That set the pattern for their next few days of travel; set out in the morning, make their way as far west towards Redcliffe as they could in one day, then camp, Bodahn and Sandal following at their own pace, catching up with them again at some point each evening.
The road branched and branched again, random offshoots heading off towards distant villages along the lake shore somewhere to the north of them, or in the mountains to the south and west. The West Road itself curved back and forth considerably, following the contours of the land, sometimes wending miles off of the most direct path to Redcliffe in order to avoid making a particularly steep climb or descent, it generally being easier to get ox-drawn carts around such obstacles then over them.
It was at a spot where the road had meandered well south of the lake, and was winding in and out of the foothills of the mountains, that they first ran into some serious trouble. As they approached near to where a side-road branched off up into the mountains, a woman came pelting down it, a look of distress on her face.
"Oh, thank the Maker!" she exclaimed, a look of relief crossing her face at the sight of them. "We need help – they attacked the waggons. Please help us! Follow me – I'll take you to them," she begged desperately, then turned and started back up the hill without even waiting to be sure they were following.
Alistair immediately set off in her wake. Right bit back a curse, and followed after him, wishing the woman had waited long enough for them to get some idea of what sort of trouble they were following her into; who or what had ambushed her party, and in what number?
She'd apparently come some distance in search of help; the main road was well out of sight behind them before they came in sight of the the wrecked waggons blocking the road, a tumble of smashed crates and motionless bodies around them, the oxen lying dead in their traces. A single figure stood motionless in the middle of the carnage, shorter then the woman; an elf, Right saw as they drew closer.
The woman stopped when she reached him, then turned to look back at them. A sardonic smile crossed the elf's face, and he made a commanding gesture with his hand. The apparent corpses moved, drawing weapons as they rose to their feet, clearly uninjured, while archers appeared on the heights above them. The only things dead here were the oxen; it was an ambush. Before they could retreat, a huge dead tree fell across the road behind them, blocking it entirely.
"The Grey Wardens die here!" the elf shouted, and his men charged them, the woman grinning maliciously as her hands were enveloped with balls of glittering energy; a mage.
"Get the mage first," Alistair ordered as they drew their own weapons, then he charged forward. The ambushers hadn't been expecting that; following on Alistair's heels, they managed to break through the closing ring of attackers and close on the woman.
Crackling energy came snapping from her hands, coruscating around them. Right bit back a pained cry, and blindly swung his weapon, landing a lucky blow that temporarily stunned her. Before she could recover and resume spell-casting, they cut her down.
The remaining attackers had closed in around them by then. It became a fierce melee, made worse by the sniping shots of the archers on the heights overhead that required them to divide their attention between the men around them and the sky. Alistair whirled and slashed, his heavier armour and shield protecting him from the worst of it. Sten's fighting style reminded Right of the dead Ser Jory; slower, but so much more brutal, his heavy two-handed weapon scything through their opponents when they didn't dodge back in time. Stench raced around, growling furiously, ham-stinging unprotected legs, and doing terrible damage to anyone knocked off their feet.
Right found himself battling the elf. He fought like a man possessed, a fierce grin on his face, weapons flashing in the sun, but his men were outmatched by the skills of the wardens' group, and with his one trump card, the mage, an early victim of the battle, it wasn't long until he was vainly trying to hold off all four of them. A blow from the pommel of Sten's weapon laid him out, after which they raced up the cliff path to take on the archers. In minutes, it was all over.
They sheathed their weapons and returned to the roadway. Sten looked down at the elf who'd led the attack. "He lives," he observed.
Right nodded, and retrieved a coil of rope from his pack, then used it to bind the elf so he couldn't escape.
They'd finished checking over the corpses of the dead and the contents of the broken crates before the elf finally roused, groaning in pain. He had a sizable goose-egg forming on the side of his head from the impact of Sten's sword.
"Mmm... what? I... oh," he groaned, then pushed himself partially upright, frowning at his bound hands before looking up at Right. He had darkly tanned skin, hair of a rich coppery brown colour, dark blue eyes, and a badly dazed look. "I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet," he observed in a strongly-accented voice.
"That could be easily rectified," Right said warningly.
"Of that I have no doubt. You are most skilled. If you haven't killed me, however, you must have kept me alive for some purpose, yes?"
"I decided I wanted to torture you, first."
"Ohhh, so you kept me around to have a bit of fun, did you? Hmm. But the purpose behind torture is usually to interrogate, yes? In that case, despite the potential for fun, perhaps I'll save you a bit of time and get right to the point. My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly."
"What are the Antivan Crows?" Right asked, puzzled. That explained the unfamiliar accent, anyway – it must be Antivan.
"An order of assassins, of course. Out of Antiva. I suppose you wouldn't hear much of them out here, but where I come from we're rather infamous," the elf replied.
Right frowned. So this elf was supposedly a professional assassin? He didn't think much of his ability; the ambush had been poorly executed, only the assassin himself and the mage showing any appreciable level of skill in their attacks; most of the attackers had been little more then common thugs, barely a step up from the villagers that had attacked the wardens in Lothering. Assassins were supposed to be subtle; this frontal assault had been anything but.
"Not for being good assassins, I see," he said.
"Oh, fine. Is that what you Fereldans do? Mock your prisoners? Such cruelty!"
"Who hired you to kill us?" Right demanded.
"A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was? Yes, that's it."
"When were you to see him next?"
"I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then."
"If you had failed?" Right asked dryly.
"What can I say? I am an eternal optimist," the elf said, shrugging insouciantly. "Although the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they?" he asked, and laughed briefly, then frowned at their lack of response. "No, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?" he continued.
"Why are you telling me all this?" Right asked suspiciously.
"Why not? I wasn't paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely."
"Were you paid to talk my ear off, then?"
"Consider it something I'm throwing in for free," the elf said lightly. "As it is, if you're done with the interrogation, I've a proposal for you. If you're of a mind."
Right folded his arms. "I'm listening. Make it quick."
"Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead."
"Why would I want your service?"
"Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated... now that my attempts have failed. I also know a great many jokes. Twelve massage techniques, six different card games? I do wonderful at parties, no?" he said, starting to sound more then a little desperate.
Right eyed him thoughtfully. He had to admit, he was curious about the elf; why had he chosen such a poor way of attacking them, when it would have been laughably easy for him to so something more indirectly lethal, such as sneaking into their camp one night and cutting their throats, or poisoning their food, or any of a dozen other methods Right could easily think of. He'd also shown considerable skill with his weapons – Right would have been in trouble if the others had taken much longer to join him in combating the elf. And... he was amusing. It would be nice to have a change from the bitter Alistair and the stoic Sten.
"What do you want in return?" he asked suspiciously, wondering if there was some catch to the elf's terms.
"Well... let's see. Being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you. And somewhere down the line if you should decide that you no longer have need of me, then I go on my way. Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?"
"Very well. I accept your offer," he announced.
"What?" Alistair exclaimed. "You're taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?"
Right gave Alistair a look. "You're here, aren't you? Collecting cast-offs is what I do." he responded.
He crouched down and untied the ropes binding the elf, then helped him to his feet.
Zevran stood straight, and looked Right in the eyes as he spoke. "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation... this I swear."
Right nodded acceptance, then turned to survey their surroundings. The felled tree prevented them from returning downhill the way they'd came; they might as well continue further up this road, and hope it would at some point meet with one that could bring them back to the main highway.
A/N: I always run with the "Zevran ASAP" mod, so yes, it's possible for my warden to encounter Zev this early in the game. For the purposes of this story I've also loaded the "Extra Dog Slot" mod, so that I can retain Dog as part of the regular group rather then having to either drop him or constantly shuffle group makeup to keep him in the story.