Dangerous Pride
Unfortunately, our plans could not be very precise. Neither of the men had been on Par Vollen in years, which means the situation must have changed from what they knew. Even though Valotaar received regular reports as a member of chief leadership, the success of our mission will hang on details, and these, we do not have.
I do have, however, a general idea of how I'll proceed, although it will be, obviously, subject to change, dependent on circumstances. There's no way to be certain what exactly I'll have to face, even though Arissar does his best to explain the generalities of their techniques to me beforehand. He is, however, trained in strategical espionage, and has little technical knowledge of the re-education. Not to mention, from his words, the said re-education is adjusted to suit the target, and therefore differs depending on it.
So I will be forced to play it by the ear, partially, and hope it works out. Fortunately, my adaptability is one of the things that carried me through the changes in my life, so I pray it will ease things along this time as well.
As we enter the port, it hits me, a blow in my gut, how accurate Valotaar's words prove to be. There is a fucking myriad of ships docking around; I can see the shipyard working in full swing. There are two dreadnoughts being built, and a few more undergoing repairs. In short - way too many for my peace of mind.
I feel oppressed by the Capital City of Par Vollen. It irritates me that I am letting it intimidate me, even though, I am certain, it was built with precisely this effect in mind. The buildings are all blocky, rectangular and almost modern in their precise, rigorous layout. Eerily reminiscent of the ones from Earth, only without glass and architectural tricks to make them seem lighter, more bearable. And all in the boring grey, practical and ugly. Whole streets of identical houses, side by side, exactly the same and so… artless. So dispiritingly lifeless. Grey.
Arlathan was the picture of glory. Minrathous of the past shined with prosperity, and even now, it is ostensibly dazzling, in the right places. Antiva is vibrant, and brims with energy, both on street, and off it. Even Kirkwall has its own identity, a history of struggle written on the paving and walls, easily read by observant eye. But here, in the center of Qun? There's no soul, unlike any other city I've been to. Just… shapes. And straight lines.
I do not have much time to get a closer look, delve into these streets, as I am roughly pulled by the chain on my wrists. The guard in front is impatient to deliver me to the camp, and go to a tavern, or do whatever the allowed respite for soldiers here is. Valotaar would have preferred to send someone he could trust along with me with me, but I persuaded him otherwise. Even if he explained it by his sense of responsibility to see the task till its end, I was against anything which could put him under closer scrutiny. He has to be above reproach for our plan to succeed, and worrying about a thief would surely raise some eyebrows.
The camp is not an improvement over the city's atmosphere, barracks for housing people, with metal bars on windows and metal prison doors. In front, an empty field of bare, paved ground where unfortunate detainees train to keep fit. A few workshops on the side, for people to work in. And a massive wall, surrounding it all. Mustn't forget the wall.
I look at the huge stone blocks, piled atop one another and joined with a splash of mortar, and shudder. Some of them are larger than me, and it must have taken considerable work to place them there. The overwhelming impression it gives, the feeling of despair, is a wholly intentional result.
I shrug off these unwelcome feelings, before weakness can take root in me. I cannot afford it.
The other prisoners stare at me with blatant curiosity, but I am not given a chance to return the favour, swiftly shoved into a single cell without windows, behind heavy, metal door. It seems they were told I was a flight risk.
And so it begins.
The Qunari re-education officers are much more professional and deliberate about their tasks than the slavers I've met ever were. I would have been impressed by their techniques, and careful administration of gradually applied pressure, if not for the fact I have to experience it on my own skin. I am unable to get a rise out of them, which helped in hastening the end of daily sessions with my former torturers. They simply lost their temper, and consequently, I lost my consciousness from their careless blows.
Qunari are unimpressed, unmoved by my derision and contempt.
They are also very methodical, using what they know of the customs and general psychological knowledge to their advantage, dosing violence and pressure accordingly. I should feel honoured that they have adjusted their approach for my sake, but for the love of Creators, I cannot find it in me to appreciate special treatment. Perhaps I would be less ungrateful if it weren't, well, tortures we are talking about.
Firstly, they try to take away my dignity. Stripping me of my clothes in front of a forum of impassionate observers, a very thorough check is performed. There are, apparently, practical concerns to it, as people try to slip in numerous tools through, whether to try to get away, or kill themselves – using every possible means to get past the guards. Or holes. But the procedure is made as humiliating as possible, to evoke feelings of shame and despair in the recipient.
Then comes the beating, and pushing my body to exhaustion, and violation of myself in numerous ways. I'm put in a solitary cell for days, at times, without breathing a word to anyone, and it is supposed to get both my claustrophobia and the need for contact going. I remember suddenly, with a touch of cynicism, an old Chinese torture from Earth – leaving someone by a constantly dripping water. I wonder if it would have worked, here, but obviously, I am not giving them any ideas. They are plenty creative on their own.
And frustrated, because nothing just seems to work.
The thing is, there are many things supporting me, and they're unaware of them. First and the most important fact, is the bone-deep awareness that I could break out of here anytime I wished. I am supposed to feel helpless and abandoned and weak, it's supposed to make me more pliable and susceptible to suggestion, yet I'm not. I still have my magic, my aura close-clinging to my skin, coiled around me like a viper ready to strike. And when the guard comes to violate me – being reduced to a mere whore is to make me think less of myself – I entertain all of the hundreds ways in which I could kill him, at this very moment. When his hands rough up my breasts, I think on how I could break them so thoroughly the bones would be crushed to dust. When he chokes me, and I wheeze trying to catch a staggering breath, I wonder how his own windpipe would have fared after a pointed kick. And when he reaches his peak inside me, his body trembling in release, I imagine ripping his heart out, the way I saw Ghost do. I am pretty certain I could do it, even if I lack his lyrium, my powers would be enough. Though far less glowy or spectacular.
This is why I am indifferent to it, while with June, I was not. Here, I can fight back, I'm simply choosing not to, at least, not until I know our purpose is accomplished. It makes all the difference.
The lonely confinement is to fray on my nerves, but instead, it is a blessed respite which I use to reinforce my defences. Normal person would have hated the close walls, crowding the occupant of the room, and the lack of windows. And the boredom, because there's nothing but one's thoughts here. I am a mage, and Fade is never away from me. I've never tried to consciously reach it before in my dreams, and while I am no Somniari, or have the deep connection like Evanuris to the breath of the world, my spark is sufficient. I can't shape it, but nonetheless, Spirits find me in my dreams, and so, I am never truly alone. And I am never bored, because the Fade in my dreams flows and changes and I can play along.
Thus, all of the mental burdens placed on me are rendered meaningless.
The physical pain I've long grown used to, and dealt with, so the fact that I tolerate it without batting an eyelash is unsurprising for me. I contemplate dispassionately what a sad life I must have lived, if a regular torture is not upsetting me much.
A few weeks in, Arissar arrives, in accordance to our previous plans, both as a backup and a source of information regarding the progress of our mission – obviously, closed off from the world, I am both deaf, and blind in regards to what is happening outside. Valotaar has some arrangements in place already, our escape route laid out. But the offence is yet far from prepared, and I know, I have to be patient for a while longer.
It feels strange, to be one of the smaller cogs in place, for a change, instead of master manipulator behind the scheme. I've grown used to my importance in the Wings, and so, now, being reduced to merely waiting until my time comes is grating.
'Are you sure you want to continue?' Arissar asks me quietly remaining behind to close me back up in my cell after a particularly arduous session. Blood is flowing down from between my legs, and I struggle to keep up with him, as we pass through the empty corridors. I slump against the wall of my confinement room, overcame with momentary weakness. Nonetheless, I raise my head and glare at him, pursing my lips stubbornly.
For me, it would be admitting defeat, if I gave up now. It would mean they succeeded in getting to me.
I refuse to let them win; my pride would never allow me it.
There are days when I think darkly that it will be my final downfall. There will come a day when I take a leap, which will have me crashing down. With no Fen to shield me from the impact, this time.
Yes, yes, I admit, all this time in solitude had turned me somewhat philosophical and introspective. Well, who can blame me? With only myself for a regular company, since I refuse to call my handlers a company of any kind.
The problematic thing turns out to be, unexpectedly, the pretend-to-be-breaking part of the exercise. I need to make it believable, but whenever they come, I instinctively retreat behind my walls, and that does not convince them of any progress being made. It becomes especially worrisome, once Arissar warns me that if I do not step down from my game, they'll attempt to use drugs on me.
I bless Creators for the fact that on Thedas, the drugs are still not very developed, faulty, and therefore, not commonly used. They hold risks of rendering the recipient crazy, or make them a slobbering, mindless puppet.
For me, the scariest possibility is the fact that the way they affect mind could make me betray my magic. And then, everything would be over, both for me, and for Valotaar.
So I make a better effort, and reach out to my memories from the Andrastian war, and then, farther back, to Arlathan. I recount all of the numerous ways in which I've failed, both people who depended on me, and myself. With luck, they mistake guilt for loosing spirit, and put off the risky chemicals.
Additional few pointed suggestions and advices from Arissar, and danger is averted, for the time being. Scrutiny over me lessens, as does severity of the abuse, and instead, I spend days on lectures from the Tamassran, introducing Qun to me as means of leaving the camp. The way they paint it, a great solution to all of world's troubles, makes it easy to comprehend how, why, people turn. Why they abandon reason and logic of their own in favour of this new order. Once broken, they're susceptible to manipulation, and with the proper suggestions, the mercy of the system can be easily portrayed in a positive light.
I speak all the right words in appropriate places, and after six months, they believe me cowed enough to start helping with work around the camp. People here are being re-educated, but also, they earn their keep in the Qun. No exceptions.
I meet with my fellow prisoners, and alongside them, am catered towards some of the tasks – as a female of a rather lithe body structure, they do not place unreasonable demands. I am placed in potion making facilities, and grimly, I realize, these are not the typical, everyday concoctions. No, these are all for battle – and I am decidedly unhappy with this knowledge. To think they're already preparing for the invasion.
I can't say I befriend any of them. We are separated by culture, custom, closer scrutiny and attention paid to me by our handlers, and, last and not least, language. Most of them are unfamiliar with anything but Quanlat, and my own understanding of it is… lacklustre is a kind word. I know maybe a few phrases.
The ones that do know Common are not keen on serving as translators… On serving as anything at all, and they keep to themselves. To each his own, here, is the motto.
Still, after a time, they warm up to me, somewhat, and I have a few cautious conversations with horned man who tells me to call him Tarvash.
Tarvash is frighteningly observant, and luckily for me, still unbroken, because otherwise, I would have been a goner. It takes him only a few days to catch onto a fact that I try to conceal from the enforcers.
'You are far from beaten, aren't you?'
My heart stops for a moment from shock, but I force myself to glance at him with controlled indifference. After a moment of staring contest, he shrugs, and abandons the issue. But I keep my guard up, ever since. If he could figure it out, so could others.
Finally, Arissar tells me the preparations are finished. The whole things is planned in two days, and I am giddy in anticipation – finally, finally, I am getting out of this hellhole. This whole passive inaction was really getting to me.
My inmates can feel my excitement, but keep it to themselves – honour among thieves, or some other, strange kind of loyalty, against the jailers. I look at them and wonder, whether I should bring it up, or simply leave them behind. There's nothing connecting the bunch of us, not really, aside from being in the same unfortunate place at the same time – but I am reluctant to simply leave them behind.
I reach out to Tarvash, and tell him that I'm going to make a run for it, and that should any of the others wish, they could follow. He looks at me with uninmpressed, Qunari version of ridicule.
'And just how are you planning on doing that, Bas?' The man snorts, crossing his muscled arms.
'Well, you will just have to trust me.' I reply evenly, unwilling to risk my plans by betraying them prematurely. I do not trust that there are no spies, mingling among the prisoners – that's what I would have done in the overseers' place. And considering that they have been successfully running the place for years, I would guess they're better at this than me.
He scoffs derisively.
'If you break out, then we will talk.'
One would think they would jump at the occasion to get out of here, but no, look a gift horse in the mouth, first.
'It will be too late for talk, then. I won't have time for dallying.' It's ridiculous, I have no fucking time to spare for arguing about this. I tap my feet impatiently, looking at him levelly, and he turns his gaze away, with apparent discomfort.
'Fine.' He grumbles. 'If you have means of getting us out, then I'll gather the people.'
I nod, and pause mid-motion, forced by my conscience to add by the leave,
'A word of warning – it will be dangerous.'
This time, he smiles, with a touch of humour.
'We are convicts, obviously, they will give chase.'
Of course it would be dangerous, I scold myself, shaking my head as I walk away. Running is dangerous, and staying behind is too. Living in Thedas is dangerous! I refrain from correcting his assumptions regarding the nature of danger – I still do not trust him enough to divulge any details.
The following day we are, as usual, catered off to our tasks, under careful watch of our guards. To my vicious delight, the one assigned to me this day is a man who was the one responsible for applying some of the more creative techniques used on me.
Reaching out to my magic is like welcoming an old friend. I wore it like a mantle around me, but the lack of touch, of power flowing through me, was making me itchy. I've never went that long without actually using it, ever since I've learnt how to. I cannot imagine how have I lived without it before. My life on Earth is blurry and seems bland, and incredibly distant.
My aura stretches, answering to my call, as I coat my fingers in deadly, silver glow, cutting through my restraints during a moment of inattention on my watcher's part. A blink of an eye later, and I clean blood off my fingers, as the horned man lifelessly slumps to the ground.
'Well, that was easy. Considering I am terribly out of practice…' I mutter to myself, mentally reviewing the plan.
Arissar went ahead, to help Valotaar in arranging a commotion sufficient to draw everyone's attention away from the port. Me? I get the easy, blowing up part of the deal. But considering that I've just upped the stakes, deciding to bring along a couple of misfits, I just might barely make it.
It brings release, and I can breathe more easily, as I deliver vengeful death on the heads of my oppressors, one by one. As the body count grows, time is slipping away, and I make sure to hasten myself.
Once I'm done with the watchers, I meet Tarvash by the gate, with a few Qunari whom I've seen around. As expected, most opted to remain, instead of risking themselves to an uncertain fate.
Their loss.
Tarvash's eyes widen, as I cut through the chains binding them with apparent ease, before strolling and opening the gates with a key, picked up from one of the… unfortunately… deceased. The grin he throws my way is toothy and savage, and I remember the stories Ebareth told me.
All Qunari have a potential to lose themselves in their brutal nature, without proper guidance – that's why they need the Qun. To keep their tempers in check with the rigours of discipline.
Excuses, I told him. One doesn't need a whole fucking system to be disciplined. If they are more aggressive, then it's all about the approach to the problem, about determination. Ebareth was fine, wasn't he?
However, it is a particularly bad moment to fall back into general musings, and I shake myself out of them forcefully. I have to keep my mind on the task.
Western part of Par Vollen Capital City is engulfed in fiery glow. I can see from the distance, heat making metal glow, and the yellow and red ribbons of flames, dancing with the wind. It allows us safe and swift passage through the city, right up to harbour, where I meet with Arissar.
'Most of the soldiers have gone to help with the disaster, but some remained.' He says, falling into step behind me.
'They won't be a problem' I reassure him, speeding up my gait with a touch of magic. Before he can stop me, I blur, with a swift Fade steps traversing the distance between me and the opposition before they realize my presence.
Oh, how I missed it. Blood pumps wildly in my veins, awakened by adrenaline. But my head is clear and thinking sharp, as I count in my head, evenly, like a metronome. One, and a splatter of blood from a cut artery on the wall. Two, and the horned, clad in heavy armour man slumps from slashed tendons on his knees, screaming out his pain. Three, and a step away from an arrow sent my way by an archer from the upper level, with a side kick, sending the crippled soldier mercifully to his death. And again. One, blink across the distance between me and a shooter, two, dodge of a small hand-blade thrust my way. Three, and the large body sent flying down, his neck breaking with the fall on the count of four.
Tarvash arrives at the scene, and begins asking questions, which I pointedly ignore, wiping the blood from my hands on a sailcloth. Arissar informs me where gaatlok is being stored, with all of the recent supplies delivered - on the Arishok's request. I nod my acknowledgement, telling him I'll dispatch of all hostiles in the shipyard, and he can begin with distribution of the explosive.
Fortunately, there's not much work to be done. When it comes down to it, most of the stuff around is wooden, or from other easily flammable materials. We just need to make sure that when the fire finally starts, all of the most important machines like cranes, carving tools, new ships and their docks, blow to bits, or burn to ashes.
However Valotaar arranged his distraction – the other fire – it was very effective, as no more than a dozen of people remain on the large shipbuilding complex. I dispose of them without remorse, or even longer stop, and then return to Arissar to help with the gaatlok. Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, people from the camp I've brought, assist us too. Tarvosh directs them, in accordance with Arissar's words.
I guess they figured the faster we were done, the faster we would be leaving.
For all it took so long to prepare, the actual action is over anticlimactically efficiently, and swift. Too easy. Probably because that's how all of the best operations, which play out without a hitch, ought to go. And after six months, it is only expected it was perfect.
But as I gather them and we board the ship Valotaar's trusted attendants took over this very day, I realize that my contentment was premature.
There is still no sign of my Arishok.
I cast a worried glance to Arissar, who impassively orders to prepare for departure. Soldiers begin raising the sails, manning the oars, and loading the cannons. I feel a sense of dread as I observe the commotion, people I've taken with me from the camp seamlessly incorporated into the crew as part of the rowers.
It is only once we set out that I realize Arissar wasn't planning on waiting for his leader at all. And I blow up, demanding we stop at once, and ensure we get out everyone stranded inland. To my despair, the former Ben'Hassrath ignores me, and orders the cannonade to begin.
The final surprize for the Qun, shocking the idle, skeletal crews that were left on the ships in the harbour. One by one, this part of their fleet sinks, brought down by their own invention.
As I fume and rage, Ben'Hassrath begins his explanations, his even voice cutting through the noise.
'One of our people betrayed us. We knew our time was running short, as he was coming closer to uncovering the whole scheme, so we pushed things forward in a way which guaranteed the success of our mission.' Arissar looks at me steadily, disregarding my fury. 'My Arishok knew he likely wouldn't make it out, that in order to outwit our traitor and his supervisors, he would have to lay his life in sacrifice.'
I bit my lip viciously, and a drop of blood trickles down from the wound.
'Valotaar sent only his most trusted people to take over the ship, the ones we knew for certain weren't in league with the traitor. His priority was getting you out, safely, before everything else. And second was the success of the mission.'
'He agreed with you, Quicksilver, wholeheartedly. You convinced him that the Qun could not take over the world, and he was remorseful towards the way in which he had supported it thus far. He decided that this sacrifice would be his penance for his past actions.'
I disagree with him, them. As they knew I would have. Which is why they hadn't told me anything, until it was too late to do anything about it.
I do not think Valotaar's sacrifice was necessary, nor warranted. We could have abandoned the whole thing, went about it differently, instead of trying to save it at this cost. We could have tried talking with Raiders about offensive action against Par Vollen, or convinced Tevinter of necessity of a preventive strike.
These were, had always been, my backup plans. Unlikely to succeed, but I would much rather try this way, than lose Valotaar in such manner. I liked him. He was precious, unusual. I could have grown to love him. And now, I'll never get a chance.
I flex my fingers and clench them back into fists, a few times, looking contemplatively into distance. I could try, and force them to turn back.
As if guessing my thoughts – or maybe they were just written on my face – Arissar says,
'I cannot let you go back. In this, his orders, his authority, supersedes yours over me.' He shakes his head, and with horror, I realize, that none of the people here will listen to me. They, all of them, will respect the final wish of their leader.
Even if this wish is the one which will cost him his life.
