"Oh, good, we're showing off esoteric magical talents. Can I go next?"—Felassan (Dragon Age The Masked Empire)
Twenty-Five
Tal and the Marauders
The sun was setting in a fiery display of pink, orange, and red over the hills to the west. Tal sat on the fully laden bronto-hauled cart with his legs dangling off the edge. He had stripped out of the flexible, thin leather shoes the Circle had provided for this journey and now wriggled his toes. Brownish dirt clung to his robes and his bare feet. His shaggy black hair was messy from the wind and bitter rain that had drenched them the night before.
Bored beyond what he could stand and struggling to keep his mind from wandering to Rosa and Revas and everyone he'd been forced to leave behind in the Hasmal tower, he started talking. Again, much to the Templars' annoyance.
"Hey, Martin?" he called out, twisting slightly to address the Tranquil man driving the brontos hauling the cart. This was the same Tranquil who'd administered the blood magic test on Tal and Rosa to prove they were kin. Tal knew the other man hadn't done it to cause harm and didn't resent him for it. How could he, after all, when Martin was now the only person he had to talk with?
"Yes, ser?" the Tranquil replied. The sound of the brontos' hooved toes crunching on the gravel of the road punctuated the otherwise calm evening.
"D'you want to hear about the time I put itchweed in my Keeper's breeches?" The Templar trailing the cart on horseback snorted and Tal grinned at the man, glad that someone could appreciate his genius. Martin never would because he was Tranquil and the Templars wouldn't ever admit to enjoying his talking...though this one behind the cart did. But the other Templar flanking the cart despised him.
"If you wish to share the story, I will listen," Martin replied in monotone.
"Okay," Tal said and clapped his hands together. "My mother was the hearth keeper for the clan. That meant she did a lot of chores and cooking while others went hunting, scouted, or…" He shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, so the Keeper liked to make her do his laundry. And one day she was busy with preparing a big meal in celebration of a new birth in the clan and the Keeper came by with his clothes and expected her to wash them. She told him she wouldn't have time but he insisted."
"That does not sound reasonable," Martin said.
Tal smirked, laughing. "Nope. Not at all. I overheard all this and when the Keeper left I volunteered to do the washing and help her out. My mother was very grateful and I went off and got to work. I washed all the clothes she'd been given to clean, including most of the Keeper's shit. But when I was finished I rubbed itchweed into his breeches." He paused, enjoying the way the Templar on his horse a few meters out chuckled.
"This is a plant that causes skin irritation leading to itching?" Martin asked.
"Yep, you betcha," Tal said, snickering at the memory with glee. He saw the Templar behind him shake his helmeted head and felt a thrill of satisfaction. Getting the Templars to loosen up had been one of his many little goals on this journey. Others included getting his shoes off and figuring out what was inside the cart. He'd achieved both those goals today too. Soon, he was going to need to find something new to do. Setting goals helped alleviate his boredom. It also staved off his grief and anxiety.
"And what precautions did you take to prevent irritation occurring to your own skin when you administered the itchweed to this man's trousers?" Martin asked in his monotone. Oddly, his question seemed to make the Templar riding behind the cart laugh deep from his belly. Martin had no sense of humor, so he focused on details that no other listener would have. Sometimes that, ironically, created even funnier circumstances.
Tal smirked to himself. Success. That definitely counted as making a Templar laugh. "Well," he said, "I ground the itchweed into a powder firstly. So it was fine and soft, like flour."
"Soft?" Martin asked. "That does not seem likely to cause skin irritation."
Something pale moved in the dim, uneven illumination of twilight off in the hills behind their caravan. Tal frowned at it; momentarily distracted before he decided it hadn't been anything. They were traveling east for Ansburg, with the setting sun hitting their backs, but in his spot in the cart Tal faced backward. The landscape was filled with rolling hills dotted with large bushes and copses of trees, vaguely reminding Tal of the Dales where he'd spent most of his life until a little over a year ago. The only major difference was that it had fewer boulders and granite escarpments. It might also be a tad warmer.
Shaking his head, Tal returned to his story. "It's itchweed, Martin. The plant has some kind of nasty chemical inside that makes your skin welt up if you're exposed too much. Anyway, I used my hand liners. Those are tight-fitting waterproof gloves my people make out of animal bladders and leather."
Now the Templar made a noise of disgust. "Savages."
"Hey," Tal said, shrugging. "If it works, it works. And those things work. The leather keeps you warm and reinforces the bladder and together they keep the water out. We call them hand liners because we wear them under another bigger set of gloves in the winter to keep our hands warm."
The Templar sneered, the expression difficult to see in the gathering dark and with his helmet on. His horse tossed its head and grunted, shying sideways. The Templar jerked on the reins, bringing the animal more into the center of the road. Tal watched the horse, admiring it and restraining a sigh because it reminded him of halla—all liquid grace and muscle with doe-like eyes.
"The hand liners sound as though they would indeed protect your skin," Martin agreed.
"Yeah," Tal said, gesturing at the Tranquil. "See, he gets it." The Templar ignored him so Tal went on with his story. "The clothes were wet, so the itchweed powder stuck to them and got in there really good. I only did his breeches, though. A good prank is like an art, you know. It can't be overdone or it's just mean. Not that I wasn't just mean to my Keeper sometimes—because he was a real prick and totally deserved it."
"Apologies," the Tranquil said. "I cannot agree. I do not have enough information to make that judgment."
Tal rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. He was, though." Something again drew his gaze in the hills behind them. Tal had a heartbeat to sense movement in the gathering gloom and register a pale shape darting between the darkness of the bushes. Many of the bushes had lost their foliage or had it turn to an ugly orange-brown. The movement made him think of halla, just as the Templar's horse did and his chest tightened, aching with loss.
Quashing his upset, Tal continued the story. "So I laid everything out to dry and the Keeper came by and thanked my mother for her hard work and collected everything. He got dressed just before the celebration meal and sat down with everyone to eat it and bless the baby and introduce her to the clan. And by the time he stood up to do the blessing he'd started scratching and fidgeting so badly he couldn't even keep going with it." Tal broke off, laughing at the memory of his Keeper wriggling about and frantically scratching at his legs and waist.
From up ahead Tal heard the lead Templar, who ranged back and forth as a scout, shouting that they would make camp here. Tal squinted off the road to his right where an open stretch of mostly flat grassland waited. There were circles of stones with ashes in the center marking where other travelers had stopped for the night to rest.
Martin clicked his tongue and jerked on the reins, directing the brontos off the road and into the brush. The cart shook and clattered, the crates onboard sliding under Tal's ass. He hopped off, feeling the chilled, dry grass underfoot with a little shiver of delight.
Although he hadn't minded living in the tower for the past month, Tal hadn't realized how intensely he'd also missed the outside world. The sigh of the wind through trees and grass, the smell of decaying fall leaves, and the caress of warm sunlight on his back managed to lift his spirits despite his circumstances. He tried not to think about how this could be the last time he'd ever feel any of those things. Ever.
"Over here, boy," the Templar who'd rode behind the cart called, snapping his fingers impatiently. He held a set of metal manacles that they'd insisted on using on him each night when they camped. Tal sighed to himself and trotted over to let the Templar strap the manacles onto his wrists. They were hard, cold iron and engraved with runes to absorb and negate magic.
The scout rode in a wide circle around their campsite, checking for signs of wild animals or bandits. Martin busied himself by setting up tents. They were tannish in color and bore the symbol of the Templar order. The Templars slept in one tent while Martin and Tal were assigned to the other. Only two Templars would sleep at a time while the other two took watch. They patrolled by the road and through the clearing, watching and listening for any sign of trouble.
As full darkness settled and the air grew chillier, Martin lit a small fire. Tal offered to help, always eager to keep busy and fire was his affinity, but one of the Templars sitting nearby barked at him. "No magic!"
"Sorry," Tal said with a grimace. "Just trying to do something good with it, you know." Giving in to his desire to ramble for comfort, he said, "I used to light my mother's hearth fire for her every day. My father could do it too, but—"
"Maker's breath," the Templar sitting across the fire snarled. "Don't you ever shut your blighting mouth, mage?"
Tal winced a second before shrugging. "Not really, no." Feeling his stomach twist with hunger, he added, "But the best way to shut me up is with food."
The Templar huffed irritably and called out to one of his compatriots. "Fetch the rations, Ser Luther."
"Yes, ser," the Templar named Luther replied and stalked over to the cart to dig through a large leather satchel. He returned a few moments later with loaves of bread and some dried venison. The Templar sitting at the fire took what Luther handed him and doled it out into portions. He passed Martin a loaf of bread and two strips of venison, keeping the same amount for himself. But he passed Tal only one piece of venison and half a loaf of bread.
"Can't I have the same as you and Martin?" Tal asked, keeping his voice light and friendly. "I mean, I walked most of the day while all of you rode…"
"Shut up and eat what you've been given or I'll take it from you," the Templar snapped and then, as Tal began chewing on his bread, he grumbled under his breath. "Skinny, noisy, Maker-cursed rabbit."
Tal bore the comments silently, letting the food keep his mouth busy and hoping the noise of his chewing would drown out the Templar's vitriol. His manacles clattered as he lifted his bound hands up and down from his lap to his mouth. The crackle of the fire drew his eyes and filled him with the heavy, faint fuzziness of nostalgia. He wondered what his mother was doing at this moment. Had she succumbed to the Keeper's proposals now that Tal was no longer there to put a wedge between them? Had his old hunting partner Sahon or the clan's First, Shila, gotten married yet?
Gradually everyone finished eating and the first two Templars scheduled to take watch left the fire to patrol. Their caravan was a small group, six in total: four Templars, the Tranquil Martin, and Tal himself. The journey was to take about a week, according to Martin. It would be faster if they had only horses, but the Knight-Commander had insisted they take brontos and a cart laden with goods for the Ansburg Circle.
Martin, who was by far the most responsive of Tal's current companions, told him that the Knight-Commander had owed supplies to Ansburg for some time. Hasmal was better situated on the highway and could receive goods from Orlais, Antiva, Nevarra, and even Tevinter far better than Ansburg. As such, everything from those places intended for Ansburg went through Hasmal and that had led to a pile up over time.
After learning that juicy detail, Tal had feigned an injury and took the liberty of making himself comfortable on the back of the cart rather than walking. The Templars hadn't been happy about it and called him lazy—never mind that Tal had walked the whole time while they rode. But, whatever. Tal didn't let their condescension ruin his good time of snooping through the contents of the cart to find crates of Antivan wine and Nevarran books on the arcane. Now, sitting beside the fire and feeling thirsty and unsatisfied by the bland bread and salty venison, Tal longed for some of that Antivan wine.
"I am fatigued," Martin announced after a long period of silence. "It is advisable for us both to sleep, Master Tal."
Fixated on the thought of that wine, Tal shook his head while covertly checking out where the two awake Templars currently were. One roamed out among the tall grasses of the meadow, scanning the brush in the distance. The other was near the road, surveying it for signs of activity. Night travelers were always cause for suspicion. The other two Templars were in their shared tent, sleeping until it would be time for their watch.
"Nah," Tal told the Tranquil. "I'm going to stay up with the fire a while. Too cold to sleep just yet."
"Our shared body heat will ensure we both remain warm," Martin pointed out blankly.
Tal shot the human an inquisitive look, one eyebrow arched. "Excuse me?" He laughed before he could stop himself. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to seduce me, Martin."
"I have no such desires," Martin told him in his usual deadpan. "Apologies if you misunderstood my meaning."
Tal sniggered, letting the laughter ease the tight knot of anxiety forming in his guts. "I didn't really," he admitted, hugging himself as the night's chill made him shiver a bit despite the fire. Martin had a point about shared body heat. Without Tal to help warm him, Martin might be a bit cold in his tent. But a glance at the unattended cart with its promise of wine made Tal's mouth water as he forgot entirely about the cold.
"I'll be in soon," he promised Martin.
The Tranquil rose from the fire and walked over to the tent he and Tal shared, then ducked inside and out of sight. With Martin gone, Tal breathed deeply, enjoying the wood smoke smell and recalling lessons with Rosa in his dreams and on the road. Tal had possessed several mentors to learn to control his magic—his father, his clan's First on occasion, Rosa, and then finally the mages at the Circle. As a result he knew a wide variety of odd spells and techniques. He'd taken to testing his manacles at night, subtly, after Martin retired and the Templars dispersed for watch. Tonight seemed as good a time as any to see if the manacles would smother Elvhen magic.
Drawing in a deep breath and concentrating, Tal summoned the stealth spell. It settled over him like a cloud and he shivered reflexively as he felt the manacles grow heavy and hot, reacting to the ambient magic of his spell. But it hadn't stopped the spell. That was very promising. Tal's mind raced with the possibility that he might use this to try escaping, but he pushed that aside for now. He wouldn't act without conferring with Rosa first.
Unfortunately his use of the spell was rather crude. There were ways to trim back the ambient magic, but Tal hadn't had a chance to master them with Rosa's help yet. It left him exposed to anyone sensitive to magic that came near enough to sense it, yet Tal had been able to sneak about the tower with it easily enough. Why not out here? Grabbing a little wine would be a good test run.
Neither Templar on sentry had noticed his disappearing act, so Tal slowly rose to his feet and crept toward the cart. His time spent among the hunters of his clan, learning their trade as stealthy rogues, made him whisper-quiet as he edged around the fire and through tufts of grass that barely rustled at his passage. Soon he was beside the cart but the stealth spell made his arms and legs shaky, his head spinning. Ducking beneath the cart to hide, Tal let the spell fade and caught his breath with long, deep hauls of air through his lungs.
The cold night air sank in on him, wrapping around and through him with each breath. The sensation grounded him and let him refocus. Drawing the spell over himself again, Tal rolled as nimbly as he could out from under the cart. After a covert glance to the sentries, Tal lifted one corner of the tarp over the cart and slowly pried open one of the Antivan crates. The dark glass of the bottles within gleamed orange in the firelight as he fished around until he managed to close his fist over one.
Yes, yes, yes! With a final tug he freed it from the crate—only to hear the remaining bottles clink and clatter as they readjusted their positions inside. Fenedhis! He thought and the cold grip of fear made him lose the stealth spell, becoming visible. The nearest Templar, the man guarding the road, was already charging over to investigate. "Get away from there, you filth!"
"Shit," Tal muttered and quickly ditched the bottle under the cart, hoping the Templar wouldn't notice it. Then he thrust his manacled hands up in the air and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, ser. I must have bumped the cart. Very sorry."
The Templar snarled at him as he drew nearer, his swaggering gait suggesting he planned to do Tal physical harm. Sputtering, Tal added, "I was just over here because I saw a huge spider and I wanted to catch it so I could—"
There was a streak of orange light and the sharp sound of arrows cutting through the air. Tal gasped and immediately flung up a barrier, crouching low. He looked up as he heard the Templar who'd been barreling down on him cry out with alarm and pain. He'd been stuck with a fiery arrow in the side. Black pitch and blood oozed from the wound. Other arrows were now stuck in the cart, burning pitch popping and crackling as it lit the cart afire.
"We're under attack," the Templar from the meadow shouted. "To arms! To arms!"
The Templar in front of Tal snatched the arrow stuck in his side and ripped it out with only a slight grimace. Tal guessed it hadn't gone all that deep. The true irritation came from the fact that the pitch ensured the fire kept smoldering on his armor. The Templar batted at it with one fist even as he grabbed his shield off his back with the other.
More arrows flew, all of them fiery. Two landed in the tent Tal and Martin shared. The Tranquil shuffled out of the burning tent in no great hurry, untouched by the fear of this situation, but he had a leather shield of his own and lifted it to protect himself from arrows. The other two Templars emerged in only leather armor, but both had shields. The sentry across the meadow had been waylaid and was currently fighting with one of the attackers.
Still crouched beside the cart, which was now burning, Tal squinted into the darkness beyond the fiery camp, trying to see the attackers and failing. The heat of the flames from the cart distracted him though, and he tried to cast winter's grasp on the fire to douse it—only to grimace as the manacles thwarted his mana draw. He tossed up a barrier over himself and the Templar nearby and shot to his feet, running for the man with his hands thrust out. "Hey! Take these off and I can—"
"Get back, mage!" the Templar shouted and swung at Tal's head.
Stumbling backward, Tal nearly fell but caught himself as he dropped into a crouch instead. He heard more arrows whine overhead and one of them bounced off his barrier, making it ripple like water. The smell of smoke stung his nose and made him dizzy. A quick look at the cart revealed it to be nearly consumed in fire now. Any moment and that wonderful Antivan wine was sure to burst and the alcohol would further fuel the flames.
Gritting his teeth and refreshing his barrier, Tal lunged for the bottle he'd pilfered, snatching it out from beneath the cart as he rolled under it and out the other side. His robes smoldered and a few spots of flame licked up his sides when he popped upright, but Tal slapped at them with the manacles, snuffing them out. He heard shouting and yells of pain from over by the tents and felt his stomach twist with dread, his heart racing.
Time to get out of here, he thought. Drawing up the stealth spell again, Tal ran west through the clearing, aiming for the trees in the distance. The attackers had come from the east, from the direction of Hasmal. Tal would run away and then double back.
At the tree line he dropped and skidded to a stop in the brush, rolling onto his stomach gaze back to the camp about fifty meters distant. The cart let out a sharp boom noise as the alcohol ignited at last, sending a little fireball into the sky and lighting the clearing in even more orange-yellow light for Tal to see by. In those harsh contrasts Tal saw the thin, reedy figures of the attackers and suddenly his heart was hammering with more than just fear.
They're elves!
He felt a pang of guilt, however, as he saw the elves converge on Martin, cutting him down. Martin hadn't had much choice in any of this, being Tranquil, but there wasn't much Tal could do to help him. And he knew Rosa liked to say Tranquil were better off dead than neutered drone-slaves.
One of the Templars fought in the midst of the burning camp and Tal recognized him as the man who'd taken an arrow at the very start of the attack. There were only two other Templars still standing, the fourth must've fallen already as Tal saw no sign of him. He watched, spellbound, as the elves hassled the shield-bearing Templars, forming circles around them and then darting in and out. They moved fast as snakes, striking with short daggers and then whipping away again in an almost dancelike maneuver. They were like water, always in motion.
Then white shapes moved through the fire and Tal gasped as he recognized the halla. From the edge of the burning camp the brontos bellowed and the horses whinnied in fright, tethered as they were to stakes set into the ground near the burning cart. Tal watched the animals tugging on their leads, ears swiveling and eyes rolling wild with terror at the carnage. The halla, however, bore their riders with grace and confidence, heedless of the smoke and the clash of blades. On the riders' faces, elevated as they were above the heat mirages and foliage, Tal saw they wore vallaslin.
Tal's skin dimpled with gooseflesh as awe surged through him at the sight. Over the roar of the fire he heard a woman's voice cry out in elven, strong and authoritative. "Where is the mage?"
"We have seen no one else," came an answer from a warrior on the ground.
"Keep one of the shemlen alive for questions," the woman ordered.
The woman spurred her halla stag around the burning camp and toward the cart where the horses and brontos were still struggling against their tethers in panic. In the camp itself the two Templars who'd been woken from their tent and hadn't had time to don their full armor were now dead. That left only the man who'd taken a burning arrow to the side and he'd been surrounded by elves and stripped of his shield. He now waited in his circle for whatever was to come. The only thing Tal could see of him from his low vantage point was his helmeted head, gleaming orange in the firelight.
Tal counted over twenty elves walking through the fires, and several of them were not warriors or rogues. They were mages. They used their power to put out the fires on the tents and hurry to heal injured comrades. Others combed the battlefield, seemingly searching for something. Every so often they knelt and lit something afire. One of the halla riders—a man this time—seemed to direct them about, shouting for them to burn the arrows.
They're destroying the evidence, Tal realized. The elven design in the fletching and arrowheads would give them away and they apparently did not wish anyone to realize who had been behind this attack. Smart, Tal thought. It was just the sort of thing his clan would have done had they raided a human caravan…not that they had…very often…
The woman astride her halla seemed to be searching for something near the burning cart, but eventually the distressed animals diverted her attention. She motioned at them and Tal saw a faint greenish glow about her as she cast a spell. The animals quieted in response, growing passive and calm. Then, with precision that revealed her to be a rather powerful and well-trained mage, she snapped the animals' tethers, one right after another, using raw force. A heartbeat later she also doused the flames consuming the cart with an idle wave of her hand.
She's got to be the Keeper, Tal thought. Or the First.
The second halla-rider approached her, his doe tossing her head and snorting at the smoke. The man called out in elven to the woman atop her stag. "There's no mage here."
"Continue your work here," the woman said. "This must appear to be an attack by bandits. Claim the horses and the brontos. Salvage any goods you can."
"And what will you do?" the man asked.
She grinned at him, her teeth glinting in the orange light from the smoldering ruins of the camp. Then, yelling out several names, she motioned at the woods—in Tal's direction.
They're searching, he realized. For me.
"Fenedhis," he muttered to himself, his stomach twisting into knots with indecision. He had little chance of outrunning a search party, but he could feasibly hide with the stealth spell. His first thought when he'd run across the clearing had been to double back, using the brush and trees for cover, and then, when it was safe enough, he'd head east for Hasmal to help Rosa and Revas.
And yet…taking in the burning cart and recalling the exchanges he'd overheard, Tal realized these elves hadn't attacked the Templars for supplies. This…all of this was to get me. He felt fear grip him in its cold clutches. There was no way a clan would mobilize this much effort to help one lost Dalish mage trapped in a Circle that they happened to glimpse in a caravan traveling between Circles. They'd fear Templar reprisal and deem the cost too great. These elves may appear Dalish, but they did not think like them. Or at least not like any clans he'd known...which, admittedly, was one.
Unknowns were dangerous things and Tal knew he had to be careful. Rosa had told him the demon that had faced her during her Harrowing was ancient and powerful and still interested in the world beyond the Veil. It wanted him, just as it wanted Rosa—just as these elves apparently wanted him. If the Formless One could speak with the Templars to expose he and Rosa as siblings, why couldn't it manipulate elves as well?
Tal knew that if Rosa had been with him she would have hidden or doubled back already. She would have lied in wait to capture one of these elves alive for a quick interrogation. She would not trust that they had her best interests at heart. Without Rogathe inside her to force her to fight, she would not pit herself against impossible odds, though she might gladly take a hostage to learn more about these strangers.
As much as Tal often felt his sister was paranoid and overly distrustful of others' intentions, he could not deny that she had survived over a year on her own walking across Thedas. Her caution had kept them both alive on more than one occasion. Maybe now, even in her absence, she could save Tal again.
Crawling backward, away from the clearing, Tal slunk forward through the leaf litter, trying to disturb it as lightly as possible. If these elves were Dalish they would be excellent trackers and he couldn't afford to leave a trail. When he reached a sizeable pine tree Tal went to its trunk and forced his way between the branches, climbing higher. His manacles made him clumsy and slow, forcing him to move awkwardly to accommodate hands that could not part. Once he was reassuringly high off the ground—about four meters up—he tucked himself into as small a place as he could, resigned to wait.
The pine smelled rich and fragrant with sap, and its boughs sheltered him from the cold and the wind, but he soon began to shiver. He almost groaned as he realized he'd left his pilfered Antivan wine bottle behind at the edge of the clearing. Oh well, nothing he could do now. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and cursed the Circle for not making its robes warmer. At least he was fairly well camouflaged as his robes were mostly green with a bit of brown and white here and there. He hoped the white bits would be masked by the tree from further away.
It was only a few minutes he heard the gentle crackle of leaf litter and the occasional snap of twigs as figures began to move quietly through the forest nearby. When they came close to his pine tree, Tal drew the stealth spell over himself once more. It shielded him not only from sight but also from the cold and he was able to relax under the blanket of magic as elves passed like wraiths beneath him.
And then he heard the soft stamp of the halla rider nearing. The stag's breath was surprisingly loud as it walked, its coat a brilliant white like snow that stood out starkly against the darkness of the forest. And it was quite tall, pushing its rider's head disturbingly high into the canopy. At her elevated vantage point the woman might even be able to make out the faint shimmer the stealth spell sometimes created due to the ambient magic Tal didn't know how to mask or stop. The only thing Tal could do was to concentrate on holding the stealth spell in place and pray to Mythal that the rider wouldn't sense him.
The halla had stopped near his tree, puffing out a breath as it nosed some browned leaves on a nearby birch. The woman riding the stag, however, stared with narrowed eyes through the darkness. The faint, milky moonlight from far overhead made her eyes glitter. Her vallaslin were black and a tad sloppy. Her skin was olive colored, reminding Tal vaguely of Rosa's. She also had dark hair, tied up in a tight bun. There was something stark and hard in her features that both intrigued and repulsed him, though the baser part of his mind saw only that she was…quite striking.
Then the woman's brow furrowed and she twisted her body toward Tal's pine tree and craned her head upward. Her dark eyes flicked over the tree and Tal felt his stomach drop. Fenedhis. Shit. Fuck. Creators dammit! He stayed in place, every muscle rigid with fear.
Then the woman let out a short, sharp laugh, sounding both shocked and…amused. Turning to shout into the woods at the other elves still searching the area, she said, "I've found him!"
Losing control of the stealth spell, Tal let a panicked stream of curses spout from his mouth as he scrambled to try and get out of the tree. He heard the halla bellow beneath him, its hooves stamping on the carpet of needles as the woman circled about the pine to intercept him. "Why do you hide, mage?" she asked and then, switching to common, she said, "Have the shemlen tamed you and made you fear your own people?"
Still about three meters up in the tree, Tal paused, clinging to the pine and grimacing as he ran his hands through a clump of sap. Damn these manacles! His heart was pounding, his throat and stomach tight. He heard more calls in elven and footsteps charging rapidly through the underbrush. So much for hiding. Too bad he hadn't come up with a secondary plan.
"Hello?" the woman called, her voice lighthearted. "You're safe among the People now."
"Am I?" he blurted and let out a nervous, tight laugh. "I rather thought I was trying to break my neck in a tree."
The woman laughed, sounding genuine. "Yes, you're also doing that."
A bit of Tal's fear eased as he glimpsed her through the trees and judged her smile to be amused and sincere. There was something…familiar about her. Had he seen her before somewhere? Somehow? "So," he called to her as he lowered himself down to the next branch. "What clan is this?"
Now the woman's smile dimmed slightly, barely perceptible but Tal sensed it nonetheless. "Gonathe," she replied and then said, "I suppose I should introduce myself, no? Aneth ara. I am Zevanni."
Tal continued easing his way down the tree, grunting with effort. The manacles made going downward a lot harder than up. "Aneth ara," he returned. "I'm Tal." Then, thinking he should be more formal than that, he started to add, "Actually, my full name is—" he broke off, yelping as a section of bark on the branch he clung to gave way. He fell, thrashing and screaming, and landed hard.
Something cracked as he hit the ground. The air rushed out of his lungs as he lay on the carpet of pine needles, stunned and winded. Then pain washed over him and he hissed through gnashed teeth. "Fuck."
"That," Zevanni said from somewhere above him, "did not sound good." Through the blinding, hot rush of pain from his shoulder and chest, Tal dimly heard her stag snorting and stamping. A moment later she knelt at his side, her warm, slightly damp hands tapping his cheek. "Hey. Tal. Stay focused."
He wanted to say, On what? But then he felt magic tingling his skin, sinking into him with a soothing, cooling sensation. Some of the pain diminished at once and Tal found he could breathe easier. His vision seemed to be closing in though, blackness constricting his view. He struggled to keep it at bay, focusing on the fierce tingling of Zevanni's magic. Her face swam hazily into view, tight with concentration and he groaned, faintly embarrassed to be meeting this attractive woman under such humiliating circumstances.
"Not…always so clumsy," he wheezed out. "Swear."
"Void take the Veil," Zevanni grumbled above him under her breath. She was breathing hard and her face, when it came into focus, seemed to be pale and sweaty. Footsteps thumped through the ground and Tal felt dizzy and lightheaded as he sensed more elves surrounding him, like vultures jostling for position. Fear seized him, amplifying the pain in his shoulder and the blackness took him.
Tal snapped awake to find himself bouncing. He groaned, tensing and struggling when he felt his right arm had been bound to his side. But pain from that shoulder made him wince and cry out. "Fenedhis! Ow, ow, ow…"
"Hush," a female voice behind him scolded. "Be still."
Gradually Tal realized the bouncing sensation affecting him was because he was astride a halla stag trotting through the long grasses of the Free Marches. Tal had been bundled in a bear pelt and now sat tucked in front of an elven woman. Her name snapped back into his memory with a jolt: Zevanni. Twisting his head, Tal saw another halla rider off to the left and slightly behind Zevanni while dozens of other elves jogged nearby and in the distance. It was near dawn, the horizon ahead of them was blue-gray.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked, his voice croaking.
"To the nearest clan that will have you," Zevanni replied curtly. "It will take about a week. There aren't many clans here."
"Wait, wait, wait…" Tal said and tried to free his good left arm from the blanket only to feel Zevanni cuff his ear.
"Don't be a fool," she admonished. "You have no weapons and no supplies. You can't survive out here without a clan."
"I can't join a clan," he stammered, his head spinning. "We're…we're going east. I need to go west. Back to Hasmal."
"And why is that?" Zevanni asked, her voice oddly amused.
"My sister is a prisoner in the Hasmal Circle," he explained. "I can't abandon her."
"And you cannot save her by yourself," Zevanni countered. "Especially not with a broken collarbone."
"What?" he asked, mouth hanging open. "When did that happen?" He tested his right arm again, finding it still strapped to his side. It ached, deep and bitter, as he tried to move it. "Elgar'nan's fiery butthole," he snapped, using Rosa's favorite uncouth curse.
Zevanni laughed, loud and breathless for a long time and Tal felt his face bloom with heat. "I like you," she announced when she'd finished laughing. "That's why I almost went into mana burnout trying to save your clumsy ass after you fell out of that fucking tree. I'm not about to let you run back to Hasmal now."
Tal was silent a moment, brow knitting as he tried to process everything she'd just said. Finally he asked, "What tree?"
She laughed again, a little darker now this time. "Sadly I can't do anything to heal your head."
Tal did remember a tree now, faintly, but he pushed aside that memory in favor of something way more important. "You like me?"
She clucked her tongue and Tal wished he could see her face as he was certain she must have rolled her eyes. "If I didn't like you I would have turned you into a pile of ashes like the rest of that caravan."
More memories swam back into Tal's mind: the burning cart, the elves surrounding Martin and cutting him down, the Templar who'd tried to punch him in the head rather than remove his manacles. Realizing his hands were no longer bound, Tal said, "You took off the manacles."
"We searched the bodies and found the key, yes. We also found a phylactery we assumed was yours on one of the Templars and destroyed it." Her voice took on a note of disgust. "Fucking shemlen dogs and their anti-magic shit."
Tal was silent for a time, watching the grass sway ahead of them as they ascended the next hill, still heading east. These elves had attacked a caravan of Templars seemingly for the sole purpose of retrieving him. Now he was as good as their captive, being carted supposedly toward another Dalish clan. But Zevanni had claimed to be part of a Dalish clan herself, hadn't she?
He screwed up his face, puffing out a breath as he tried to ignore the deep ache in his right collarbone. So many unknowns and unknowns were dangerous. His mind was cloudy with pain and exhaustion, but he knew he couldn't afford to waste any time. If these elves were somehow enslaved to the Formless One or…something else…he needed to escape.
"You said you're Dalish," Tal said, speaking slowly with caution. "Why do you need to take me to another clan? Can't I stay with your clan?"
"My clan isn't the peaceful living type," Zevanni replied coolly. "We're marauders. We make the shemlen pay for what they've done to the People."
"Is that why you attacked the Templars holding me captive?" he asked. Her answer had sounded sincere, the anger and passion underlying it impossible to miss. Perhaps these elves weren't as nefarious as he'd feared. Mythal, please let that be true…
"Absolutely," Zevanni answered. "We wouldn't have bothered with them normally, but we spotted you walking with them. No one bearing vallaslin should be in a Circle tower." She grunted, sounding irritated. "Nobody should be in a Circle tower, actually. Fucking anti-magic shemlen."
"Yeah, I got that part," Tal quipped, smirking. "You sound like my sister. You'd probably like her." He paused just a heartbeat before saying, "Hey! I've got an idea! How about you and your marauding clan go to Hasmal and help me break into the tower so we can get my sister out?"
Zevanni let out an amused snort. "You just don't quit, do you?"
"Quit what?" Tal asked earnestly.
He felt Zevanni shake her head, sighing. "What in the great Beyond have I gotten myself into now?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Tal insisted. "I'm serious. What am I supposed to quit doing? I was just suggesting that you could add a really powerful mage to your ranks if you rescue my sister. She has vallaslin too, you know."
"Is that so," Zevanni said, her voice flat.
Well, Tal thought with a sinking sense of defeat. That's not going to work.
"Tell you what," Zevanni said, abruptly breaking the silence. "What I am interested in is that spell you used in the tree." She paused a beat, chuckling. "You do remember the spell right? And the tree?"
"I might remember better if we started heading toward Hasmal," Tal hedged, smirking.
Zevanni scoffed. "I just saved you from a lifetime rotting away in a Circle," she reminded him. "I'm returning you to the People. The least you can do is answer my questions. A spell like that could really help me and my people out."
"It didn't help me out much," Tal quipped dryly. "I mean, you still found me. But you're right, I kind of owe you. Too bad I know squat about the spell. My sister is the master. I'd teach it to you, but I'm not very good at it."
Zevanni groaned, though she broke off partway through to laugh. "All right, Tal. If you won't tell me about that spell, why don't you finish telling me all about that precious sister of yours. That way we can get this over with and then, if you talk about her again, I'm going to conk you over the head. You ken?"
You ken? Tal frowned, realizing that she had an unusual accent, unlike anything he'd heard before. Perhaps it was common among the clans inhabiting this part of Thedas? It was easier to focus on that rather than to try and puzzle out whether he believed she would actually knock him out for mentioning his sister.
"Okay," he said, drawing out the single word. "Now I don't want to talk about my sister. Happy?"
Oddly, she sighed. "No, actually." Zevanni was silent a time and then asked, "What clan are you from? You didn't say before."
"Ghilath," he replied at once. "In the Dales, though we ranged into the Frostbacks and further west."
"Tell me what the Dales are like," Zevanni said, and it sounded almost more like a command. "I've never seen them."
Tal wasn't certain he believed her for some reason, but small talk was better than brooding silence from someone who currently held him immobile. "Looks a lot like this place, actually. Rolling hills and trees and bushes and whatnot. More boulders in the Dales though."
"And what was Ghilath like?"
Tal gave a half shrug only to wince with pain from his shoulder. "Ouch." He used his left hand to gingerly rub at his collarbone but stopped when he found that didn't help. Instead he used a light healing magic, tingling and cooling to soothe the pain away. "My Keeper was an ass. He wouldn't make me First even if there weren't any other mages born to us. He said as much to my face."
Zevanni grunted. "He does sound like an ass. But he must have made your sister First, since she's such a hotshot mage according to you."
"She's from a different clan," Tal told her. "But my Keeper didn't like Rosa either when he did meet her at the Arlathvhen."
"She's from a different clan?" Zevanni asked, sounding perplexed. "That's…interesting."
"Not really," Tal told her, still soothing away his pain with a light flow of magic. "She and I have the same father."
"Uh-huh. And who would he be?" Zevanni asked and there was something sharp in her voice that set Tal's teeth on edge.
"His name was Revas," Tal blurted, lying on the fly. "But he's dead now and you wouldn't know him anyway."
"Yeah," Zevanni agreed with a disappointed sigh. "Never heard of him."
Good, Tal thought, but he swallowed with nervousness, finding his mouth was too dry. Now he just had to hold true to that lie for a week. It'd be easy for Rosa to do, but for Tal…
My father is dead. His name was Revas, he coached himself. And don't mention Revas in the tower or that'll just make things messy. He drew in a few deep breaths and tried to stay positive. I can do this. I can do this. Just don't talk about anything Rosa wouldn't approve of…
"So," he said then. "Want to hear about the time I put itchweed in my Keeper's breeches?"
Behind him, Zevanni laughed again and Tal felt her shake her head once more. "Oh, Fen'Harel take me. What have I gotten myself into?"
Next Chapter
"And are you satisfied, da'len?" he asked her, daring to brush his lips and nose against hers, smelling the tantalizing nearness of her in the lilac and vanilla of her personal scent.
Inhaling sharply, she grabbed his chin and turned his head to the left so she could speak into his ear, her hot breath sending a shiver through him. "Hardly. You can do better." She bit his lobe and Solas swallowed forcefully to keep himself from groaning aloud. "And you can start by not calling me da'len. I am not a child."
"I am not convinced, da'len," he teased, his voice deep and throaty. He turned his head back to face her and felt her breath puffing on his cheeks. "You will have to prove it to me."
A/N: I'm putting this up early in celebration of my job interview tomorrow! Oi! Wish me luck! As you can see from the teaser, the next chapter will return us to Solas and Rosa and their increasingly risque relationship.
So, this was the much-anticipated Tal chapter! I had a blast writing it and it came out fast. Oh, before I forget, in case you noticed and wondered about Tal finding Zevanni familiar, recall that during Solas' Harrowing they faced a pride demon that adopted both Zevanni and Felassan's shapes to throw off Solas in the fight. That's where Tal has seen her before. Those who've read Pride Didn't Go will hopefully find Zevanni more palatable under these differing circumstances. She's in her element here, causing chaos for the Dread Wolf. Her role with Tal is vital for me to reveal my biggest secret (b/c Rosa will never crack in time), so I'm glad most everyone (I didn't have even one person say they didn't want this chapter!) wanted this to see the dynamic between these two. It was so much fun to let Tal's lighthearted banter out of its box and I hope there were some laugh out loud moments for you guys!
And onto thank yous! Sutet, your realization was HILARIOUS. I about died laughing. I'm rather glad you didn't follow your own PSA regarding drunk reviewing because the hilarity was just that good! KiraChan...see, I knew you'd catch something. Didn't know if it would be then, but I knew it would be soon. Now please excuse me as I cackle evilly. Urazz, so great to hear you already found the snippet funny! Tal is so fun and I wanted to show how he gets along with virtually everyone and almost always has his chin up. As for your other curiosity...I couldn't say, but you will find out!