"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.

In their blood the Maker's will is written."

—Canticle of Benedictions 4:11

Chapter 36

Malcolm

Sleet pelted them in the face as they stepped outside the last metal doors of Orzammar and onto the surface. Malcolm welcomed the stinging sensation because it meant the miles of stone above them had been happily replaced with miles of sky. Beautiful, cloudy, yet wonderfully open sky. Though he wrapped his grey woolen cloak closer around his body, he left his hood down, wanting to obscure as little sky as possible. "Riordan?" Malcolm said.

"Yes?" the senior Warden asked, not looking down from his own observation of the stormy sky.

"You know that stuff you told me before about the sky? Yeah. You were right. Thought you should know."

The comment made Riordan chuckle. "Good to know, lad. Perhaps I should get that in writing for any future discussions."

"We should probably go get the horses. I can't imagine how many sovereigns it must have cost to have them stabled all that time," said Alistair, a scowl forming on his face.

"Uh, give me a moment," Oghren said.

Malcolm looked away from the sky and toward their new dwarven Grey Warden, wondering if it was indeed true he'd heard some fear in Oghren's voice. After fighting with them in the Deep Roads, and the death of his wife, he announced to them that he would be joining them on the surface. Riordan had informed him then that it would involved actually becoming a Grey Warden and not just traveling with them. The dwarf had then informed the Warden in turn that he'd planned for nothing less. After what seemed an interminably long staring contest between human and dwarf, Riordan had given the dwarf a curt nod of his head. Then he'd had Zevran and Líadan take Oghren back to the Deep Roads for the last component they'd need for the Joining concoction. The dwarf had taken to the Joining rather well—he hadn't even passed out, to everyone's chagrin.

"Are you all right?" Líadan asked.

"I feel like I'm about to fall off the world with all that sky up there, but other than that, I'm fine."

The Dalish tilted her head to the side. "I guess that's understandable. I mean, one day you live within the safe confines of a mountain, and then it's gone. Nothing but vacuum, nothing to stop you from being sucked up into the void, nothing to—"

"Stop!" Oghren shouted then brought his voice down to its normal level once the elf fell silent. "One more word and I chop you down where you stand."

Líadan arched an eyebrow. "Fine. See if I'm ever nice to you again."

"If that's nice, I'd hate to see you mean, elf," Oghren muttered.

Malcolm settled a glare at Líadan. "You would, indeed. It involves electricity."

A hand fell on Malcolm's shoulder. "Leave it be," Riordan said from beside him before another argument broke out. "Come with me to see the stablemaster, as we need to be out of this pass before nightfall. I suspect this sleet will be turning into a storm up here once it's dark, and we'd best not be traveling in it."

Malcolm scowled and followed the senior Warden to the stables. "I was only stating the truth," he said to Riordan as they walked.

"And not intending to start a confrontation at all. I see," was Riordan's droll reply.

"If you think I'm going to just let being bitten, and then electrocuted go—"

"What I think is that I agree that the situation between you and Líadan needs to be talked through. But not in front of the gates of Orzammar and while we have much to do before sundown." Even through Riordan's patient voice, Malcolm could hear a slight tone of exasperation. It made him a bit concerned, as Riordan was nearly as implacable as Duncan had been, and he had no wish to truly anger the man. "You already know I've spoken to her once. You'll not be electrocuted again," Riordan finished.

Then again, Riordan wasn't the one who'd been zapped, Malcolm thought. "That's hardly reassuring."

"It will have to do for now." When he caught the look on Malcolm's face, Riordan sighed, signaled to Alistair to speak with the stablemaster, and pulled Malcolm to the side. "You are one of the senior Wardens now, like it or not. You are young, yes, but you must learn to be patient with the younger Wardens, especially with one who was conscripted against her will. You of everyone here should know how much turmoil that causes within."

"I don't recall electrocuting anyone."

"You did get into more than one fistfight with Alistair, if what I've heard was true."

Malcolm folded his arms across his chest. "That's different. We're brothers."

"And none of them had anything to do with your feelings about being in the Grey Wardens and how you got there?"

He opened his mouth to retort, but came up with nothing, because Riordan was right. Maker, was the man always right? So instead of replying, he glowered at his feet.

"That's what I thought. You both will need to speak with one another and it will need to be soon. You might want to consider telling her how you came to be conscripted and how you, yourself, tried to run. Out of any of us, Malcolm, the path that brought you into the Grey Wardens is the most like hers. She admitted to me that she did think Tamlen was too far gone to save. What's left for her, I think, is to see you as a person, and not the unfeeling Grey Warden who killed what was left of her best friend."

Malcolm looked up sharply. "Unfeeling? Is that what she thinks? That I didn't feel any regret or sadness when I had to kill Tamlen?"

"Often that's how it looks to someone on the outside. Perhaps part of her thinks differently now, but it's easier to remain angry with the one who did it when you think they don't feel sorry about it."

"I suppose," Malcolm replied, and then wiped at melting sleet dripping from the top of his head and into his eyes. "We need to get going."

"I agree. Let's go."

The group saddled up and rode for the end of the pass before the sleet turned into a snowstorm. Even though it was downhill, due to the lessened visibility from the sleet, it took longer than the first trip up to Orzammar. Once at the end of the pass, they managed to find the campsite they'd used before. It was well-hidden from the road and a good jumping-off point to wherever they would go next and they'd yet to be spotted in it. After the camp was in order and Zevran and Líadan were attempting to cook the evening meal under the tutelage of Leliana, Alistair summoned Riordan and Malcolm over to the fire to show them a letter he'd gotten from one of Arl Eamon's messengers. "A large group of darkspawn, not the bulk of the horde, but a rather large contingent, has been spotted less than a week south of Honnleath. If we ride hard, we can make it there before they do, I think. The Dalish are already there, so it's a matter of us leading them," Alistair said once they were within earshot.

Riordan indicated for Alistair to hand him the letter and he did so. The senior Warden scanned it over quickly, frowning at the start and the frown growing only more deep as he kept reading. "It says that the group approaching Honnleath is at nearly battalion size. That's over five hundred darkspawn. The dwarves won't be marching for Redcliffe for another week. How many Dalish and Redcliffe troops are available?"

"Last report said the Dalish numbers were at one hundred. Once the clans finish gathering, they expect to be over five thousand, but they said it could take more than two months to get up to that number. If they can get messages to all the clans in the Free Marches and Antiva, they told me they could get well over ten thousand warriors. It's been a few weeks since the last report, though, so there could be a lot more," Malcolm said. "As for Eamon's troops, it could be anywhere from a couple hundred to two thousand. It all depends on how many are in the Bannorn right now."

Riordan cursed and gave the letter back to Alistair. "We would be risking a lot to try and defend the town."

"That's presuming we can even get there in time," Malcolm said.

"I understand not wanting to waste troops on something that could be a lost cause already," Alistair said in a remarkably calm voice. "However, Honnleath is only days south of Redcliffe. Right now, that's where most of our allies are. The Dalish clans are gathering near there along with their warriors. The dwarves will be going there soon. All of Redcliffe's soldiers are there now, along with whatever soldiers the Bannorn have sent us. It's our base of operations. Were the darkspawn to lay siege on it now, we would be cut off. Strategically, it's too much of a risk to not do something about the darkspawn near Honnleath."

Riordan sighed. "I know. I just wish we had more time. And more numbers."

"Don't we all," said Malcolm, scowling into the fire.

"All right, then," Riordan said. "At first light, the rest of you will ride for Redcliffe and Honnleath to see if you can get there in time. If the darkspawn there are truly at battalion strength, then it is no mere raid and they are probing the defenses at Redcliffe. Were their attack to be successful, I do not doubt the archdemon will send a much larger group to attack Redcliffe itself. Unfortunately, I will not be with you. While you leave for Redcliffe, I will be heading to Highever and its port on the Waking Sea. From there, I will go to Jader by ship and notify the Wardens there of the archdemon's presence and location. If it can be done, we will find a way to at least get the Grey Wardens of Orlais across the border, even if we must leave the four divisions of Chevaliers behind to do so. As we all saw, the archdemon has massed its army and is heading for the surface. From what Oghren explained, the horde was on a heading to exit somewhere from the southern Deep Roads. The bulk of the horde could even be heading for Redcliffe after this raid on Honnleath. We must get more Wardens into Ferelden, even if it means you must fight this battle at Honnleath without me."

It was Alistair's turn to sigh. "I understand why you have to go, but I'm still not going to like it."

"I don't like it anymore than you do, lad," Riordan said.

Malcolm's mood had soured further at the mention of Highever and he wondered why the senior Warden was going by that route in the first place. "Riordan, why aren't you just taking the rest of the Gherlen's Pass through into Orlais? Wouldn't that be faster?"

"Not if Loghain has patrols waiting at the border. A narrow pass will make it hard to evade a patrol. By sea, however, I should be able to find a ship captain who will take me."

Malcolm sighed. "Fine, but if you're going through Highever, you need to be incredibly careful. That isn't Cousland territory anymore. It's Arl Howe's domain. I'm sure he knows who you are and will be looking for you as hard as he's looking for us."

"I know."

"Should we sent someone with you? Zevran, maybe?" Alistair suggested. "I mean, getting caught while trying to assassinate me and probably not being the best assassin the Crows had aside—"

"What? Slander and lies," Zevran said, looking up from the food preparation Leliana had him doing. "For shame, Alistair."

"But the Crows must have master assassins, the way you describe them. Men with years and years of experience. Why not send them?" Alistair asked.

The elf shrugged. "Why not, indeed? It is a mystery for the ages."

Alistair narrowed his eyes at the Antivan. "Oh, I get it. You're not going to tell me."

Zevran grinned at him. "Morrigan said you were sharp. No liar, she."

Before Zevran and Alistair could get into another of their long discussions, Riordan said, "While sending someone as well trained in stealth, such as Zevran, with me does seem like a good idea, you need higher Grey Warden numbers more than I do. I will be on better lookout for poisoned chalices and ignore promises of hospitality this time. I will go alone."

Leliana indicated that the food was ready and the group quickly started in on it. Riordan relayed the plans for the next day in case someone hadn't heard what had been said and answered any questions with his unwavering logic. Malcolm understood. They needed the support from the Orlesian Wardens and whatever other Wardens had made it to Orlais by now. Unfortunately, they also needed as many Wardens as they could get in the coming pitched battles with the darkspawn. For the first moment since the realization that they would have to stop the Blight hit him, Malcolm felt like they were running out of time. They had the armies granted by the treaties already forming at Redcliffe, but they hadn't yet secured the throne from Loghain's grasp. And now they had to stop the darkspawn from reaching Honnleath and Redcliffe instead of immediately calling for the Landsmeet. They could only hope the bulk of the horde would hold off their strike long enough for the matter of governance to be settled. They needed all of Ferelden's armies, not just whoever had the fortitude to stand against Loghain.

"I have a question for you, Riordan," Líadan said.

Riordan's brows came together in puzzlement. "And what would that be?"

"Were you a volunteer or were you conscripted?"

"Volunteer," he answered, a question in his voice.

Líadan scowled and turned to glare at Zevran.

Zevran flashed a cheeky grin. "I believe you owe me five silvers, yes?"

Riordan burst into full laughter, followed by the rest of them. After awhile, he excused himself to get some sleep while he could. Those not on watch followed suit soon after. Malcolm, having drawn last watch, headed for his tent to attempt getting some uninterrupted rest. He couldn't sleep yet, but the warmth of his tent seemed a lot more appealing than staying out in the sleet and shivering to death from the cold. Gunnar had settled into a spot at the lee side of the tent, happily snoring away. As a light, Malcolm used the glowstone he'd been given before they'd gone into the Deep Roads and started looking at the Grey Warden letters again. Before long, he was as bored as the last time he'd looked and he knew exactly why. It was because he'd find nothing of Fiona in them any longer. That problem had been taken care of and now he found he had nothing to look forward to in reading any of the other letters. He shoved them back into their packet and put them back into his pack. Then he scrounged around for a book to read, he'd picked one up in Orzammar about dwarven society and perhaps that would hold his interest for longer than five minutes.

Or perhaps he should get the papers out and have them put him to sleep. As he came up triumphantly from his pack with the book, the flap to his tent opened without polite clap outside first, and Morrigan slipped inside. Immediately, Malcolm felt guilty because he knew why she was here.

"You have not looked me in the eye ever since we saw that broodmother in the Deep Roads," she said quietly. Her amber eyes held no rancor. Instead, hurt dwelled there.

"I... I'm sorry."

She looked down for a moment, and then, shivering, sat next to him. "I have a request."

He narrowed his eyes. "The last time you requested something of me, my brother got eaten by a dragon."

She rewarded his efforts at levity with a tiny, crooked smile. "This has nothing to do with dragons. Or ancient abominations. It is a simple one: if you are present, and I am ever about to be taken away by darkspawn or have been tainted, I want you to kill me. Without question. Without hesitation."

He closed his eyes, the image of Morrigan succumbing to the taint burning its way into his brain. Morrigan subjected to that awful transformation from human into broodmother. The shrieks that broodmother had emitted being the shrieks of agony from Morrigan.

Hands caressed his cheeks and he opened his eyes to find that Morrigan had shifted her position and now sat directly across from him. "Promise me," she said. "I know you do not wish to see me suffer that fate."

"You could become a Grey Warden," he said, hesitating even as he suggested it. He'd known before without asking that Morrigan would never become a Warden. Alistair had already asked Leliana. Malcolm had the misfortune of hearing the lengthy argument that had ensued. Wanting to avoid the same sort of discussion with Morrigan, he hadn't mentioned it to her before now.

A small frown formed on the witch's face. "You already know I would never willingly subject myself to the taint as it is required of Grey Wardens. And do not look surprised that I know of what the Joining entails. It is hard for one who travels with Grey Wardens not to realize just what gives them their power over the darkspawn. Leliana knows as much as I do. Do not worry, neither of us would divulge the Wardens' secrets."

"I know."

"Promise me," she repeated.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. The strength of her gaze and the vulnerability within the depths of her soul held him. It was one thing to end the life of a stranger. One thing to end the life of someone you barely knew with a crossbow bolt. But he knew that in most scenarios where Morrigan would be at risk, it would mean using his most accessible weapon—his sword. Shooting a human being with an arrow or bolt from a crossbow was one thing. Once that projectile left your hand, there was no tactile connection. But a sword... stabbing a human was different. Each life you ended took a little of your own because you were connected by the blade. Your flesh holding the grip of the tool that struck the life from another's body. No matter how quickly you could withdraw your sword, the connection was there. The idea of his sword ending Morrigan's life hit him with the very image of it—her splayed on the ground, his sword piercing her heart, blood puddling underneath her body, soaking into the ground, spilled by his hand.

Then came the image of the broodmother in the Deep Roads. Her hideously twisted body, the screams of outrage and pain and torment. Hespith's terrible chant. If he didn't do as Morrigan asked should she ever be tainted by the darkspawn, that abomination would be Morrigan and it would be his fault. It would be his fault that she would suffer something horribly worse than merely dying. A tear escaped one of his eyes, even as he fought against it, even as he'd shut his eyes again so that he wouldn't have to face her pleading look.

A finger wiped it away and he felt her forehead on his. "Promise me."

"I promise," he said, so weakly that he could barely hear it.

"Thank you," she said. Then she kissed him and pushed him gently down to his bedroll, reminding him of what existed outside of the taint, outside of the darkspawn, and inside the matters of the heart.

Some hours later, a clap just outside his tent woke him up, followed by Oghren shoving his head through the flap. "Your turn on watch, Malcolm," he said, and then he leered when he noticed Morrigan next to Malcolm.

"I'll be right there," Malcolm said, reaching for his armor.

"Out, dwarf," Morrigan said, her tone as icy as her glare.

Oghren smiled, but did as he was asked and left.

"We shall never hear the end of it from him," Morrigan muttered.

"He'd have leered and drooled at you anyway. He did all through the Deep Roads. I thought you'd noticed that," Malcolm said, quickly strapping on his armor.

"I had pretended he didn't exist while we were down there. Made things much easier. Little did I know that Riordan would agree to make him a Grey Warden."

Malcolm shrugged apologetically. "We're in tough times. He's a proven warrior, provided you point him in the right direction, anyway, and he seemed stout enough to survive the Joining. We can't really turn people like that down, as much as a drooling lecher or stumbling drunkard they may be."

Morrigan huffed and said nothing.

After slinging on his shield and strapping on his sword, Malcolm said, "You can stay if you want. It's pretty cold out there, and I think I saw snow in Oghren's hair."

She cast a doubtful look at the tent's entrance. "I am not sure."

"It isn't like everyone doesn't already know," he pointed out as he put on his cloak. "Did I mention that it's really cold? And I recall that bedroll being pretty warm. Downright cozy compared to the snow out there. It's your choice, but you don't get to whine about the cold if you decide to go."

She sighed. "Have it your way. I will remain here."

Then Malcolm ducked out of his tent, wrapped was far into his cloak as he could go. Oghren waited just outside, a leer still on his face. "Stop thinking about her like that," Malcolm said.

"But Malcolm, those—"

"Not one word. I will run you through." Usually, Malcolm would just have threatened someone leering at Morrigan with, well, Morrigan, but dwarves could resist magic. He wondered if Morrigan even knew that.

"He would," Alistair said, stepping up next to them. "And that would be nothing compared to what Morrigan would do to you, anyway."

"Ha!" Oghren slapped his thigh as he laughed. "She couldn't hurt me if she wanted to. Dwarves are resistant to magic. Nothing she could do except glare at me and I'm not afraid of those eyes of hers."

Líadan walked up behind Alistair. "She could kick you in the manhood, you know. That would probably sting a bit."

Oghren's face fell. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that. Consider the leering stopped. I'd like to keep my manhood the way it is, thank you very much."

Alistair looked between Malcolm and Líadan. "The two of you set for your watch? Yes? Good. I'm going to bed. It's bloody cold out here. Oghren, you should get to your tent before Malcolm kills you in Morrigan's stead and he has to explain that to Riordan."

Then Alistair and the dwarf headed off to their separate tents, leaving Malcolm and Líadan alone. They trudged over to the fire and sat down, the snow swirling around them making it too dangerous to patrol the perimeter. They'd have to rely on Gunnar's hearing, their hearing, and Zevran's traps to keep the camp secure for the night. Taking a glance at Líadan out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm realized what a sly man Riordan really was. He knew without a doubt that the man had intentionally set up this particular watch partnership.

"I think Riordan did this on purpose," Líadan said from across the fire.

Malcolm heeded the senior Warden's words and decided not to act antagonistic from the outset of any conversation with the Dalish elf. "Apparently he's more of a sneaky bastard than I first thought."

Líadan heaved a loud, resigned sigh. "I'm sorry for zapping you with my magic."

Malcolm considered her apology as he remembered he should have his sword and shield out from underneath his cloak should something attack them at the camp. He slipped his shield off his back and propped it next to him, and then drew his sword from its sheath.

"I apologize and so you're going to stab me?" she asked, starting to get to her feet.

He looked up at her curiously. "What? No! I just wanted it close at hand should we be attacked by things other than our allies. Sit down. Maker's blood, I'm not going to harm you. You keep assuming that I'm going to like Isolde always does. She's the one I'd like to see some damage done to, but I won't even hurt her, much less you. You're in the clear. So... please stop looking at me like that and sit back down. You're making me nervous."

"What makes you want to hurt Lady Isolde?" she asked, carefully retaking her seat.

"Oh, the usual. I hate her. She hates me." At Líadan's annoyed look, he relented and told her the whole story about what'd happened at Redcliffe with Connor, and the confrontation that'd occurred right after they'd healed Eamon. "Basically, I can't stand her because she won't take responsibility for her actions, and she hates me because I called her an irresponsible bitch but without using the word bitch." He paused, wondering at Líadan's knowledge of Isolde when he didn't recall seeing her once their entire last time at Redcliffe Castle. "Wait, did you meet Isolde when we stopped at Redcliffe?"

"Yes. After you'd left the breakfast table, in fact. She seemed nice enough, aside from the horrid accent. It made me want to..."

"Punch kittens?" he offered.

A smile twitched at the corner of the elf's mouth. "Yes, something like that. And you say she's Orlesian, like Leliana and Riordan? Are you sure they're from the same place? I mean, their accents aren't ones that make you want to hurt cute, innocent creatures."

"Yes. All of them are Orlesian, apparently. Wait, no, not quite. Leliana insists she was born in Ferelden, and Riordan says he was born and raised in Highever. So maybe that's why their accents aren't so horrible. Or something. Maybe it's just Isolde's nature to be irritating. I can't see what Eamon sees in her."

"Her heaving bosom, I imagine," Líadan said, a smirk lighting her face.

Malcolm gaped at her.

The Dalish opened her eyes wide in innocence, though Malcolm wasn't fooled. "What? Don't tell me none of you have thought that? She must be a devil in bed."

He had no words. He couldn't think of a thing to say. Meanwhile, Líadan had nearly collapsed into giggles on the other side of the fire. Malcolm supposed he should be grateful that the elf had finally come out of her angry shell around him, but all he felt was the blush burning across his cheeks.

After what seemed liked an eternity, Líadan finally gained control of her giggles and looked back at Malcolm. "When you blush, that scar really stands out, you know."

He scowled. "I'm aware of that. Maker, people in this camp delight in making me blush. Me and Alistair, all the time."

"Where'd you get the scar, anyway?"

"Before my Joining. Last group of darkspawn we ran into before we found the treaties we've been using. Some stupid hurlock scraped my face with an enchanted blade, and the enchantment was good enough that Morrigan couldn't heal it well enough for it not to scar. Even Wynne couldn't fix it and she's been a healer for, well, forever." The memory of the first time he'd seen Morrigan flitted through his mind and he had to resist a look back in the witch's direction. He couldn't, however, stop the slight smile that tweaked at his lips.

"You love her," Líadan said.

"What?" Malcolm gave the elf an alarmed look.

She grinned. "You do! Don't worry, I think it's cute."

He narrowed his eyes. "And to imagine that as children, my brother and I repeatedly asked our mother for a baby sister. If this is what it would be like, I'm glad we never got one. You're merciless." Then he realized that if he'd had a sister, she probably wouldn't have made it out of the castle, either. She would've been as dead as Oren and Oriana had been, run through in her own bedroom, where it was supposed to have been safe. The crackle of the fire in front of him became the crackle of the flames that had eaten away at his family's castle, his home. Its crackling the background for the screams of his friends and family, the sounds of Howe's betrayal.

"Malcolm?"

He blinked several times, forcing the memories away. "Hmm?"

"Where did you go just now? Did it have to do with your family? The people that raised you, I mean?"

Before he could stop himself, he looked away. "Yes."

"How did they die?"

Malcolm's gaze returned to Líadan. "They were murdered by another member of the nobility who wanted their holdings. The same night I was conscripted into the Grey Wardens, actually. My father was mortally injured, unable to walk, and my mother was determined to stay with him. The Grey Warden Commander, Duncan, had been staying at the castle, looking for recruits amongst my family's knights. At my father's request, he was able to safely get us past Arl Howe's soldiers and out of the castle. In exchange, my father made a deal with Duncan that I would become a Grey Warden. I didn't have a choice in the matter. I said no and Duncan conscripted me. He had to drag me out of that castle. I had wanted to stay behind with my parents. And most likely die. Instead, I lived, and I could see the smoke and fire from the burning castle for miles as we rode away." He sighed heavily, remembering how angry he'd been at Duncan, and how so very long ago all of that seemed. And yet the memories were as vivid as if he'd lived them all hours before. "I was furious with Duncan. We had to travel from my family's castle in Highever all the way down to Ostagar and I barely spoke to him the entire way. I tried to escape once, but he caught me."

"So you really were a conscript."

He frowned. "Yes. You thought otherwise, I take it? Why's that?"

"I don't know. You seemed so very Grey Warden-like. You..." she trailed off, the troubled thoughts returning to her pale eyes.

"I what?"

She focused her eyes back on him. "You seemed so composed after what happened with Tamlen."

"Only on the outside. On the inside, my heart was beating a mile a minute and my mind just kept wishing that Tamlen would magically turn back into a nice Dalish elf. But once he got close enough to you to do damage and no miracle had happened, I had to act. A day doesn't go by when I don't think about it." He studied her, allowing the seriousness of what he had to say show in his eyes. "Líadan, we once had to sweep through an entire town that had been sacked by the darkspawn. I didn't know about how being tainted by the darkspawn, for most people, means death, either immediately or eventually. I thought there would be survivors in the town. That's when Riordan had to explain to me that when darkspawn level a town, there aren't survivors, even if people are still up, moving, and breathing. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, having to kill those people who'd been tainted. I can still see their faces, just as I can see Tamlen's. Grey Wardens sacrifice a lot and it isn't just our bodies. Our souls, too."

For a moment, only the fire spoke with its cracks and pops. Then Líadan said, "I'm sorry I got mad at you for what you had to do."

He shrugged. "It's okay. You needed someone to be mad at."

She said nothing in reply, and they sat quietly in companionable silence until sunup. Then the rest of the group was up and about, hurriedly striking the camp and preparing horses for the hard journey ahead. Riordan was the first one ready to depart.

"I'll find you in Redcliffe," he said to Malcolm and Alistair.

"If we aren't there, we'll leave someone behind to tell you where we've gone," Alistair said.

Malcolm shook the senior Warden's hand. "Stay safe, you sneaky bastard."

Riordan flashed a grin. "Figured it out, did you?"

Then it was Alistair's turn for a handshake. "May the Maker watch over you," he said.

Riordan inclined his head. "May He watch over us all." Then he turned his horse and rode toward the North Road and Highever.

The brothers watched him for a moment, and then turned and gathered the rest of their party for their ride to rescue Honnleath.