Drakonis, 9:31 Dragon
It was only later that Varel wondered if the Warden-Commander intended to test him by allowing him to make binding agreements in her name. Did it also mean the Vigil's assets were no longer frozen, and dare he inquire? The spoils from the slaver raid should tide them over until the commander's arrival, barring some horrendous - and expensive - emergency, and he did not want her to suspect there was some sort of embezzlement scheme. He had an unnerving feeling his new arlessa was just waiting for him to misstep, and he tried to shake off the sudden paranoia. Old, bad habits. Elethea Cousland was not Arl Rendon Howe, and he could not allow his old reflexes to ambush him. He had to give her the benefit of the doubt, just as she was.
So he decided she meant what she said, and made arrangements for purchasing the full-face helmets the soldiers would need should they ever have to fight darkspawn. He did not go himself, nor did he send any soldiers, but a sharp-witted, burly laundress who wanted to check on her relatives in the city. She did not go without escort; her young cousin, a big strapping lad, went with her. Because ordinary citizens going to an armorsmith would look strange, they would pass the message on to a boatman, who would invariably be one of Ker's folk. They would not, Varel thought with satisfaction, excite much comment. None at all, in fact. They should pass beneath the bann's notice, and she would leave them in peace. He was probably being overly cautious, but he felt not enough time had passed for the bann to have forgotten his meddling, and they had troubles enough without her active enmity.
Occupied as he was now with Jacob's initial training, Varel did not pay much attention to the Grey Wardens, something he came to regret early one morning, some weeks after their raid on the slavers, when the stablemaster came into the keep to find him. The man hardly ever left his domain, so Varel grew alert at once.
"Seneschal!" the stablemaster called. Varel waited for the man, who smelled strongly of horse and hay, to trot up to him. "One of t' horses is missin', that one what we lent t' the Grey Warden ta learn how ta ride. None of t' grooms say they got him ready, but one boy said he saw t' Warden put t' tack on himself."
"Is anything else missing?"
The other man nodded as he brushed snow off his shoulders, for another storm, one of the last of the winter and all the fiercer for that, was descending on them. "Aye, saddlebags, 'n tack."
Varel thought for a moment. "Warden Petrus may have taken him out with an early patrol." While Fiona always stayed behind, the other Grey Wardens had resumed accompanying the patrols as soon as Hadrian had learned to stay long enough on a horse.
"But t' thing is, t' patrols're still out, so there ain't none goin' out taday - and wouldn't be, anyways, 'cause of t' storm. That small evil nag of t' Warden's still here, too, or I wouldn't've come in ta say anythin'." Since the stablemaster was the one who assigned the mounts, there was no point in doubting him.
"For the love of Andraste, don't call the Warden's horse a nag in his hearing - he treasures the blasted beast." Varel frowned, because Petrus always accompanied Hadrian on patrols. If Hadrian had gone out alone, no one would question him or think it strange, for the Grey Wardens had leave to come and go as they wished.
Hiding his growing unease, Varel turned back to the stablemaster. "Thank you for bringing this to me, but please keep it to yourself for the moment."
The other man shot him an offended look before leaving. "I ain't no blabber, me."
Varel went to find the Grey Wardens at once, and found Petrus frowning at the door to Hadrian's quarters, one hand raised as if poised to knock. He gave Varel a curt nod. "Seneschal."
"If you are looking for Hadrian, ser, he's gone," Varel said, not seeing any reason to beat about the bush. "The stablemaster just informed me his horse is gone, along with saddlebags and tack. I would have to check the kitchens, but I suspect there is also food missing, as well."
The cooks would not find anything amiss, since Hadrian made frequent raids on the pantry in order to feed his immense appetite. When he cared to exert himself, the man had considerable charm, which had disarmed them. Varel scowled, for Hadrian had taken advantage of all of their trust.
Petrus cursed in his own tongue, but though Varel did not understand it, he recognized the sentiment. The Warden walked a few steps to his own quarters. "Find Fiona, please, and tell her I am going after him."
Varel opened his mouth, though he knew not what to say, but the Grey Warden had already closed the door. Fiona's quarters were right next to Petrus's, and he went to knock on her door. There was no answer, and for a moment Varel wondered if she, too, had run off, until he realized someone would surely have told him, for the mage was much more noticeable than Hadrian. Still, he was relieved when he found her in the dining hall, where she was eating breakfast, and told her the unpleasant news.
Fiona's face grew pinched with annoyance. "I thought he seemed unusually docile while he was training with Petrus. Now I know it's because he needed to learn how to ride, and know the roads."
When Fiona continued to eat, Varel said, "You do not plan to follow after?"
"I'm no expert tracker like Petrus; I would only slow him down." She did not look particularly worried, just irritated, so she must really be that confident in Petrus's skills.
Varel glanced at the soldiers coming in from their watches, brushing snow from their cloaks and armor. "But has he ever tried to track someone or something in a snowstorm?"
Fiona opened her mouth, then shut it, her annoyance changing to consternation. "I... I don't know. There are plenty of dust storms, but I don't think it has ever snowed in the Anderfels, save for the top of the tallest of mountains." She pushed away her bowl and stood. "I had better get my gear together, in case Petrus needs me."
"Has this happened before?"
"What, a conscript running away? Yes, though the order takes care not to advertise the fact." Her lips quirked in a sardonic smile. "It would ruin their reputation as grim slayers of darkspawn. Not every conscript is able to take their sudden change in status as Grey Wardens with equanimity. Sadly, they never thought it through, and they're always surprised that they could be found so easily." She cast him an enigmatic look out of the side of her eyes. "And not because of any particular skill on the pursuers' part in tracking."
Varel gave her a blank look, before recalling that Wardens could sense darkspawn, and vice versa. Did that mean Wardens could sense each other, too? That seemed to be what Fiona was implying. He shook off the disturbing thought and excused himself, for he needed to speak to the housekeeper about arranging for rations.
He met Petrus on his way out of the kitchens, who was now burdened with a lance, his bow, and arrows in addition to his saddle bags. "Ah, Seneschal, I was about to get some food."
"I am arranging that, ser - or rather, the housekeeper is," Varel said as he walked with him to the entrance. "You'll also need a dog to help you track him." He opened the door for the other man.
"I can track him perfectly well myself - oh." Petrus stared out at the falling snow and vented another curse.
"Indeed," Fiona said as she approached them. She was now dressed in her traveling robes and carrying her staff, with a pack slung on her shoulder. "Where do you think he has gone? Back to Amaranthine? He could hide in the city until the storms are over, and take ship back to Tevinter."
Petrus shook his head. "Would he dare show his face where people who are carrying a mighty grudge might find him? I think not."
"Surely they're still in prison?" Fiona said, huddling into her cloak as they walked towards the stables.
"But his victims are now free."
"He might go to Highever," Varel said. "There's another port there, and it would be difficult to ask permission of the new teyrn to search the place. Nor would the people there be very helpful."
"Why?"
Varel grimaced. "If you may recall, Arl Howe ordered the murders of the Couslands, and his soldiers treated the survivors and townsfolk abominably before Lowan took charge."
"Ah, yes, I remember. They are not likely to feel cooperative." Petrus rubbed at a scar on his face. "Then I will make sure it will not come to that. Besides, I do not think he even knows the way."
"All he has to do is follow the North Road and go west," Varel said. "He is not known there; he could sell his horse and use the money to find passage."
"Yes, there is that. Then just in case, I think, Fiona, you should go to Amaranthine, and I will go to Highever."
"How do you know he won't just hole up in a cave somewhere?" Fiona gestured at the forests below the Vigil, full of snow-covered trees. "There must be plenty of hiding places out there."
"In the middle of winter? No," Petrus said. "Only someone who either has both great knowledge of the land and superb skills in survival, or a large amount of supplies, can hope to survive alone in the wilderness in this season." He went into the stable to retrieve his horse.
The stablemaster looked on with disapproval, for it went against the grain to allow a guest to saddle his own horse. There was little he could do when Petrus insisted on it, and none of the grooms dared go near the evil beast.
"No armor?" Fiona said, one eyebrow lifting in an elegant arch as Petrus led his horse out into the courtyard.
"Speed is of the essence."
"You'll both need guides." Varel beckoned to Maverlies, who had come out to watch all the activity, but then came up blank as to who should help the second group, for the only ones left who knew the area as well as he did were civilians. Well, there was one other: Varel himself.
As he asked Maverlies to find the most skilled soldiers in woodscraft they had, Varel found himself torn between staying behind and going with them. With both Garevel and Rullens out with the patrols, he was the only one with any authority - such as it was - at the Vigil. But he also had an obligation to aid the Grey Wardens, and he was the best guide available, since Maverlies was going with Fiona.
Still, he conferred with Maverlies when she returned, but she only confirmed his suspicions. "Sorry, ser, but there ain't no one else. Just the greenies are left behind, and they're all from outside the arling."
Varel sighed. "I see." There was no help for it, Clara would have to be left in charge. "I will have to go with Petrus. Maverlies, tell Jacob to bring me my longsword, crossbow, and a quiver of bolts, please." It would be impossible to bring his greatsword.
Maverlies stared at him in surprise. "Are you sure, ser? You hate riding."
"I do, but it can't be helped - the Grey Wardens need guides."
Turning back to the Grey Wardens, Varel said, "Ser, we'll need a little time to make preparations." He stopped Petrus before he could swing himself up into the saddle, but kept a healthy distance between himself and that small but malicious horse. "You can't just charge off into a snowstorm without supplies, ser."
"But the trail is getting cold - in a quite literal sense!" The Grey Warden jerked his hand at the snow falling on them.
Varel nodded. "True, the snow will work both for and against us, but he is only one man, and I know the land better than he does, and we are many to his one. We can ask for shelter, but he cannot. Besides, the dogs won't obey you."
Petrus gave him a ferocious glare, but then looked away and grunted grudging agreement. He heaved a sigh that emerged as a feathery plume of mist. "You are right. I have never tried to track in snow, and I am unfamiliar with this country, with all these blasted trees and hills. Let us prepare, then, and set out once we are ready."
Varel took some thought as to the size of their escort; he could hardly allow them to go out with only one other person. "Adding two additional soldiers to each group would be best, I think. Would you agree?" It was also all they could spare.
"Yes, too many and we are slowed down; too few and we would be vulnerable to darkspawn or bandits." Petrus led his horse back into the stables, unwilling to leave the beast to stand in the cold to no purpose. Fiona went with him, no doubt to take advantage of the warmth.
After ordering Maverlies to get the rest of the escort ready, Varel went to see the kennelmaster, who was in the middle of training two pages to look after the dogs. It was warm inside the kennels; another lad tended a fire to keep the place heated, keeping a close eye on it so that it could not grow out of control. Upon seeing Varel, the man dismissed the pages to their duties. "How can I help you, Seneschal?"
"I need two of your best trackers. Scent hounds would be better, I think, than sight hounds."
The request took the kennelmaster aback. "What? What game could you possibly be after in this weather?"
"Only the most dangerous kind," Varel said, and left it at that.
The kennelmaster grunted, rubbing his chin and looking out at the falling snow. "Hmph, fine, keep your secrets. Take Mer, he's a bit long in the tooth - well, most of our dogs are - and a bit slow now, but he's our best. Blackfoot's young and not as experienced, but she'll probably be even better than Mer once she's older. Both are our most steady hounds."
"Very well, please get them ready for us. They'll need to be able to travel in the cold and snow. And we will need food for them, as well."
Varel left the kennelmaster to it and went to the kitchens, where the housekeeper was using a peel to take hot loaves out of an oven. The huge room was filled with the scents of baking bread and meat cooking on spits, and noisy with people working and talking.
"Clara, it turns out we'll need more than I asked for earlier," Varel said, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of pots clanking and knives chopping.
The housekeeper looked unsurprised, and jerked a flour-covered elbow at a pile of cloth-wrapped packages. "Rations're over there."
There was more than enough for eight people. "How did you know we would need more?" Varel said as he began gathering them in his arms.
Clara just gave him a jaundiced look in response. Varel smiled and said, "I have to go with them, so you're in charge in my absence."
That flustered her as the sudden extra demands for food had not. "What!" she squawked. "No! Ye ain't doin' that ta me again!"
Varel grabbed the rest of the food and retreated as fast as he could. "I won't be gone long, perhaps two or three days at most -"
"Two or three days?!" Clara slid the loaves onto a table and advanced, holding the peel in a very menacing way.
"Ah, sorry, can't stop to talk, very busy, Wardens waiting, must prepare!"
The stablemaster had gotten more horses ready, and Maverlies and the other soldiers were putting their gear away into the saddlebags, and fodder for the animals on packhorses. The dogs, wearing wool and leather outfits that would keep them warm, with their paws wrapped in cloth to protect them from ice and rocks, were panting with excitement, being watched by a page. As Varel handed out the rations, Jacob came trotting up with Varel's weapons.
"Are you going out to fight?" Jacob said as he helped Varel mount his horse.
"I hope not," Varel said as he secured the sword at his side, with the crossbow and quiver on the other. "I should be back in a few days, if not sooner. Keep an eye on things while I'm gone, will you?"
The boy's eyes grew wide. "Yes, ser!"
Unable to restrain his impatience any longer, Petrus clapped his heels to his horse's sides; the little horse reared, then leapt out into a swirl of snow with a startling burst of speed. The rest of them surged after the Grey Warden, and soon the Vigil was lost to Varel's vision in a curtain of white.
