Petrus seemed amiable enough when Varel suggested the addition to their somewhat spontaneous itinerary after relaying what the innkeep had told him. "I do not think it is darkspawn, but better to make sure."
"Why don't you think it is darkspawn?" One of the soldiers was holding Varel's horse at the mounting block, which Varel used to haul himself into the saddle. The old gelding sighed as he took Varel's full armored weight again.
The Grey Warden looked around and shook his head as he put his helmet back on. "Not enough damage, and no one died."
"Ah." Varel tried to put out of his mind all the disasters the darkspawn could visit upon a small town like Haftend, managing not to wince. He wondered if Petrus had some experience when it came to arriving too late to save something from those monsters.
The wooden palisade surrounding the town sufficed to repel brigands, but he doubted it could stand up to a determined darkspawn assault. And while it was conceivable that the townsfolk could escape on barges, the river was still thawing. Even after the ice was broken up, the current was not so fast that they could get out of bow range without considerable casualties. And what if the darkspawn knew how to make fire arrows?
Varel put on his own helmet, more for the warmth it gave than in the expectation of trouble, and led them out of Haftend and down a path that consisted of trampled snow and melting, dirty slush to the village's woodlot, which the palisade did not enclose. Several sections of trees had been coppiced, leaving a large gap that gave them a good view of the untouched woods beyond. Petrus shook his head at the mess in the dirt, but Varel knew it would be impossible for the other man to distinguish one set of tracks from another, especially when he had never seen Egan's footprints before.
"Ah, here we are," the Grey Warden said as he directed his horse to the edge of the woodlot. He pointed at a set of footprints that meandered away from the others.
There were ditches and high earthen walls that set the boundaries of the woods designated for the village's use; everything else beyond technically belonged to the new arlessa, but it was clear Egan had taken advantage of the ruler's absence and Varel's preoccupation with much more pressing matters to collect wood without paying the fee. Egan's tracks stood out clear enough in the undisturbed snow for even Varel to spot them, so it was easy for the rest of them to follow.
While the footprints leaving the village looked unhurried and straight, what had caught Petrus's attention were the ones returning, and judging from the length between each print, and how they meandered, the man had been in much more of a hurry coming back to Haftend.
Egan had not gone all that far, for they soon came upon the bundle of firewood the man had gathered, now scattered about, as if it had been thrown down in haste. What Varel could not see was what had frightened Egan so, since there were no signs of a struggle, nor the prints of either a humanoid or a beast. There was also nothing as obvious as an arrow still stuck in a tree or in the ground.
"It seems as if he looked back over his shoulder several times as he ran back," Varel said. "But I do not see any signs of anyone or anything chasing him."
Petrus nodded. "From the look of his footprints when he came out of the village, he was sober - enough to walk a straight line, in any case."
The Grey Warden bade them wait with a gesture, no doubt to keep them from muddling the trail, then had his horse walk off the road and into the trees. Other than the crunching of the snow as the beast's hooves sank into it and the creaking of leather as the soldiers shifted in their saddles, there was a profound silence that could only be found in a snow-covered forest in winter.
Like a cat, Petrus peered at things Varel could not see; at times he would inspect the ground, which at least made sense, but then he would stop to look at certain trees for no reason Varel could discern.
Varel eyed the darkening sky and was about to call Petrus when the other man turned his horse and trotted back to them. "Did you find anything, ser?"
"Perhaps. There is a Dalish clan camped nearby. Odd, that - they usually never dare to come so close to a human village."
"A Dalish clan?" Varel glanced around at the still-bare trees, but saw nothing amiss, and certainly no pennants or banners. Did the Dalish even use such things? "How can you tell?"
The Grey Warden gave him an exasperated look. "There are signs, if you know where to look." He nodded at a tree that looked no different from any other. "See that, there? It says, among other things, that there is a safe campsite."
Dutifully, Varel gave the tree a closer scrutiny, then gave up after a few moments. It was a tree, with all the bits he usually associated with trees all accounted for: branches, roots, bark, but no leaves yet. "I don't see it, ser. Sorry."
"No matter," Petrus said with a shrug. "I wonder... could they be the ones who chased this Egan away?"
"I suppose it is possible. The headman said Egan is not a particularly reliable witness, especially after he has imbibed too much beer." Varel could almost feel sorry for poor Egan, though if even half the tales he had heard of the Dalish were true, the man had gotten off lightly.
Petrus looked around again. "I think it is only polite to go speak to them."
"Er, is that wise, ser? I've heard the Dalish can be quite savage in the defense of their camps." Varel glanced back at their escort, townsmen all, who would be of little help in the woods. For that matter, Varel himself would be useless, as well. The elves could turn them all into pincushions in less than ten heartbeats if they so chose.
"You're gonna talk to the Dalish? They're no better than beasts, ser!" one of the soldiers said as he peered nervously around at the woods, as if expecting elves to come swooping down on him from the trees at any moment.
Petrus raised a brow. "They are actually quite reasonable as long as you do not attack them or encroach upon their camps without permission." He paused. "Of course, they have little cause for forbearance and rarely grant it."
Varel frowned at the soldier who had spoken up. "Considering how badly we humans treat elves, as revealed by such rude remarks, that is hardly a surprise." He turned back to the Grey Warden. "How will you contact them?"
"How else? By knocking on their door. So to speak. Come, this way." With a jerk of his head, Petrus had them follow him off the road and further into the woods, where their horses slowed so that they could avoid the roots and other obstacles hidden under the snow.
They had gone perhaps a mile, pausing a few times while they waited for Petrus to examine the trees, when a sudden space opened up, one that had been left by a fallen tree that had knocked down several of its fellows.
Petrus dismounted and said to the empty - or empty-seeming - forest, "Ara seranna-ma. I am a Grey Warden, and I wish to speak to your Keeper or your hahren." Varel noted the other man was careful to keep his hands away from his weapons. The forest absorbed the words into a waiting silence and returned nothing.
"What will you do if no one answers the door?" Varel said, using the Grey Warden's own metaphor.
The Grey Warden snorted. "We continue on our journey. What else? I have no more desire than you do of being skewered with Dalish arrows, which is what will happen if I try to enter their camp uninvited."
"You are well informed - for a shem."
Varel and the soldiers flinched and whirled towards the direction the voice had suddenly come from, the abrupt motions startling their mounts. They reached for their weapons in sheer reflex; only Petrus remained unruffled. While the Dalish elf, who had appeared as if out of thin air, had his longbow in hand, it was not currently aimed at them, but Varel had no doubt that would change if any of them made a hostile move. And just because there was only one Dalish elf visible, that did not mean he was alone; there were probably a dozen others out there with their lethal bows pointed at them right now, Varel thought, and began to sweat despite the cold.
It was easy to see how they could have missed seeing the elf; he was dressed in armor dyed all in earth tones, with patterns that mimicked tree bark and leaves, with a matching cloak. The trees in this part of the forest were tall, sturdy monarchs of great age, and had never been touched by human hands; a dozen elves could be hiding behind one of their stout trunks.
Petrus simply turned and gave the tattooed elf a measuring look, then a nod; Varel could only admire his imperturbability. "Andaran atish'an. I am Petrus, a Grey Warden. I wish to speak to your Keeper, or your hahren, if the Keeper is not available."
The elf paused to consider the question, then gave a grudging nod. "Shem or not, members of your order have always been welcome amongst the Dalish, but we cannot allow so many shemlen into our camp. You may enter, but you may only bring one other."
Varel did not allow his face or voice to betray any of his doubt when he dismounted. "I will accompany you, Petrus."
The Grey Warden raised a brow at him, but did not demur. He turned to the sentry. "Will that do?"
The elf nodded again. "Come, then. It grows late," he said, with the unspoken implication that he wanted them to get out and away their camp as soon as possible.
Varel turned to the soldiers, who had also dismounted. "Stay here and keep your heads down while you wait for us to return."
"We will not be long, perhaps an hour," Petrus said. "The Dalish will not tolerate our presence for long." The elf, who was still watching them from afar, did not dispute the Grey Warden's words.
"Can we at least have a fire?" one of the soldiers said, sounding plaintive. They were no doubt wishing they had stayed back at the inn.
Varel looked a question at the Dalish guard, whose expression, what could be seen of it under the elaborate tattoo, suggested he would not mind letting shemlen stand out in the dark and cold. But while it was obvious the elf would rather they all go away and throw themselves off a cliff, Varel thought he might have a smidgen of sympathy for the horses.
"The horses will grow chilled in this cold," Varel said, when the Dalish did not speak. "Perhaps a small fire?"
The elf looked very put-upon, but after a moment, he sighed and said, "One of my people will show you to a firepit you can use." He whistled, and two more Dalish stepped into view, confirming Varel's guess that there were more of the elves out there; they had also taken up excellent positions to set up a crossfire.
The Dalish looked at them with barely concealed contempt; Varel did not even have to look at the soldiers behind him to know they must be bristling in response. "Stand down, you fools," he said in a low but stern voice over his shoulder. The sounds of weapons being drawn ceased in the guilty silence that followed.
One of the Dalish sentries approached warily, an arrow in one hand and a longbow in the other, and pointed at a small but deep pit that had been dug away from any trees; there was a smaller hole a handspan away from it. "You may light a fire here," she said. Indicating one of the fallen trees, she added, "If you need to piss or shit, do it there, and be sure you cover your waste."
"Do it," Varel said, before any of the soldiers could protest the order - or the source. He handed his reins to one of them; Petrus simply ground tied his own horse. "Eberard, go gather wood and tinder, Sorden, go over there and dig a trench. Gerry and Wedell, you two take care of the horses. And mind your tongues - not to mention your manners."
The first Dalish elf made a curt beckoning gesture and turned without looking to see if they followed, leading them away from the clearing and deeper into the forest. Despite being leafless as yet, the trees grew close enough together that the light began to grow dim, making Varel nervous. The Dalish moved as easily as a man walking around his own home, while Petrus and Varel stumbled over the occasional root or rock.
To Varel's relief, the trees thinned again, and he saw those curious wagons the Dalish used to travel, which looked so much more graceful than the big, blocky ones used everywhere else. He stared in some wonder as pale, deer-like beasts the size of horses wandered about the camp and milled around in a group near the vehicles. They were magnificent creatures, with fantastically carved horns, their winter coats thick but sleek, as if someone had troubled to groom them. Though they roamed where they wished, Varel did not see droppings littering the place. Did someone clear them away, were they used for fuel, or were they smart enough to go to a specific spot to eliminate?
There were more Dalish elves, wearing practical furs, leathers, and wool clothes, not armor, who looked up from their tasks to stare at them with various expressions of curiosity or hostility. Most of them were hostile, and Varel kept his face bland and inoffensive, a skill he had been forced to develop while working for the late arl, and he had a great deal of practice at it. The elves had reason to hate humans; he kept telling himself that as his stomach grew tight with tension. Some even hid their children at the sight of them, as if fearing they would be snatched away, or corrupted just by seeing them.
The camp was not laid out with anything like military precision, but Varel could see it was organized, just in a different way than he was used to. The halla wandered where they would instead of being tied to a picket line, as did dogs, which would not be allowed in a human camp, for they tended to make horses skittish. The slushy piles of snow had been swept away, leaving bare ground, which at least looked neater if not cleaner, and he could not smell any trash or waste. The clearing was not large enough to accommodate all of them, because he could see a few of the wagons among the trees on the far side. Though he could see fires had been set in deep pits, and smell them burning, they were remarkably smokeless.
The dogs began barking at them as soon as they saw or scented the strangers in their midst, and bounded towards them. They winced at the noise and halted; Varel braced himself, wondering if their masters would allow them to leap upon their unwanted guests, but someone cried out a sharp word he did not understand, and the dogs came to a reluctant stop. There was a hint of a smirk on their guide's face before he turned away, as if he were enjoying their discomfort.
Their Dalish escort led them to the center of the camp, where an elf sat in solitary splendor on a tree stump in front of another fire hole. Varel could not even tell what gender they were, for they were swathed in a voluminous, fur-edged leather cloak embroidered with geometric designs in bold colors, their face hidden in a hood. Beneath the cloak, he could see that, unlike the other elves, they wore robes of a peculiar cut, though they were just as practical as what the rest of the Dalish in camp wore. Their guide bent and whispered into their ear, then made a respectful bow as he was dismissed back to his post.
The elf drew back their hood, revealing an aged woman, whose wrinkled face was marked by the same sort of intricate tattoo the guards had sported, though in a different pattern. Her long white hair had been bound into a myriad of tiny braids, wound into a complicated crown on her head. Despite the staff she used to lever herself to her feet, she held herself up straight and proud.
"Andaran atish'an, Keeper," Petrus said with a respectful bow.
The elf's tattooed brows rose at Petrus's greeting; Varel thought she looked surprised, but perhaps also pleased. Her gaze was disconcerting in its directness; the elves who lived in the city did not often meet the eyes of humans, for fear humans might see it as antagonism.
Varel could not hope to repeat the foreign words, but he also bowed. He did not recognize the title, but it had to be the Dalish term for their leader. "Good day to you, Keeper."
"Andaran atish'an, strangers," she said, her tone wary yet polite. Despite her age, her voice was strong and clear. She scrutinized them both, before finally settling her gaze on Petrus. "Yes, you have the look of a Grey Warden. I am Ilshae, the Keeper of this clan."
"I am Petrus, a Grey Warden from Weisshaupt Fortress," Petrus said. He gestured at Varel. "This is Varel, the seneschal of Vigil's Keep."
Ilshae gave Varel a nod, as regal as any noble. She gestured at a fallen log across from her own seat, padded with leather coverings. "Please, sit."
At this point in a meeting, wash water and food would have been offered, at least in a normal household, whether rich or poor, but Varel had the feeling none would be forthcoming.
Once they had all sat down, Petrus said, "May I ask where you met a Grey Warden before?"
"By chance, we met another clan nearby who told us that the Grey Wardens had invoked an ancient treaty that called upon the Dalish to help them fight the darkspawn horde," Ilshae said. "So I sent the best hunters I could spare to aid them. That clan's Keeper was new to the position, but young and vigorous, so I stayed behind to guard our combined clans' young and infirm."
Petrus nodded at the wisdom of this. "Did all of your people return safely?"
"Yes, they did." Ilshae breathed a sigh of relief that misted in the air. "The Grey Wardens had them act as scouts and skirmishers, roles well suited to our hunters, though they are more used to fighting in the woods, not in a city. I had feared that they would be placed on the front lines."
"I am glad you honored the treaty." Petrus's lips took on a cynical twist. "You could have let the shemlen fight it out themselves."
Ilshae's face grew pinched. "The Dalish made that grievous error once, and we were nearly destroyed because of it. Make no mistake, Grey Warden, it was simple pragmatism that moved me and my people to help. I have no love for you shemlen. None of us do."
Petrus waved this bald sentiment aside with remarkable equanimity. "As long as you fight the darkspawn, Keeper, I do not care what you think of us."
The Keeper opened her hand in acceptance of this dubious endorsement. "A truly interesting attitude you have, Grey Warden."
More amused than offended, Petrus said, "Well, then, now that you have made no secret of your opinion, and I have expressed my indifference to it, why don't you tell me where you met a Grey Warden?"
"I met one of the surviving Grey Wardens after the battle. He is the king now, I'm told." Ilshae did not sound very impressed. "There were four at the battle, but two of them perished fighting the archdemon, and the other was badly wounded."
Varel spoke for the first time during this meeting. "The Grey Warden who was badly wounded, Elethea Cousland, has been named Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and will arrive at Vigil's Keep in the summer to take charge of the arling."
Ilshae's ironic expression seemed to suggest she did not care who came to govern Amaranthine. Before the Blight had descended upon them, it was an attitude she shared with most of the freeholders of the nation, had she but known it, Varel thought. "I hope she will rule wisely."
"That is my hope as well," Varel said in all earnestness. He hesitated, then said, "Has anyone thought to warn you about the darkspawn?"
The elf's wrinkled face twisted into an unhappy frown. "No, but then we actively avoid contact with shemlen, so who would tell us? But now I may have an explanation for why a few of our halla inexplicably sickened."
"Why do you say that?" Petrus said, leaning forward with interest.
"I think the darkspawn may be indirectly responsible for a few of our halla sickening after grazing near an abandoned quarry. They were healthy, not too old or young, and they are too intelligent to eat poisonous plants or mushrooms, so their sudden illness presented me with a distressing puzzle." Ilshae rubbed her face. "That is why we are now camped so close - too close - to a shem village; we must remain here while they recover. I sent my First to find healing herbs, or she would be here to greet you."
Petrus raised his brows. "Finding any herbs at all in winter is a difficult task."
"She is my First for a reason. I have faith in her." Ilshae grimaced. "Though I now wonder whether they will do any good."
"My friend who is staying at Vigil's Keep - her name is Fiona - is a skilled healer and herbalist, with much experience with Blight sickness. I could ask her if she is willing to come take a look at your halla." Petrus paused. "But she is what you Dalish would call a 'round-ear'," he said, his face twisting in distaste.
"What is a 'round-ear'?" Varel said in a whisper to the other man.
"It is what the Dalish call city elves. Too human to be true elves, see."
That explained Petrus's sneer. Varel imagined the other man would have little patience for such sentiments.
Ilshae's expression did not change, nor did she deny it, but she did incline her head. "Thank you for the offer. I would welcome a Grey Warden's expertise, and so will our halla tenders."
"As long as you make her welcome, I will ask her. I can look at them as well, though I have nothing like Fiona's expertise," the Grey Warden said. He made a face, then squared his shoulders, as if about to impart bad news. "I hate being the bearer of ill news, but if your halla have truly contracted Blight sickness and do not recover, they may have to be killed to keep the corruption from spreading, not only to the other halla, but to your people and to the land."
The Keeper looked as pained as if Petrus had told her she might have to kill her own children. "I realize that, Grey Warden. I hope it will not come to that."
"I know also that you bury your dead and plant a tree over their body, but you must burn the halla if they are put down. That is the only way we know to cleanse the corruption." The Grey Warden made an apologetic gesture. "I know it goes against your funeral customs, but it must be done."
Ilshae nodded. "That much I knew. I will, as always, do what is necessary to protect the clan."
"In the meantime, I suggest you keep a sharp eye out for darkspawn, and tell your people to be alert while they are in the forest." Petrus pointed to the north. "We fought off a large group of them not far from here, some weeks ago."
The Keeper's brows drew down. "I thought the darkspawn fled back to their underground lairs once the archdemon was slain."
Petrus scowled at the reminder. "Yes, well, that seems not to be the case this time."
"An ill omen indeed. Thank you for bringing this warning." Ilshae cast a worried eye over the camp. "As if we did not have troubles enough."
"You are willing to endanger your entire camp for a few halla?" Varel said in some disbelief. The Dalish had no physical protections but the vigilance of their sentries, their bows, and their woodscraft. They had no place to make a stand. If they had to run, they would be slowed down by the ones too sick to escape.
The Keeper looked offended. "We would no more abandon a sick halla than we would a sick child. Did you think they are like your horses? They have minds of their own, and they go where they will - they are our guides and companions, not beasts of burden."
"Why not leave the affected halla here, with attendants, while you move camp?" Petrus's lips quirked. "I'm sure you are not happy that two shemlen know of your camp's current location. It should not be difficult to construct a shelter that can protect them from the cold and the elements."
Ilshae gave Petrus a dry look. "You are correct in your guess, though it is clear to me you know nothing of halla, if you think the herd can be parted so easily. Their mates, children, and siblings are already upset because I had to separate them."
There was a challenging look in Petrus's eyes. "If they are as intelligent as you say, surely you will have no difficulty convincing them."
The Keeper did not look so certain, but did not voice her concerns. "When do you think you will return with your friend?"
Petrus turned and raised his brows at Varel. "Well? You wanted to investigate what had chased that villager out of the woods, and you mentioned needing to make several other stops before we returned to the Vigil."
Varel wondered what the Grey Warden was getting at, for the man hardly needed Varel's permission if he wanted to return to the Vigil in order to consult with Fiona. "That was before we learned of the sick halla," he said, glancing at the Keeper. "It is obvious to me that we must change our plans, so we should return to the Vigil at once and inform Fiona; my visits to the other villages can be postponed in light of this more urgent matter."
Ilshae looked a little stunned, though it was little enough. "You have no reason to help us." She seemed to be regretting her earlier blunt words, though that could have been Varel's imagination.
Varel chose his words with care. "I know you have ample reason to see us as enemies; there is a long history of humans perpetrating all manner of atrocities and crimes upon your people. But though I am a shem, as you call me, that does not mean I should contribute to those dishonorable acts."
The Keeper was silent for a long moment. "Thank you."
"I realize time is of the essence," Varel said, "but might I ask if your people chased away a man from the nearby village who went into the forest to gather wood?"
Ilshae nodded. "Yes, one of our sentries mentioned the incident. We do not want random shemlen to stumble into our camp, so our guards have orders to drive strangers away - preferably without violence or revealing themselves." Her lips twitched. "It was not difficult in this case, apparently, since the shem stank of drink."
Varel was glad it was not darkspawn - or something more sinister - that had chased Egan away. "One last question, if you would, before we go: have you seen people sneaking through the woods?"
The Keeper raised her brows. "You mean bandits?"
"I'm not sure." Varel told her of the tricks being played on the villagers, especially those that were isolated. "We think they're hiding in the woods, and they have proved elusive thus far." Of course, if they had been caught and hanged, as farmers were wont to do to hostile trespassers, he would not know about until the news reached him.
"We avoid encounters with shemlen unless they attack us." Ilshae hesitated. "Otherwise, we would not interfere."
Varel was unhappy with that answer, but he supposed it was too much to hope the elves would bestir themselves to help shemlen. Why would they lift a finger to help humans? It was a good bet most humans would not help elves. "Thank you for your honesty," he said as he rose.
Petrus also got to his feet, as did the Keeper, with the help of her staff. "How long would it take for us to come back out here, Seneschal?"
After doing a quick mental calculation, Varel said, "No more than three days; two, if we hurry."
Turning back to the Keeper, Petrus said, "Whatever you decide, Keeper, look for us then. Perhaps at the same place your sentry found us?"
The Keeper nodded. "That will do. Thank you, Warden."
Petrus bowed. "Then dareth shiral, Keeper Ilshae."
Ilshae looked bemused by Petrus's command of her language, but said, "Dareth shiral, Seneschal, Warden Petrus."
Varel bowed also. "Farewell, Keeper," he said, managing to bite off the usual May the Maker watch over you, recalling just in time that the Dalish worshipped other gods.
A Dalish guard faded into view as they turned to leave, though the Keeper had given no sign, and beckoned to them to follow without a word. The light was dimmer now, making it harder for them to see the way, and he felt colder, away from the camp's fires. At least this particular elf hid her amusement at their stumbling better than the first.
When they reached the clearing, Varel was relieved to see their escort were huddled around the pit, warming their hands at the fire they had started. The Dalish were nowhere in evidence, but he doubted they were actually gone. He had been worried the soldiers would mouth off to the elves and get themselves in trouble - or worse, in duels. The horses had been unsaddled and hobbled, and were pawing at the slush, trying to find some sort of grazing, while Petrus's beast was actually eating the bark off a tree.
"Dareth shiral," Petrus said to the sentry, who blinked and returned the courtesy more out of surprise than politeness, and faded back into the trees.
At the sounds of their footsteps, the soldiers jumped to their feet, looking glad to see them. Or just glad that their arrival meant they could leave. "Ser!"
Varel nodded at them. "Any trouble?" They shook their heads. "Good. Get the horses ready - we are leaving at once for the Vigil. Don't forget to fill in the trench."
The soldiers looked confused at the sudden change in plans, but shrugged and went about their various tasks. As they went off, Petrus leaned towards Varel and said in a low voice, "It was good of you to tell the Keeper you will be rushing back to the Vigil."
"Yes, I was wondering about that - why did you insinuate that you needed my help in some way, when you are perfectly capable of returning to the Vigil on your own?"
The Grey Warden snorted. "Would you not insist upon accompanying me?"
Varel frowned in puzzlement. "Well, yes, of course I would. I am responsible for your safety, as I would be for any guest. My point is that you need neither my help nor my permission."
Petrus's eye took on a conspiratorial gleam. "The Keeper does not need to know that."
"But why?" Varel did not think the Dalish could ever be allies, even if they had a common enemy in the darkspawn.
"A little goodwill can go a long way. And if not goodwill, then some forbearance for the next shem to wander near their camp. At the very least, the Dalish are not active enemies."
Varel shook his head; he would not have thought such a stoic man as Petrus could be capable of such optimism. "I doubt such a small gesture will matter in the grand scheme of things."
Petrus picked up his horse's reins and mounted up. "You never know, Seneschal. Now, if we hurry, we might be able to reach Vigil's Keep before nightfall."
I apologize again for the lateness of this chapter; there was a death in the family, and I spent much of the last few weeks dealing with the complications that arose.