14.
"Soul Searching – The Fellowship of the Rings"
Morrigan was constantly talking to him, giving him basic directions while he was trying to talk to the head of College of Magi Pentaghast Library about the tome.
"Do you not think it is difficult to understand the speech of one man when there is another constantly speaking over his words?" the Warden asked the library custodian, indicating the chanting monks nearby, but directing his words to Morrigan.
"Yes, let us move to the other room where we can be heard easily," the man said leading him further into the magnificent building.
There was silence for a moment. "I…am sorry. I am anxious. I speak more when 'tis so. We are close now, I feel it," Morrigan said softly, unable to keep the anxiety from her voice.
"I know," he said softly, ignoring the system, wishing he could comfort her. "It is said this will all be over soon enough, and things will be as they were," he finished encouragingly.
The Warden explained what book he was looking for and that it was very old. The custodian thought and said, "Hmmm...it may be in our Ancient Texts Collection, but only senior members of the Circle are allowed access."
Dekker winced. Always an obstacle. "Would you at least look to see if you have it? I would be very grateful," he said persuasively.
"Very well, I suppose that wouldn't hurt," said the man. He scurried off.
Morrigan spoke now, unable to hide her dejection, "To be so close and be blocked by rank and politics…"
Dekker answered resolutely, "We are not blocked. I will not let us be. If the tome is here, we will get to it if I have to steal it, I promise you."
"Thank you, Dekker," she said softly.
The balding little man returned smiling. "Yes, we have it. It is very old, indeed, very dusty. A wondrous tome to be sure," the studious fellow marveled. "But as I said, only senior Circle mages…"
The Warden pulled out a bag of gold sovereigns. "I need only study it for a short time. I am looking for something very specific. Would 50 sovereigns make me look more like a senior Circle mage?" he asked politely.
The man's eyes grew wide and he glanced about nervously. "Why, yes sir, I'm sorry I didn't recognize you before," he apologized. "Right this way," he said signalling the Warden to follow. They entered the Ancient Texts Room in the dome itself and Dekker's jaw dropped…floor to ceiling were gigantic bookshelves accessible only by a monstrous rolling ladder. Thousands of volumes of aged, musty manuscripts lined the walls of the great dome. It was a magnificent sight. He could understand their desire to protect these tomes from the average careless citizen.
The custodian brought them the book and disappeared as though not wanting to be seen with them. With a deep breath, the Warden opened the dusty volume and began searching for a way to restore Morrigan to her body. After a time, Morrigan shouted, "Tis here! This is what we need! Dekker…"
The Warden smiled. Thank the Maker!
There was silence for a few moments, prompting Dekker to seek her out, "Morrigan?"
"I…am sorry. I feel…overcome…weak. Perhaps 'tis the nature of being in the charge. Let us read of this," she said.
"Dekker!" Morrigan gasped suddenly.
"I see it," he said, swallowing hard.
They had both seen it…the passage in the tome explaining the temporary nature of the spirit charge…that the soul within would have to be harvested as quickly as possible, as it was in a constant state of decay within the stone. The essence would slowly weaken, until the spirit finally dissipated if it was not freed from the charge. The magic was so old, handed down through generations, so rarely used, that Morrigan had been unaware of its limitation. Her knowledge was incomplete.
"'Tis why I have been feeling so tired, my energy drained. I am certain of it now. Dekker, we must hurry!" Morrigan said anxiously.
He copied the page and ran out of the College of Magi, determined to make haste back to Highever. But the minute he had cleared the gates of the golden domed building, he was grabbed by several armed guards.
"There he is! I knew it! It's him! He's the one that killed them! The Warden I told you all about! Now you will believe me! He is with the cultists who killed my cousin Torcuil and all our men!" a man shouted hysterically.
It was the dragon hunter that had recognized Dekker at the lair of Naursul. Damn it! Not now! he thought. The man was wild-eyed in his lust for vengeance, but also clearly afraid of him.
"Take him away. The magistrate will put an end to this traitorous murderer," Maldor Pentaghast, least daunting of the Nevarran Pentaghast dragon hunters, said haughtily.
As Dekker was dragged past the man, he leaned over and growled, "You attacked me! I simply defended myself!"
Maldor recoiled in fear. He wanted no part of this Grey Warden, even in shackles. He had seen enough of what the Warden could do to last a lifetime.
They threw Dekker in the dank Nevarran dungeon, stripping him of his weapons and armor. Maldor walked up to his cell, brimming with confidence and superiority now that there were inch-thick white steel bars between them. "So, Warden, not so tough now, are we?" he taunted.
The Warden glared at him and stepped forward to the man menacingly, grabbing the bars, "You fool! I'm no cultist! I was their prisoner!" he barked.
Pentaghast jumped back, intimidated. Then he noticed the rings. They both emitted a faint glow. "Guards! Why did you leave these rings on him? You'll not use any magic to get away! Take them!" Maldor ordered.
In that moment, Dekker knew the greatest fear of his life. "No, please…they're not…I can't get away with them. Don't take them…they're important to me," he pleaded.
Pentaghast smirked. "Then all the more reason to take them away," he sneered viciously.
The Warden fought wildly. Maldor ripped the chain holding the spirit charge ring off his neck. It took four men to pin him down and get the ring off his finger. He reached in vain for the spirit charge as they held him down.
"Dekker!" Morrigan cried out plaintively.
They practically broke his finger yanking the ring she had given him off his hand. "Morrigan!" he shouted frantically. But his call to her was met with silence. The bond was broken. He heard her no more. He felt her no more. She had been ripped away from him and he was devastated. She was trapped in the ring…dying. And he was powerless to do anything to help her.
"Please…please give me back the rings. You don't understand!" the Warden begged.
"I think I'll take these," he said, "it's the least you owe me for killing my cousin. And when the magistrate is through with you, you won't have need of them anymore. Nevarran law is swift and harsh, unlike your weak Fereldan system. You will pay the price for killing my comrades and clansmen," he said. Maldor examined the rings and scoffed at the simple rosewood band Morrigan had given to the Warden. It no longer even appeared magical once off Dekker's finger. "Here," he said to the jailer, "put this with his other effects, I have no need of this pathetic bauble. But I'll keep the other piece."
"No!" Dekker shouted, "You can't have it! It's mine!"
"It's mine now," Maldor said in a mocking tone. Then he spun on his heel and walked out of the dungeon.
The Warden was beside himself. Morrigan was getting farther away from him with every second that passed…and weaker. He had to find a way to get out of prison, to reclaim the rings.
Dekker was brought manacled before the High Magistrate of Cumberland the next morning. The charges levied against him were read and he was asked for a plea. There was no point in trying to stay anonymous anymore. They knew who he was. He decided to finally take advantage of the title given him, unwanted at the time, but needed now, he thought. It was time to get some practical use from his ridiculous "Hero of Ferelden" legend.
"Magistrate," he said bowing respectfully, "I humbly ask you to hear me out."
The Magistrate nodded, "Speak, Warden."
"This is a travesty…a mistake. I have been brought up on charges of which I am innocent. You must release me immediately. I have urgent business back in Ferelden," he demanded with all authority and persuasiveness. "I am Dekker Cousland, Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Teyrn of Highever, Arl of Amaranthine, and some call me the 'Hero of Ferelden'. I call Queen Anora my friend. I am no dragon cultist! Is it possible this court truly believes that I would have joined a dragon cult after I just slayed the archdemon? 'Tis prepostorous! Surely you see this, a man of your position and intelligence," Dekker said convincingly.
"You make a strong case, Warden. There is no reason for you to behave so. But I have two witnesses who say you were there and fought with the cultists. What say you to this?" the High Magistrate asked.
"I was there. I do not deny this. But I was there searching for a woman who was a prisoner of the cult. 'Twas a personal matter, so I chose not to wear my Warden garb. I was captured. The woman I was there to find was trying to help me escape when the dragon hunters attacked. She told them I was not a cultist, but a prisoner. They wouldn't listen to reason. We only defended ourselves when we were attacked," he explained.
The High Magistrate called on Maldor. "Is this true? Did they tell you they were prisoners?"
Maldor stumbled, "Well…yes…but Torcuil did not believe them. He thought…she was lying…to…protect him…"
"As to the other man…he is only here to bear witness against me because I spared his life when I could have taken it. He was unarmed and I let him go," the Warden continued.
The High Magistrate then looked to the second man who had survived the attack on Naursul's lair. The man bowed his head in shame and nodded the truth of the Warden's claim.
Dekker said, "When Queen Anora hears of this, there will be repercussions for both our countries. Release me now and we will speak no more of it. It is an understandable mistake, and my friend Anora need not be told. But if you do not free me immediately…I cannot be responsible for the consequences to both our countries, for my wrongful imprisonment will not stand in Ferelden."
The High Magistrate couldn't stand the Pentaghasts. He was one of the few men of position who was not of their clan. Most of them were arrogant fools, he thought, but they were powerful and he had to tread carefully when dealing with them. But this was a delicate situation. He did not wish to bring his country into conflict with Ferelden. This man was not just the 'Hero of Ferelden'. He was a hero to all Thedas. He would not be part of dragon cult. That idiot Pentaghast! Maldor was a coward and an imbecile and a man of dubious moral character. Why were the ones who wielded the real power always fools or corrupt, while honest men like him had to fight for everything? Hmmph! Because the fools had position and the corrupt forced their way to the top. And because the Pentaghasts controlled everything in Nevarra. But not this time, he thought. This time a Pentaghast had gone too far…he had placed his country in a precarious position. There was a potential for war here. This Warden was a powerful, beloved man in his country and had the ear of the Queen. And in truth, the Magistrate believed him. Maldor's story just did not make sense. And he would not be responsible for bringing Nevarra into a war with Ferelden for the sake of bowing and scraping to an inferior just because his name was Pentaghast. They had enough trouble with Orlais. He would talk to the clan leader. The High Magistrate was certain the man would agree with his decision. Maldor was not the brightest of the Pentaghasts and most of his clansmen knew it.
"I have reached a decision. There is, in my mind, no chance that a man of such sterling reputation as the Grey Warden Commander, the 'Hero of Ferelden', would be involved in a dragon cult or would have attacked these men unprovoked. I believe his claim of self-defense, and I dismiss this case. Release the Warden immediately," he said, taking a special satisfaction out of Maldor's stammering and sputtering over the verdict.
"Thank you for your wisdom, Magistrate," the Warden said, nodding respectfully as his shackles were removed.
Dekker's personal effects were returned, but Morrigan's spirit charge ring was not among them. He slid the rosewood ring back onto his finger reverently, clutching it in gratitude for its return. He paused briefly, hoping it would give him the glow he had become accustomed to…the feeling of her…but it gave no sign. He tried not to be alarmed by its lack of activity, but he could not help feeling apprehensive. There was no time to waste. He must get the spirit charge back.
The hooded cloak he wore disguised him completely. He watched and waited and followed until Maldor walked alone down a dark alley. Before Pentaghast knew what had happened, his back was against a wall and a dagger was pressed to his throat. He felt a small trickle of blood stream down his neck. Maldor could not see the face of the man behind the dagger, but he knew who it was. And he wondered why he was still alive.
"Where is it?" the Warden growled, using all his self-control not to press the knife into the man's throat.
"Wha…what?" he stuttered.
"My hand tires. I may slip at any moment. But perhaps you do not value your life as much as I thought a coward like you would," Dekker said menacingly.
"No, I…what? The ring? That worthless trinket? That's what this is about?" Maldor asked, sneering. His words were cut off by the dagger pressing into his windpipe.
"Sneer again and I will end your miserable life most unpleasantly. The ring…give it back. Now. I will not ask you again," the Warden said ominously.
Maldor was genuinely frightened now…because he no longer had it. "I…I don't have it…I sold it," he whined pathetically.
Dekker felt rage rise up in him. And fear. "Who? Who did you sell it to? Take me to him! You will help me find it! The consequences to you if I cannot recover my ring will be great. I warn you now…I will slay you if you do or say anything untoward," he threatened.
Maldor nodded, swallowing hard, and wiped the blood from his neck. He led the Warden to a stall in the open market at the port. The merchant had sold the ring to an old mage, a well-known local man, who seemed very excited to find it. The Warden panicked. That meant the man knew what he had…that it was no ordinary piece of jewelry. According to the tome at the College of Magi, the soul in an occupied spirit charge could be replaced with another essence, destroying the existing soul. He grabbed Maldor and they raced to the mage's home.
The Warden banged on the door loudly. There was no answer. He banged again. "I'm busy! Come back tomorrow!" he heard someone shout through the door. Dekker ran around the side of the house to a window and saw an old man holding the spirit charge ring up to the light, twisting and turning it…studying it. Then he laid it on the table and started to raise his arms. Maker, no! the Warden thought. There was no time to get back to the door. He had to interrupt the man now. He grabbed Maldor by the scruff of the neck and sent him crashing him through the window, startling the old mage and stopping his incantation.
Dekker leaped in behind the stunned and groggy Pentaghast and apologized to the man whose home he had just invaded. "Forgive me! I will repay you for that, but I had to stop you. I must have that ring back. It is mine!"
"Dekker!" Morrigan shouted with all her strength, overjoyed to hear his voice again. She had feared the worst. She should have known he could not be stopped.
"Morrigan! I hear you, but just barely. You are…weaker?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes…I…do not think…I have much time…" she struggled to say.
The old mage frowned. "Young man…I don't know who you are or why you hooligans have burst into my home like this, but I can assure you I purchased this ring just yesterday from…"
"I know, I'm not accusing you. The ring was stolen from me by this man and he sold it to the merchant who sold it to you. Please…I will pay you far more than you paid for it. I must have it back!" the Warden entreated.
"I'm terribly sorry, but I need this to perform my experiments. It is very special, this ring. It is not for sale," the mage said.
Dekker was losing patience. "I know what it is! You cannot use it! You will kill her! There is a woman's essence already stored in the ring. And she is dying. Please! You must give it back to me!" he begged.
The old mage looked at the ring and began to comprehend. The glow, though faint, was unmistakeable. His old eyes were growing weak. He had not noticed it before. He did not realize he had purchased an occupied spirit charge.
The Warden felt his desperation rising. "Please, the woman trapped in that ring…her body was stolen and she thought to save herself by storing her own soul in the ring. We can return her to her form now, but I must have the ring. Please…I…I love her. I will do anything to get her back," he pleaded to the old man.
"I was in love once," the old mage said, his eyes growing misty. He took pity on the Warden. "Very well, you may have the ring. But promise me you'll save the lass," he finished.
"I will not rest until she is free. I swear it," Dekker said with conviction.
"What is her name?" the mage asked gently.
"Morrigan," the Warden replied, his voice filled with emotion.
"How long has she been in the charge?" he asked.
"Too long. She grows weaker every passing day. Her voice grows more distant," Dekker said with distress.
"I thought as much. The glow is faint. You must hurry. But you say you can speak to her? Would you ask her when she is free, if she would share her knowledge of the charge with an old man, sometime? My curiosity knows no bounds," he asked.
The Warden paused, then smiled. "She said she would be most grateful if you would allow her to come back and thank you properly. And she will share all she knows," he said to the old man, who beamed in response.
"She is pretty, this woman of yours?" the mage asked.
"Breathtaking," the Warden replied, grinning ear-to-ear.
"Ah, good. These old eyes would welcome some pleasant scenery. 'Tis been a long time since I have pulled my nose out of my books and experiments," he replied wistfully.
The Warden turned to Maldor. "You will pay him for the ring. 100 sovereigns. Now," he ordered in no uncertain terms.
"What? That's fifty times what I got for it! I won't give him that!" Maldor whined petulantly.
The Warden's eyes narrowed threateningly.
"I mean…I shouldn't have to…that's a lot of money," Maldor moaned.
"Fifty times what you got for a stolen ring that you sold illegally? Perhaps you should give him 100 times what it is worth." the Warden said menacingly.
"No, no…that is fair…very fair…a fair price if ever I heard one," Maldor stammered, afraid to argue any further. He gave the old mage 100 sovereigns.
The Warden turned back to the old mage. "You should be able to do a lot of experiments with that. Thank you…I am eternally in your debt. Fare thee well," he said sincerely.
"Great good fortune, young man," the old mage replied.
Dekker grabbed Maldor and pulled him roughly out of the house. He glared at the Pentaghast. "I will return when Morrigan is safe. If any harm comes to the old man while I am gone, it will be your hide that pays the price. Do you understand? He will have no misfortune, no injury, no sudden loss of finance. You will leave him alone…and all your kin will leave him alone. Are we clear? In fact, you had better hope he does not die of natural causes…" the Warden warned him.
Dekker's meaning was not lost on Maldor, fool that he was. His eyes grew wide.
"I am releasing you on this, but do not test my patience. Leave the old man be. This is over. And I suggest, if you ever see me again, you walk the other way…quickly," the Warden said ominously. He raised his eyebrows in expectation of an answer.
Maldor nodded, his fear rushing back into him at the not-so-veiled threat the Warden had just issued. Then he ran wildly as far away as he could get.
The Warden set out for Highever, praying Flemeth was still there. But first he had to stop at Vigil's Keep and get Velanna. He needed a mage to perform the ritual…one who would not be afraid of Flemeth. And he didn't think Velanna was afraid of anyone.