10. An Evil in their Midst
The carriage rattled speedily along the dirt roads southwest of Amaranthine, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Nathaniel knew that their journey would be long and arduous, and it was for that very reason that he had insisted on escorting her. It had taken them a whole day's travel to arrive at the plains of the Bannorns, and he expected that it would require a further three days' journey to Lake Calenhad. It was now getting dark and both were weary.
Solona had been quiet and withdrawn. She lay on her side, holding a warm blanket over herself. Every now and again, the carriage jolted, sending a sharp pain through her body. Nathaniel noticed her stiffen with a pained look on her face as they hit another bump in the road.
"We will rest soon. There is a clearing not far ahead where we'll be safe for the night," he tried to console her.
He was right and Solona was soon relieved when her feet touched the ground. He tethered the horses and quickly got a fire going.
"You must eat something, please." He did not wish to see her take ill before they reached the Tower.
Solona just shook her head. She lay on the soft earth by the fire, shivering. She was clutching her sides. She looked as if she was hurting.
"Is it time?" he asked, a note of panic rising in his voice.
"Twas just the ride. I should be better with rest," she replied weakly, trying to reassure him. But she knew he was right in his suspicions, only she had not expected the pains to start this early. She prayed that they would reach the Tower before she birthed her child.
Nathaniel covered her gently with a warm blanket. He took her hand. It was clammy. He touched her forehead.
"You're running a temperature," he said worriedly. "We will find you a healer tomorrow. There are settlements in the area."
"My love," she said softly, looking up at him. "Hold me."
She closed her eyes. He saw that she had fallen asleep. He kissed her forehead tenderly and held her close to him. She looks emaciated, he thought. As her belly grew larger in these last few weeks, the rest of her body had thinned. It was almost as if her child was sucking all the life out of her.
Darkness enveloped the two lovers as they slept in each other's arms. Nathaniel was out cold but Solona slumbered restlessly. She knew that they were being watched. She had felt a presence ever since they reached the Bannorns and it had followed them till now, never leaving, but keeping a careful distance. It was not Darkspawn, she was sure of it, as it was unlike the feeling the taint in her blood gave her when those vile creatures were nearby. This was something different, but she could not say what, only that this being was not human and that it was evil. But she said nothing.
At the break of dawn, Nathaniel made ready for the road. Solona, too weak to walk, had to be carried into the carriage. The scenery was unchanging for many miles as they continued their journey onwards. The lands surrounding them were largely dry and flat, as was most of the Bannorns. Wild, yellow grass grew in abundance, almost as tall as a man in parts. They were still hours away from the nearest settlement, he knew, but was hopeful that they could reach it before sundown. We need a healer and a place to rest, for she seems to fare worse today.
Solona felt the being slowly draw closer to them, keeping up with their pace. It was hungry and it wanted to consume her. I must not let it.
The man in the red robes looked down at the bodies, satisfied with his handiwork. True evil lies only in the hearts of men, and yours were particularly rotten, my friends.
Earlier that day, the four Templars had arrived at the settlement. It was clear that they were looking for him. He was not hard to find. The man in red kept mostly to himself, but the settlers were a suspicious bunch and always gave his house a wide berth anyway. He had no friends to speak of. And he found it irritating that shopkeepers would only reluctantly agree to trade with him, for they held some idiotic notion that his coin could somehow bring them harm. It did not help that he was often seen wandering around the plains, practising his dark arts in clear daylight.
"The swines return for more? I see lessons have not been learnt," the man in the red robes said in feigned surprise.
"So says a dead man," a Templar spoke.
"What will your whore-mothers think when they see your bodies, skins flayed, hanging from their windows? I dare not imagine," he taunted them.
A blade sliced through the air, stopping inches from his neck. "I say we kill him now," the younger Templar piped up angrily. He was still a boy and lacked the patience that maturity would bring.
"Kill? That will come...slowly. The maleficar will suffer for his actions first," the older Templar rebutted.
"I cannot wait for it," the man in red said. "In fact, the suspense is killing me right now."
His arms were tied behind his back, secured to a chair. They stood around him, swords drawn.
"Which of your fingers would you like us to cut off first?" The old Templar asked, smiling.
The man in red spat at him.
"What is that you say?" the Templar continued mockingly, then without hesitation added, "You mean the one between your legs? Very well, if you so wish," he laughed. His gold tooth glistened.
The man in red said calmly, "At least I've had my way with women. You pathetic fools know nothing of worldly pleasures other than what your left hand gives you." He added with a snicker, "And still you weep guiltily and whip your backs with barb after your dirty little deed."
The boy's angry blade swung through the air again, this time slicing his robes open at the chest. A long but shallow gash appeared on his torso, blood seeping out.
"Good boy,"the man in red grinned, relishing the sight of his blood. He felt his powers grow.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, then opened them again. Much to their horror, they saw that his eyeballs had turned a black colour. He opened his mouth and exhaled, spewing forth a huge swarm of locusts which quickly overwhelmed the men, entering every orifice in their bodies and suffocating three of them including the boy.
The old Templar staggered backwards, his face frozen in fear. "You wouldn't dare," he said.
"You are rather defiant for someone in such a pickle."
"Let me go and I will tell them that you are dead," the old man reasoned desperately.
"Tempting, but no. I will only see more of your kind again, and soon at that." The man in red added, "Besides, I would enjoy this too much to let it pass."
First, the Templar felt a not altogether unpleasant tingle all over his body. It quickly turned into warmth, followed by an uncomfortable feeling of heat. It became quite unbearable when his blood started to boil and burst forth from his veins. At that very moment, he begged for death.
The man in red stood up from his chair and took a bow before the dying man. "Thank you for your kind hospitality, but I must take my leave now. I will come back for your bodies after my lunch for I am now quite famished."
The horses had grown tired and their pace soon slowed to a steady trot. Nathaniel shivered as their carriage approached the higher plains. The Killing Fields, he knew. During the fourth Blight, hundreds of thousands of fighters had lost their lives to Darkspawn in the bloody battle that took place in this vast, lifeless section of the Bannorns. The ground was rocky and nothing grew from the dead soil. An endless sea of bones littered the ground, human and Darkspawn alike, polished by the winds over time. Tales abound of the undead and maleficars preying on unsuspecting travellers here. Maker, let us pass unharmed, he prayed.
Solona struggled for breath in the thin air. Her fever had not subsided. Sweat dripped from her brow as she silently endured the agonising birth pangs tearing through her body. She noted with distress that blood had started to soak through her robes and down her legs where she sat. And here it waits for me to further weaken, she knew, feeling the chilly breath of her stalker on her back. She touched the locket she wore around her neck, and for the first time in many years, yearned for her own mother.
Stay strong, she ordered herself. She fought hard to keep awake, but her surroundings had turned hazy. Another wave of pain ripped her insides apart, causing her to retch. She dug her nails deep into the sides of the carriage, her face strained. I can hold on no longer. As she slumped forwards, rapidly losing awareness, she felt the being enter her body. She remembered no more after that.
Nathaniel was startled by her cry, for it was a most inhuman sound. He reined in the horses. Solona's body lay limp and lifeless, her face hidden from view.
He lifted her head and immediately recoiled in horror. Her eyes were wide open but unseeing, her pupils a blood-red colour. Her skin had turned white, almost translucent, and was covered in hideous, spidery blue veins. Solona was an abomination.
Her body quivered grotesquely in his arms. Instinctively, he drew his dagger. Maker help me! The abomination sprung to life with a loud shriek that chilled him to the bone. Long, grey talons scratched at his face. He held its neck down with his hand and raised his blade, ready to strike at its heart. He hesitated. No, I cannot. Not Solona. His grip faltered. The creature rose to its feet and leapt at him, sending them flying to the ground below. It was strong.
The horses, frightened, bolted off, taking the carriage with them. Nathaniel was pinned to the ground, the creature straddling him, its nightmarish face only inches from his own. A long, forked tongue unfurled from its mouth and stroked his cheek as it hissed and spat. He reached for his dagger again. You are not Solona. You killed her, you despicable thing. He aimed for its neck and closed his eyes.
Just as suddenly, the abomination sat up with a start, then collapsed to the ground, face contorted and howling. It was not dying, but it seemed to be battling something from within. Whatever it was that had possessed her body, it was losing its grip. But only just. He could see Solona's face re-emerging in the creature's own, only to disappear again quickly. Somehow she was fighting it.
Nathaniel called out to her repeatedly until he was hoarse, praying that she would hear him. The abomination continued to squirm on the ground, eventually exhausting itself. Some semblance of human form had returned to her body, but her skin was grey and the eyes were not hers. It must be cast it out of her. He picked her up in his arms and ran as fast as he could.
"A most unfortunate occurrence. You have my condolences," Senior Grey Warden Ranulf said solemnly. He had returned to Denerim immediately upon receiving word of Anora's untimely death.
Alistair did not answer. He sat at his desk, his back towards him.
Feeling uncomfortable, Ranulf rambled on. "I hope you take solace from the fact that she was a great Queen and admired by all, and that I too was very fond of her. She will be sorely missed."
Alistair turned around suddenly to face him. "She was murdered. Did you know that?"
"Alas, I heard it too."
"Do you know why they killed her?"
"I do not, Your Majesty." The King was making him feel uneasy.
"You do not know because there is nothing to know. They had not intended to kill her. They had meant to kill me." Alistair spoke loudly, anger in his voice. His fists were clenched.
"It is not your fault that she..." Ranulf began, but Alistair cut him short.
"I left the palace that night, on a whim. I am not ashamed to confess that my lover commands the Order at the Keep," the King said. "But through my rash actions, I allowed my wife to die," his voice trembled as he said this.
Alistair buried his face in his hands, sobbing. Ranulf fidgeted in place, uncertain of what to say next.
"Do you have any idea who it might have been?" The Senior Warden finally asked.
Alistair was silent for a long while. He trembled as he put his hand out. On his palm lay a gold, swan-shaped pendant. "They found it above the stairwell."
Ranulf's eyes widened. "A woman?"
"Tis hard to believe, but I know her. This pendant she wears..." Alistair's voice faltered, but he collected himself. "We were once friends, close but never lovers. A skilled rogue, Orlesian. Her name is Leliana."
Ranulf's heart skipped a beat. "By the Maker! A redhead, is she not? I think I know of whom you speak."
Alistair slammed his fists on his desk. "She had been called out as a traitor to Orlais in the past, or so I had gathered from her confessions. This may well be her way of redeeming herself to them. But what her true motives are, I know not. Perhaps it was duress. Perhaps not. It is clear that Orlais stood to gain from my death," he said. "Since our involvement in the valleys."
Ranulf nodded in agreement. "I have seen this girl. I knew from the start that she was up to no good. I have every reason to believe that she is capable of doing such a deed."
The King's demeanour darkened. "I cannot forgive her for the fact that she has betrayed me in such an unthinkable manner."
"I know where you can find her."