Part 8:

She didn't know what it was, but a pressure began to build inside her. It was an unaccountable rage, a sort of strong uncoiling of that "thing" inside her. She'd felt it before, and each time…

"More Darkspawn," Alistair said beside her. "They seem to crop up everywhere, don't they?"

She thought for a second that he'd gone somewhat crazy, until the ground erupted beneath her, knocking her backwards as a Hurlock emerged.

She didn't pause to wonder how he knew, Darienne had always seemed to just know, as well. Several other Darkspawn surged up from the ground, and Alistair threw back his head, a discordant, sharp bellow rolling out from him, enhanced by magic.

She moved away, and tossed a glyph at Wynn's feet that would knock any attackers backwards. Protecting the healer always came first for her. Then she turned her attention inward, and called to the ancestral spirit of the spider.

As it dropped from the realm-beyond and into the fray, she turned her thoughts once more to magic, discharging energy from the staff directly at the Hurlock in front of her.

She watched in fascination as Alistair slashed at a Genlock. The diminutive creature slashed with its sword, but Alistair swung hard with his shield, catching it beneath the jaw. Its head snapped back, and she had to work to ignore the foul-scented blood that sprayed into the air, landing on her with a patter barely heard above the sounds of battle.

The two Chevaliers were locked into battle some yards away, and she realized that they were in trouble. A part of her wished she could just let them die, but she knew she didn't have it in her—no matter how nasty the man could be sometimes—and moved to help.

She called once more to the ancient animal ancestors, and sent the spider to their aid. Then she targeted one of the attacking Hurlocks and focused until her magic took control of his mind. When he was confused enough by her psychic attack, she delved instantly into the monster's mind and made his nightmares real to him. He stood quaking in terror, even as Alistair arrived and slashed his head off in a single swing.

Blood rose again to blanket the air, heavy and dark. She shuddered to think what that blood alone was capable of, if handled or ingested without the help of the mages.

At last, the battle was over, and she slipped slightly in the cold blood of the monstrous Darkspawn as she moved to inspect one and divest him of his coin and a health poultice, covered in slimy, thick blood. She cleaned the package off before tossing it in the packs.

"The Darkspawn are coming into Orlais?" Ser Ambrose said incredulously. "I thought the Blight had been stopped in Ferelden!"

"The Archdemon was killed," Wynne told him, "but that doesn't mean they've all crawled back into their holes yet."

"I want a bath," Mira said. She always felt that way after a fight with Darkspawn. Dirty, from the inside out.

Alistair gave her an odd look, before turning away, and she felt hurt. Had she said something wrong? Bits of blood, brain, and bone clung to her and her garments, and she wanted to be free of the stench. Was that so bad?

"I agree," Wynne said to her, her voice comforting. "A bath would be lovely. I believe there's a small town not far ahead. We could clean up at the inn there, if they have one. If not, the Chantry usually has a place for travelers to use for such things."

"Excellent idea, ma'am. We should get a move on," Montreux agreed, sweeping his hand widely ahead of himself, indicating that Mira should precede him.

She could think of no way to politely refuse, so she gritted her teeth and started walking. To her surprise and pleasure, Alistair fell in beside her before Ser Ambrose could take up his position on her other side.

She wanted to take his hand again, but his presence alone was bracing. It would have to do, because she was too dirty for anyone to want to touch her. Somehow, it never occurred to her that he was dirty as well.