it, "You shemlen are more beasts than any forest creature!"
The boy's words did not please the elven mage.
"You are being rude, apprentice, that is no way to speak to a fellow traveler of the wood," he chided, "Had this man wanted to harm us, he would have simply dispelled my wards and would be upon us with his weapons by now."
"As I said, I'm not hunting mages," Reaper repeated, "I seek a monster in these woods, one likely hiding in the ruins at the forest's heart."
That admission got the elf's attention, he tilted his head slightly.
"You seek werewolves?" he asked, "Have they returned?"
"That is what I'm here to find out," Reaper called back.
The elven mage rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Long pointed elven ears twitched like a rabbits.
Finally, he gestured, forming symbols in the air.
Reaper felt the wards, power down.
"You may approach, traveler," he called out, "Share a place by our fire, I believe you and I should talk."
Reaper nodded, he did as he was bid yet he still kept his hands far from his weapons.
"I am called Aneirin," the mage said, "The boy is my apprentice, his name is Zath."
"I am known as Ser Reaper, a warrior in the service of Divine Justinia V."
"An interesting title. Ser, welcome to the Brecilian Forest," Aneirin said, "The boy and I were about to have some stew, you are welcome to share of course."
The boy elf, glared at the paladin, he was as pale as his master, but had black hair, and dark violet eyes.
"I've brought some apples if you would both like one," Reaper offered.
The older mage smiled.
"I've not had an apple in a long time," he admitted, "They do not grow wild, not in this part of the forest anyway. We accept your gift, and offer you the protection and hospitality of our humble camp."
Reaper accepted there offer.
It would be better to sleep here than tied up on some tree branch.
He took a seat near the fire, but not before removing his weapons. This Aneirin seemed an honorable sort, but the boy Zath continued to glare daggers at him.
Reaper knew that he would have to be careful around this one.
As the boy tended the stew, the two men talked. They spoke of their origins first. Reaper spoke of his time in Haven, and his rebirth in the holy fires there. The boy Zath looked at him like he was mad or a fool, but the elder mage listened intently. Aneirin confessed to having been born into the alienage, and of having trained in the Circle for a time. He had fled the tower long ago, just a boy of Zath's age, and had nearly died when a Templar patrol found him and ran him through.
Reaper winced, he was grateful that the elven mage held no grudge. He had plenty of reasons to hate Templars, or in Reaper's case, former Templars.
Since that time he had been a wanderer, preferring the company of the trees and animals to that of his own people. He had been well trained in the healing arts during his days in the circle, skills that had only gotten better as he practiced here in the wilderness; most elves knew him as Aneirin the Healer now…
…And were never afraid to accept his help.
"I thought to return to the Circle once," the mage admitted, "Shortly after the Blight ended. Alas, the tower was little different than it had been when I was a boy. Due to my service during the Blight, the Knight-Commander allowed me to return to the Dalish, and to my wandering ways."
"And the boy?" Reaper asked.
The younger elf glared at him.
""'the boy' is none of your concern, shemlen." He spat.
His master spoke harshly in elvish to the boy, a brief exchange passed between them, and the boy fell to silence, lowering his head.
"Zath was born into one of the local clans," Aneirin said, "A clan that already had a Keeper and a first. Typically such children are given to other clans for training, or sent out into the wilderness to find their own path. I had been passing through at the time and offered to take him on as my apprentice."
The mage smiled.
"Do not let his temper fool you, Ser. Zath is a skilled healer, when he keeps his temper in check. He will be a skilled successor to my work one day."
"It was good of you to take him on," Reaper said.
"My master is a good man," the boy said sullenly, not wanting to meet the paladin's gaze. "Any fool could see that."
Reaper decided not to take the boy's comment as an insult; it was not that he had no reason to dislike someone who served the chantry.
As they ate, Reaper told them about his mission, and what had brought him to the Brecilian Forest.
Reaper told the elf about the murder of Trystan Forester, and how his sister had accused the hunter Grey Eyes of being both a werewolf and the killer. She mentioned that he could be found at the ruin in the Heart of the Forest, and that it would be in the paladin's interest to deal with the matter quickly.
Aneirin's brow furrowed as he listened.
"I know the man you speak of," he admitted, "I've traded with Wulfe Grey Eyes, even offered my skills when he needed them from time to time."
"Is he a werewolf?" Reaper asked.
The elven mage chuckled.
"A better question would be: Is the boy a murderer? The day of Witherfang and the werewolves ended long ago, Ser Reaper. Yet such power does not so easily flee. It leaves its mark upon the world, and the people touched by it, are never entirely free of its embrace."
"That did not answer my question, Ser mage," the paladin said.
"I suppose it didn't," he said with a shrug, "What would happen if I said yes? Would you fly from this camp tomorrow and slay Grey Eyes where he stands? Would you give him no more mercy than the Templars showed me all those years ago?"
The accusation stung. Reaper had no desire to be some common assassin, and executioner.
"If he is a werewolf," he said, "Does that not make him evil?"
"It would mean that he was marked by evil Ser," Aneirin answered, "Zathrian's evil, the curse the keeper released long ago. Evil can touch something, leave a mark upon it, but if it does not rule it, does that make the creature evil?"
"I suppose it depends upon the creature's actions." Reaper answered.
The mage nodded sagely.
"What if I told you that Grey Eyes was a werewolf, a werewolf that did its best to stay away from the world of man? He might take a sheep or cow from the local villages every now and then, but that is simply the nature of a beast is it not?"
Reaper shrugged not really sure how to respond.
In his experience monsters created by dark magic were drawn to evil. If this one resisted harming innocent people, did that truly make him a monster, or simply another denizen of the forest, a predator, not a monster?
Reaper shifted uncomfortably.
This hunt was moving in a direction had not expected.
"If the hunter is innocent, he has nothing to fear from me." he said.
"Even if he is a werewolf," Zath asked, "Doesn't your shemlen chantry feel that all such creatures should be destroyed?"
Reaper shrugged.
"I'm not the chantry," he admitted, "I serve the Maker, and do my best to protect his children. If this man is a werewolf, but no threat to the people that live around this forest, I see no reason to harm him."
Reaper's eyes narrowed.
"My interest is in the beast that murdered young Trystan Forester," he said, "That killer is the one I want, not some innocent forest beast."
This admission made Aneirin smile slightly. He nodded, as if he had come to a decision.
"You may rest here by our fire tonight human. My wards will keep you safe tonight. In the morning I shall take you to the forest heart, and we shall see if Grey Eyes is there. He knows me, so he will be less likely to attack blindly if I am there."
"I thank you," Reaper said gratefully, "Do you think he will talk to me? Do you think he may know what happened to the young lord of Forest's End?"
"Perhaps," the mage admitted, "As I have said, I know Grey Eyes. I don't believe he is a murderer."
"Do you have any theories who would have killed Lord Trystan?"
"I would not wish to point any fingers, Ser," the mage admitted, "There is one possibility, but I would prefer to speak with Wulfe before I share any suspicions with you."
Reaper nodded.
He could appreciate that.
He felt the wards that protected the camp flare to life again. After sharing a meal with his elvish hosts, he settled down to get some rest.
Aneirin said it would not take long to reach the forest's heart. Reaper found himself looking forward to the journey.
He found himself thinking about what Aneirin had said. He still had no clear confirmation that the hunter was a werewolf…
And if he was, Aneirin seemed to think him innocent of the crime. Which brought up another good question: If Grey Eyes had not killed the boy…
…then who had?