Chapter 10 – Knife at the Throat

Village of Middern

Ferelden

Every head in the tavern turned towards the short young man with the shaven head as he walked through the doors. No, not a man, his stoutness and the heavy armour he wore proclaimed his status as a dwarf.

Dwarves were hardly ever seen in the small village of Middern, but with talk of the war on everyone's lips, strange sights were to be expected. Middern was far away from the coast, but some of the more adventurous young men had already left for Denerim to join the king's army.

But the ones who remained weren't above taking advantage of an outsider. Especially not for a dwarf young enough not to have a beard on his chin.

He went up to the bartender and laid a pouch of coins on the bar. "Excuse me, sir. I need information and I'm willing to pay for it."

The bartender gave him an incredulous look. "Are you having a laugh, mate?"

"I am not," said the young dwarf. "I am on a mission of urgent importance and need some vital information."

"Go on then," said the barman, fully aware that everyone was watching the little scene. "What do you need?"

The dwarf was looking for someone. The family of a serving girl who had left some years back for Denerim to work in the royal palace. It was vitally important that he could speak to someone who knew her.

"And why are you looking for this lass?"

"My mission must remain secret, ser," said the dwarf.

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you," said the barman.

"I understand," said the dwarf. "I will ask my questions elsewhere."

As the dwarf left the tavern, a group of rough-looking men eased themselves out of their seats and nonchalantly walked out the doors. The barman didn't say a word. He didn't want to know what was going to happen, and with any luck they would spend some of the dwarf's gold in his tavern after they were done.

Ayden Kondrat took off down a dimly-lit path at a steady pace. He was nervous but tried his best not to show it. He wasn't actually fool enough to walk into a strange tavern and flash money around, but he was under orders.

Two men stepped out of the shadows and stood on the path in front of him. Ayden stopped moving.

"Heard you asking questions back there," said one of them. "Why are you asking after Rose?"

"My reasons are my own, ser," said Ayden. His hand drifted downwards, where his warhammer hung at his side.

"You touch that hammer and I'll jam this dagger in your neck," said a third man, standing behind Ayden. "Now you're going to tell me why you're looking for Rose, or we'll make you regret it."

"Well ser," said Ayden. "I was told to do so by an elf friend of my father's."

Before any of the three men could respond, a hooded and cloaked elf leapt from his hiding place on the gutters of the nearby building and lunged with both hands extended. Moonlight glinted off twin daggers as he slashed at their hamstrings, sending blood spraying and dropping both men instantly. In the next instant, Ayden's warhammer whirred through the air and cracked twice against their skulls, knocking them out cold.

The third man tried to run, but found himself staring down a drawn bow wielded by a young knight.

"Take another step and this goes through your head," said Darien cheerfully.

"How's your arm, Dare?" asked Zevran.

"Fine for now, Uncle Zev. Could get tired in a while though."

"Then I hope this gentlemen tells me what I need to know before your arm gets too tired and you have to loose that arrow, then," said Zevran.

It took a while, but they managed to get an address out of him. Rose's family still lived in the village, but he hadn't seen her in months. Then Zevran bent down and whispered something in his ear that made the blood drain from his face.

"You know what will happen if you breathe a single word to a single soul of what happened here," said Zevran. The man ran off into the night as if all the hounds of hell were after him. Zevran beckoned and the other two followed him, leaving the crippled bandits lying senseless on the ground.

"What next, ser?" asked Ayden.

"I'm no ser, my young friend," said Zevran affably. "But we have another lead."

"Do we question the family too?"

"Not the way we questioned that poor excuse for a bandit, if that's what you mean," said Zevran. "No, we have boring and difficult work ahead of us. We must stake out the family home and determine for ourselves if Rose really isn't here, or if she's hiding somewhere."

"I'm not afraid of hard work, and neither is Ayden," said Darien. Ayden nodded.

"Good."

"I do have questions, though."

"Asking questions of an Antivan Crow does not come without cost," said Zevran. "But I will make an exception just this once."

"What the hell are we going to do about this invasion? Should we head to the capital to fight with the royal army? Should we head back to Highever and protect the city?"

"We could," said Zevran. "But consider this – three more blades will hardly make a difference in an army. And Highever is more than capable of fighting its own battles as long as your brother rules at Castle Cousland."

"So we're supposed to keep looking for this assassin? What difference does it make whether we find them or not? The Qunari are here!"

"I have to confess, I expected more from a son of Leliana of Orlais," remarked Zevran. Stung, Darien fell silent.

"You wield the bow as skilfully as she does, but perhaps you are not as well-versed as she is in shadows and secrets," he continued. "Think, Darien. Anora ruled comfortably for many long years. In a couple of weeks following her death, the Qunari invade. Tell me, do you think an army can be made ready to set sail in that length of time?"

"No," said Darien.

"No indeed," said Zevran. "The Qunari were kept informed by whoever was behind this assassination. They knew this was coming, and they knew that this was the best time to strike."

"It still seems to me that the Qunari are the most likely suspects, ser," said Ayden.

"It is not impossible," mused Zevran. "And yet in all my years I have never known the Qunari to resort to assassination. Antiva, yes. Orlais, most definitely. Nevarra, at a push. Rivain, the Free Marches, they are a nest of snakes and vipers. But that is not the way of Par Vollen. Par Vollen kicks down your front door, it does not sneak in the back and poisons your drink. We need more information about how this all began. Once we have that, perhaps we can help to put an end to this."

Despite himself, Darien found himself agreeing with Zevran's cool logic. And yet...

"It's just difficult to watch and do nothing else while others are fighting and dying," he said.

"Be that as it may, we have a job to do," said Zevran. "And the two of you will be of much greater help by my side than anything else you could be doing."

"Thanks for explaining things, Uncle Zev," said Darien. Zev smiled, taking the sting out of his harsh words earlier.

"Your lord father taught you how to fight and be a knight. Your lady mother taught you the Chant and how to shoot. Let me teach you how to find the truth, and act on it. We deserve the title of Seekers more than any Templar knight."

"I have one more question," said Dare.

"Very well, if it's just the one."

"What the heck did you tell that man earlier that spooked him so badly?"

Zevran shrugged. "I noticed that he had a certain gang tattoo on his wrist, one whom I happened to monitor while I was still Royal Spymaster. I know where they gather for their monthly meetings, and when. I took a chance and said I observed him walking along a certain path at a certain time, when he was convinced that he could not have been seen. His imagination did the rest."

Darien was looking at him with something like awe. "Uncle Zev, you are scary."

"Why thank you, Dare," said Zevran. "Your brother's the mage, but all spies know that true magic is knowing one more fact than the next man."

Royal Palace

Denerim

Leliana was certain that Bann Rylon Garrett was spying on her. The little man with the pointed beard spoke to her politely enough during council meetings and other social occasions, but Leliana had spent many years as both a bard and a beautiful woman, and she could always tell when a man's eyes were always on her.

She had already taken the proper precautions upon moving to Denerim, making sure that her possessions were arranged in a certain manner, leaving very thin strings in the hinges of the door to her room, so she would be able to discover later if someone had been in it uninvited.

But now that she knew she was actively being kept under watch, she took it up a notch. The letters she deemed harmless were still brought to her by the palace staff, but she arranged to have the more sensitive ones delivered separately.

Even those letters looked dull at first glance, but the application of heat revealed the real message. And to add an extra layer of security, the markings made in lemon juice weren't written in plain Fereldan, but intricate symbols that formed a code which she had developed together with Zevran Arainai, the former Spymaster.

One of those letters had just arrived, and Leliana's heart skipped a beat when she saw the lines of code. Working quickly, she deciphered the encrypted message.

Her first reaction was one of overwhelming relief. Both Ayden and her Darien were safe. Zevran was with them, and she could not think of someone better equipped to keep her son safe.

But she wasn't too sure that finding Anora's assassin was as important as Zevran seemed to believe. She understood that there was no coincidence between the assassination and the invasion, but she was inclined to think that the Qunari had simply paid someone to do it.

Still, she had long learned to trust in Zevran's instincts. Better that Dare remain with him and try to untangle this mystery than fight and possibly die in the king's royal army.

The capital had turned into a chaotic mess ever since the news spread that the Qunari had attacked. There were floods of refugees fleeing from the coasts, convinced that Denerim's strong walls would protect them. On the other hand, most of the wealthier city residents abandoned their homes and left for their other holdings further inland, convinced that Denerim would be a prime target for the Qunari. Leliana genuinely did not know who had the better plan.

Aeryn was out of the royal residence, meeting with the people and doing her best to keep everyone calm. She had become the royal patron of a woman's charity group, who were collecting spare clothes for the soldiers. Leliana knew her daughter badly wanted to strap on a sword and armour and sign up at one of the recruiting centres, but grit her teeth and played her part.

It was late, and Leliana had worked all day trying to keep track of all the developments. King Duncan had officially left all the spywork to Bann Garrett, and placed the tedious yet vital responsibility of arming and organising the royal army to the Council. With Keeper Mathias and Lord Marding having taken a leave of absence to return to Orzammar and the Brecilian Forest, the bulk of the work fell on Leliana herself.

Anyone would have thought that Leliana begrudged the work to be done. Aedan would not have stood for it, he would have stomped around, yelling until someone gave him a job he understood, like commanding the royal army as their general. But as intelligent as her late husband was, he did not truly understand the power wielded by the man (or woman) working behind the scenes, keeping records and writing orders.

Ser Artur had already left the city, headed south for Gwaren and gathering a sizeable force of men along the way. Leliana hoped that he had not revealed the secret orders she had given him to anyone.

She went over the latest recruitment numbers once more. There were more men and women than she had hoped, but rather less than the king had hoped for. Still, they would have to do. Arl Thornton Wilder was to be given command of the royal army, and he wanted to take to the field as soon as possible.

"We'll give the heathen Qunari a taste of good cold Fereldan steel and send them scuttling back to their caves!" he had blustered during a recent meeting.

Leliana had to bite her tongue to stop her from snorting laughter in a most unladylike fashion. She had carefully, politely tried to suggest that caution and intel would be needed when facing a Qunari invasion force. But King Duncan believed that a large army and the elite skills of the Grey Wardens were enough to turn back the Qunari horde.

And if anyone felt like pointing out that did not work out quite so well for King Cailan at Ostagar decades ago, they held their tongue.

It was later than she had hoped, but late as it was, Leliana had another task ahead of her.

Who was this Rylon Garrett? Where did Duncan find him, and why was he given the post of Royal Spymaster so quickly after Zevran was let go?

Leliana resolved to find out all she could about the Bann. She sat down a wrote a few letters.

Swords and horses win battles, quills and ravens win wars. Who had said that to her, once upon a time? Was it Aedan? No, it couldn't have been him, her husband was entirely convinced of the necessity of swords and horses.

Leliana realised that it had been Marjolaine, her former mentor, lover, and would-be murderer. The ghosts of the past come unbidden, and Leliana shivered. Not because of any memory of the fearsome noble she once knew, but from the realisation that she had been right.

Maker guide me, prayed Leliana, as her quill scratched over the parchment and the shadows in her bedchamber grew longer and longer.

Alamar

Alamar was a tougher nut to crack than Brandel's Reach, reflected the Sten.

Brandel's Reach barely had a defence save for green boys and old men and a handful of household knights. Alamar on the other hand, had a larger population and sturdier walls. And more intriguingly, it had a team of Grey Wardens leading the defence. They had come over from nearby Amaranthine to trade, and had stayed on even as the Qunari had overrun the island.

The news that they would be facing Grey Wardens in battle at long last had inflamed the Qunari ranks. Everyone wanted to be the first to test their hammer or maul against a Grey Warden sword, to win the glory that came with killing the finest warriors in the world. But most assumed the Arishok would demand the first crack at fighting the Wardens.

During one of their strategy meetings, the old man had again surprised everyone by announcing that he would not lead the charge against the Wardens.

"I hope you do not take this to mean that I fear them personally," said the Arishok, voicing the unspoken thoughts of the gathered officers. "But I have already earned the opportunity to observe how Wardens fight up close. There is little that I would gain from another encounter. The Wardens will be our toughest opponents in the campaign to come. I would like for my officers to face off against the Wardens and learn all you can from them before slaying them in battle."

It was a good plan, the Qunari all agreed. So it was with a fierce joy that the Sten learned that he had been picked by a Kithshok to join the task force that would lead the charge against the entrenched defences.

The chance to go blade-to-blade with a Grey Warden, the first chance in this glorious campaign. If he survived, he would never forget this moment, as long as he lived.

The siege engines that had been pounding at Alamar's walls were withdrawn, and the great ladders were borne on the backs of the Karashoks. The Qunari would be going over the walls. The Sten marched with his brothers, holding their great diamond shields above their heads to ward off stones and arrows.

"Forward for the Qun!" roared some Kithshok, and the column advanced.

The Sten marched in lockstep with soldiers to his left and right, unable to see anything but the back of the Karashok in front of him. Sweat ran down his brow, and he felt as if all his senses were heightened to an almost unbearable level.

Something clanged off their shield wall, and then another, and then another. Alamar's defenders were beginning to rain arrows down upon them. The Sten was startled, but unworried. The shield wall would hold.

It wouldn't be long now before they would reach the outer walls. Just a few paces more...

Then a massive crash shook the Qunari ranks and the Sten couldn't figure out what had happened. Then he smelled it. Smoke and the horrific stench of burning flesh. He'd smelled it a couple of times before, fighting pirates, and it sometimes came back to him in nightmares.

But what could have caused it? Even fire grenades wouldn't cause a conflagration that big. A catapult hurling boulders covered in flaming pitch could have done the trick, but the Qunari had not seen any such defences prepared.

"Bas saarebas!" someone roared. "Vat! Vat!"

Fire, magical fire. Magical fire from a non-Qunari mage.

There was at least one mage among Alamar's defenders. Most likely the Grey Wardens, there were no Circles on Alamar.

The Sten knew from his training that a mage could not fire off another magical attack in quick succession, and especially not one of the size that had just hit the column. As terrifying as it was, they had to go forward, not back.

"Charge!" he bellowed. He was the first to say it, the rest were still disoriented. But then one Kithshok took up the cry, then another. They had to charge.

Unlike their slow march before, the remaining Qunari surged forward, screaming battle cries. More arrows rained down, and some Qunari fell...but not enough to stop the charge, or even slow it down. A few more strides – and they reached the walls.

Karashoks slammed the ladders against the walls and began racing up them as if the hounds of hell were snapping at their heels. They were met with blades and arrows from Alamar's defenders. Some fell, bleeding and landing on the ground with enough force to knock them out. But again, not enough.

Qunari warriors swarmed up the ladders and onto the walls, finally going blade-to-blade with the Fereldan defenders. The Sten landed on the ramparts, sword in hand and ready to deal death. The next few minutes were a blur as he killed Fereldans and avoided being killed. His heart was a song, the joy of purpose fulfilled. He was a Sten in the Arishok's great army, and he was bringing glory to the name of the Qun. This was what he was trained for, this was why he was born.

A great gout of flame roared over his head, barely missing his horns. The Sten flung himself to the ground. A heartbeat later, he struck out with his sword, crippling an Alamar, and scrambled back to his feet.

The mage. He had to kill the mage, before he stopped the Qunari advance dead in its tracks. The Sten would not let the invasion fall to the hands of a mage. He advanced, shield out, angled slightly downwards to deflect fire, ice or poison as he had been trained from the day he picked up a sword.

Another blast of fire gutted forth, catching another Qunari warrior in the chest. He fell backwards, screaming. But his sacrifice was the moment the Sten needed. In the next instant, he leapt forward and swung his sword in a great arc, and knocked a Grey Warden warrior aside.

First blood is mine!

But there was no time to savour the thrill of crossing blades with a Warden and surviving. The mission was his foremost aim, bright as the sun off the Waking Sea in his mind. The mage. He had mere seconds to take the mage down before the bas saarebas killed more of his fellow Qunari.

He would deny the mage those few seconds that he desperately needed. He could see the mage now, hooded and cloaked, grasping a black staff. His eyes were unfocused, and the Sten realised that he wasn't paying full attention to the battle in front of him, but intent on gathering his mana reserves for another attack. It was now or never.

Dodging a desperate slash from another Grey Warden, the Sten flung his shield into the face of a third Warden, making him reel back. With his next breath, the Sten lunged, both hands on his sword, angled high for a downward slash.

The mage saw what was going to happen in the very last second. His eyes widened, his mouth opened as if to scream in shock or horror. But there was no time, his time had run out. The blade sank deep into the Warden's shoulder, nearly severing his arm. The Warden screamed and fell to his knees. The Sten lashed out with a heavy steel boot, catching him on the chin and sending him crashing to the floor, flat on his back. Another Alamar sword whirred through the air, but the Sten ducked. He wrenched his sword free, and plunged it straight to the Warden-mage's throat, just as he was taught.

"KATARA!" screamed the Sten. Die, thing!

The tide was turning, he could sense it. The biggest threat had died, and more and more Qunari warriors were leaping over the walls, swords and axes in their hands. Some were making for the gates, to overpower the defenders there and let the rest of the invasion force in.

When it was over, the Sten found himself seated on an upturned barrel, drinking water from his flask and enjoying the breeze on his sweat-soaked face. Some of the other karashoks and karasaads were on clean-up duty, rounding up the prisoners and taking stock of the captured supplies and equipment, but those who had been first over the wall were allowed to rest.

The Arishok was drawing near, surrounded by his kithshoks. They were all chattering like birds, but when he locked eyes with the Sten, the Arishok raised a gauntleted fist and they fell silent.

"So," he rumbled. "You are the sataari."

The Sten chuckled, drawing himself to his feet. The Arishok had referred to him as "one who is first on the ground", the name given to Qunari shock-troopers.

"I do not have that honour, Arishok. Not yet. Just a Sten."

"Nevertheless, you have done very well. My kithshoks tell me you are responsible for eliminating the threat of the Grey Warden mage."

"I believed that he could have stopped the attacking force if we did not take him down," said the Sten.

"You were right," said the Arishok. "And thanks to your quick thinking, we now hold Alamar. Do you wish a reward?"

The Sten knew what it was even before the Arishok had finished speaking. "Let me fight by your side, Arishok. I wish to learn all I can from you about the craft of war. I want to sit in your councils and participate in the deliberations as we conquer this land of Ferelden."

The Arishok nodded. "Well spoken, Sten. You shall have it."

The Sten saluted. "Thank you, Arishok."

The Arishok leaned against the battlements of the fallen castle and looked South, towards the sea, and further beyond, the Ferelden mainland. He had not been there in close to thirty years. When he landed once more, it would be with sword drawn, unsheathed until the Ferelden king knelt before him and swore to convert his people to the Qun.

He was so close. With the Hero of Ferelden, the Warden-King and the great Golem all gone, with the former First Enchanter dead and the Witch of the Wilds disappeared, who remained to stand in his way?