Chapter 38: Nuraya
Mairsile, South Reach's Seneschal, stopped where the road ended, her feet only a short step from the steep bank that cut sharply to the Drakon River. With a slight tip of her chin, she looked up, unspeaking. Nuraya followed her gaze, wondering if she had sent a subtle signal to the South Reach guard who stood atop the parapets. But if some message had been sent, Nuraya saw no sign of it. She looked over her shoulder and saw the Professor, his assistant and Kessler Hawke standing with similar perplexed expressions. Kessler even shrugged his shoulders.
He and the elf were leading the horses. An unexpected pang of homesickness had lodged in her throat when she had recognized the horses that Hawke and the elf had untethered them at the Oak and Owl. They had been born on the same day, and she remembered it as if it were yesterday. She was with Geordie and her father, helping the mares foal through the night. Once the wobbly, wet creatures took their first gawky steps to their mothers, she named them Lucjan and Myaja, after a set of twin dwarves she had confronted in Orzammar's Proving Grounds. When her father asked about the meaning behind the names, she smiled and admitted she liked the way the words rolled off her tongue.
As they had left the village, Tassilo sided up to her and breathlessly mentioned that he had a message for her. It piqued her curiosity, and immediately reminded her of Endra's empty appeals aboard the Good King Maric, but when Tass told her it was from her father, she politely waved him off and suggested that he pass it on once they were settled at Castle Sutherland. Whatever the message was would make her sad. She missed her father, and did not wish to show it, especially in the company of men she barely knew. And then she thought of Tandyr, the horse her father had given her during the Blight, and felt lonelier, if it was possible for her heart to ache any more. Although he was safe and stabled with the King's cavalry, she wished that she had left Denerim with him. Chains rattled and timber groaned from the lowering drawbridge and startled her from her thoughts.
Connor leaned in and whispered, loud enough to be heard past the racket of the bridge, but not enough to make the conversation public. "Are you sure I should go with you?"
She furrowed her brow. She hadn't realized that Connor was still uncertain that he was a permanent member of this newly formed party.
With a controlled thud, the bridge came to rest on the bank and the Seneschal crossed it, her steps wooden and hollow. The raising of the portcullis was an equally raucous affair of screeching iron, wood and stone. The Seneschal resumed her even-footed step into the castle's barbican.
Before Nuraya could assure him, he whispered again. "He knows me. The Arl. He used to stay at Redcliffe. He'll send me back to the Circle, won't he?" She saw the panic in his eyes.
"I'll handle it." She replied, hoping a plan might suddenly materialize in the event that the Arl decided to take an interest in Connor. She adjusted the weight of her pack and motioned for Connor to follow, like everything was well in hand.
Castle Sutherland reminded her a little of Redcliffe, in size at least. The stone was a greyish green colour, with patches of moss growing between the cracks. Round guardhouses flanked the barbican, each draped in the Bryland standard. The guard, in their green and black tunics, with watchful eyes observed their every movement.
Kessler Hawke stepped beside her, still holding Myaja's reins. She offered him a weak smile, knowing that as far as first impressions go, she had completely blown it. Part of her was still on edge and wary. During the Blight, no one thought that adding either the Qunari or the Crow to the mix was a good idea. But at the time, it was an easy choice—her gut told her that they had skills that she needed. She did not feel the same sense of blind acceptance with Kessler Hawke. His notoriety was sure to attract all the wrong attention. And in that regard, she was managing quite well on her own. She did not mind the elf. An archer was always a welcomed asset, and the professor, well he had the smarts. What she needed was a solid swordsman, not a half-pissed snarky mage.
It was Hawke's turn to whisper and had to lean down slightly to address her. The space inside the barbican was quiet and magnified even the smallest stone being scuttled across the flagstones. Despite his mild drunken state, he glowered. "Leonas Bryland is also the Arl of Lothering. Abandoned all his people during the Blight."
Nuraya had forgotten about that, but then was confused. "I thought you were from Kirkwall?"
"My family fled Lothering when the Darkspawn invaded. Ended up in Kirkwall."
She picked up her pace, noticing that the Seneschal was waiting for them in the great arched doorway of the gate-passage.
"Maybe you can ask him to answer for his sins on our way out? Not exactly the kind of greeting befitting a Lord in his manor." Once she said it, she cringed regretfully. The foulness of her mood had gotten the better of her. And nothing riled her more these days than aggressive blood mages.
Kessler, no longer trying to play nice, shot her a disgusted look. She decided to cut the small talk and shrugged with a remorseful smile. It was not her intention to be rude and decided to try a little harder next time. Their dynamic was starting to remind her of Alistair and Morrigan. And they, even on the best of days, were annoying.
After the castle's groomsmen took the horses to the stables, the Seneschal led them directly to the guest quarters, a long hallway of rooms nestled on an upper floor between the bake house and the Arl's tower. An arched arcade faced the inner ward, allowing the warm spring sunshine to stream in. A gardener had planted herbs in long clay window boxes on the arcade's stone sills. Nuraya peeked in, with a yearning to get her hands dirty in the potting soil, but kept up with her company. Still entranced with the fresh greenery, she tripped over Kessler and she grabbed his arm apologetically. He stepped aside and winked, letting her pass. He wasn't the sort to brood, she thought, which she decided to include in his short list of positive qualities.
In an official tone, the Seneschal stood in front of last three doorways at the end of the hall and explained that the Arl was out hunting and would host them for dinner that night. Nuraya swung open the thick wooden door to find a quaint room, just big enough for two small beds with a trunk in between. The wooden floors creaked beneath her step, in a cozy sort of way. She motioned for Connor to take one of the beds.
"Are you certain, m'lady?" asked the Seneschal. "We have prepared a room at the end of the hall with a little more privacy."
Nuraya did not dare let Connor out of her sight, but at the same time, did not wish to reveal this to the castle staff. "Dr. Saunière has traveled very far, I'm sure he would appreciate your amenities."
The Seneschal nodded once and closed the door behind her. Nuraya flopped on the bed and with her feet, kicked off her boots. On the other side of the wall she could hear the muffled conversations of Tassilo and Kessler. Connor paced the room, reminding her of a caged bird. He kneeled on the trunk to open the shutters, and took in the wide expanse of fields and wood beyond Sutherland's heavily fortified walls.
From behind the wall where she was leaning, she heard Kessler laugh. While she tried to make out what he was saying, it occurred to her that it wasn't just blood mages that had set her mood so foul. She realized she had not quite gotten over Kessler Hawke's brashness from earlier that day. Ever since the Blight, there was one thing, besides blood mages and politics, that riled her without fail, and that was a man jumping in to save her when she already had things well in hand. There was no doubt that she would have incapacitated that blood mage, killed him even, had she not been so rudely interrupted. Surely Hawke had heard all the fanciful accomplishments that went along with being the Hero of Ferelden. Being the Hero had to still mean something, did it not?
She found herself comparing Kessler Hawke to Alistair, but discovered very little in common between the two men, other than their age. She missed Alistair's companionship, his stories and his willingness to listen, but also his confidence in her abilities. But there was one thing about Alistair that she hated: the Legacy. She did all the work atop Fort Drakon. She fought tooth and claw until she shook from overexertion. She brought it to the point of death. And then at the last minute, Alistair raced in—despite that she had specifically instructed him to guard the City. He swooped in and killed the Archdemon. And in this case, swooping was very, very bad.
Maybe that was why she hated being called the Hero. The crown that Alistair wore reminded every Fereldan, every single day of his heroic act. He gave her the name, but everyone knew the real story.
But no one knew of the Dark Ritual and why he lived. And despite his swooping in, that was a secret she vowed to keep. Not even the Wardens knew. And especially now, given what she had learned about Morrigan, there was no good reason to reveal what he had done for her.
And Kessler Hawke did not need to save her, either.
She popped open her eyes, realizing that she must have dozed off for a few minutes. Connor was still watching out the window, his expression very far away, and lost.
"Do you think Endra is gone?" The irony was not lost on her. How many times had she dissuaded and chastised him for his careless use of magic? It never occurred to her that he might stumble on something useful.
He shook his hair out of his eyes. "She's around, but far away. That is the best I can describe it. She wants to go to Highever. That's all she says to me."
"And she's given you no hint as to why she wanted to speak with me?"
Connor became very quiet, as if he was searching the expanses of his mind for Endra and her answer. After a minute he shrugged. "She's still not talking."
"I still think going to Highever is a very bad idea."
"Endra has a way of getting what she wants. I could go alone. Not cause any more trouble." He looked up at her grimly.
That was the last thing that Nuraya wanted. She shook her head and insisted that they would all go together.
A knock on the door interrupted any further discussion. It was Seneschal Mairsile, still stiff and official.
"Ser Gerold, from the South Reach Chantry is here for you, m'lady."
Nuraya and Connor exchanged uneasy glances. A templar calling upon her was not something she could ever get used to, but realized he had come to take her to see the Revered Mother, a request she had asked South Reach's Captain of the Guard. They now held the blood mage in custody and she was going to get to the bottom of the attack.
"I'll be right down," she told the Seneschal, and when the official made no hint of movement, she offered, "I can find my own way, thanks." I've met friendlier Tranquil.
She looked at the worn leather pack that she had dropped at the edge of the bed and wondered what she might possibly need. In absence of an answer, she left the room and walked to the end of the hallway. With a knuckle, she lightly wrapped on Saunière's door, and waited at length. Just as she was about to knock harder, she heard a muffled, "Come in."
The professor sat at a small table, hunched over a book, a single candle illuminated the room, making it seem cramped and stuffy. His quill bobbed swiftly across the parchment, and it was obvious he could barely keep up with the thoughts that spilled onto the page. He did not look up and she wondered if she had caught him at a bad time.
When it was apparent that he had forgotten that she had been standing there, she cleared her throat. "I'm going to the Chantry to question that blood mage. Care to join me?"
His eyes remained cast to his parchment, studying what he had written as he dipped his quill in an inkwell and continued writing. The squeak and scratch of the nib filled the small room.
He tapped a finger on his lips, and said "Take Tassilo."
Nuraya furrowed her brow. She didn't even know this elf.
The professor must have sensed her concern and looked up. "Of course you can trust him. He is my assistant. Don't make judgements on him based on the company he currently keeps."
"Then, can you keep an eye on Connor?"
The Professor resumed his study, reading from a book perched in a stand, then continued his frenetic writing.
Just as she thought that he had not heard her again, he answered, his concentration still focused on his research. "As long as he does not bother me."
The professor was nothing like Kalvindir, she thought sadly.
Before she could formulate a plan to deal with Connor, she heard a voice from behind her.
"Come on over, kid." Kessler was leaning on the doorjamb of her room. "How good is your Wicked Grace?"
Connor emerged, hunched in his brooding manner and shrugged. She could tell that he was trying to stifle a grin and Kessler patted his back in greeting, and left it on his shoulder as they walked together to the next room.
Nuraya shut the Professors door without bothering to say good-bye, knowing it was futile. She leaned into Kessler's room and whispered to Connor, "Maybe you can fill him in on Endra."
"Oh yes, this strange woman, Endra." Kessler replied, gesturing for Connor to sit on his bed as he rummaged in his pack and pulled out a set of dog-eared cards.
The elf stood and smoothed out his coat. With a thumb, she pointed in the direction of the professor's room. "Did you hear him? He—"
"I'd be happy to accompany you."
She started to leave, but hesitated. "If Endra does decide to show up—go get the professor. You might be able to tear him from his work."
Kessler gave her a strange look as he was shuffling the cards, although Connor nodded in acknowledgement. She noticed a smile form on his face for the first time in weeks.
~0oOo0~
Sunlight sparkled through the Chantry's coloured glass windows, painting the smooth wooden pews in rainbows. The lingering flavor of incense hung in the air, along with the faint murmurs of a woman's even and steady voice reciting the Chant. The stark silence, after having stepped in from the bustle of the South Reach market, made the hairs on the back of her neck prick. Chantries always made her feel this way and served as a reminder of what she was trying to change. They already had the Maker and Andraste, why did they need to concern themselves with the mages too?
She and Tassilo trailed Ser Gerold into the undercroft, just off to the right of the entrance. It was surprisingly dry and cool, not anything like the storerooms at the Circle or the subterranean passages she had become accustomed to exploring. They passed the living quarters, down a long hall to a flight of stone steps that turned into the dark. The templar lit a torch from a brazier and encouraged them to follow.
As they took their first tentative steps, Tassilo turned to her with an excited glow. "I've not been to this chantry before."
"Seen one, you've seen them all," she replied, dryly.
"Oh, that is not true. While some are quaint, others rival the grandeur of the Grand Cathedral. Besides…" he looked at Nuraya and winked. "I only judge a chantry by the size of its library."
Nuraya laughed, covering her mouth as she realized that it sounded too out of place in the hushed tones of the undercroft.
As they descended, a dark figure at the bottom of the stone staircase stood waiting. The torchlight highlighted the sweep of her floor-length robes, leaving the rest shrouded in shadow. Nuraya knew the routine and bowed reverently.
The woman's voice cut through the darkened landing. "I am Mother Ingela. I don't know what you have brought upon South Reach. Maker preserve us."
This was not the time, Nuraya thought, to remind Revered Mother Ingela how she had recovered the Urn of Sacred Ashes, stopped an abomination from taking control of the Circle tower, not to mention ending a Blight. She had become used to bearing the sins of her kin.
So as not to rouse her own temper, Nuraya decided to cut the small talk. "All I wish, is to learn more of this mage's motives and why he attacked my company this morning. What you do with him afterwards is the Chantry's business." And quickly, in case there was any doubt, she added, "I've no tolerance for blood magic."
The Revered Mother's eyes closed as she pursed her lips and offered a single nod of approval, and held up a hand in benediction. Her mouth moved, but no words came out. At the sign, Nuraya automatically supplicated, and wondered if Tassilo could feel the prayer's effects. They only made her knees ache.
When she was done, Tassilo bowed. "Makers blessings upon you, Blessed Mother."
Revered Mother Ingela turned to Ser Gerold. "Take them to the mage." She tucked her arms inside her sleeves and climbed the stairs without another word.
The chantry's prison was nothing more than a cage inside a dugout room. Roots dangled from the dirt ceiling, the walls, patted smooth and braced with thick timbers, dribbled with thin rivulets of water. Ser Gerold lit the sconces on the wall, and from the darkness Nuraya could make out a single bare foot and an enormous calf, chained and shackled to the cage. Once the torches ignited, a monstrous form materialized from the darkness. Flame reflected off his scalp; it was smooth as porcelain, incised with sharp, thorny tattoos. An eye was swelled shut, purple and weeping, where Connor had beaten him with the end of Kalvindir's staff. The mage's massive belly drooped over his lap, lumpy and uneven like half-leavened bread. His once silky indigo pants were now covered in blood and mud, with stains that made her think that he had recently soiled himself. It certainly smelled that way. And there around his meaty neck, dangled a collar.
She scratched her wrist, remembering a familiar binding.
"When did you start using that?" She asked the templar.
"It arrived a few days ago from Denerim. Couldn't have come at a better time, if you ask me." He cleared his throat and paced the perimeter of the cage. "We've sent for a Senior Enchanter from Kinloch to help us conduct the Rite, why don't you return once it's been done? He'll sing like a song bird for you then."
"We have no plans to stay in South Reach beyond tomorrow." She quickly concocted that plan. Connor couldn't be within a league of South Reach when the Enchanters arrived.
She took the fiercest stance she had and addressed the mage. "Your name."
The mage said nothing. His eyes were vacant and soulless.
The templar landed the side of his armored fist on the bars. The mage startled, as if he had been in some hypnotic grasp, and when he came to, he regarded Nuraya in horror.
"She said your name, filth!" Ser Gerold barked.
"T-T-Torsten." He spoke with the same accent as Kalvindir. What little pity she had felt washed away.
With great effort, the mage rolled to his knees. His great belly sagging as he entwined his fingers, his chains clinking. "You are the Hero, please, I beg of you, I would rather spend a lifetime as a mage locked in this cell than to have to spend the rest of my pitiful existence as Tranquil. Please oh, please…."
His whining only irritated her. "Then you will tell me—who do you serve?" she demanded.
"The Order. Order of the Dragon. I don't know anything. Please, they accept any mage on the run, hiding from the templars." He looked warily at Ser Gerold, expecting another bash to the cage.
"Who ordered the attack on the Collective? To attack me?"
Tears fell down Torsten's jowls. "I don't know. We follow or die. Oh, what a mistake I have made! Oh, why did I not just go at it alone?" The look in his eye was as vacant and dead as it had been when they had fought in front of the city gate.
She asked a few more questions but they were answered with equal vagueness and were followed with his pathetic sobs. Folding her arms, she took a step back and called Ser Gerold by name. "He won't talk."
"Want me to make him?"
Without remorse, she replied. "Please."
The mage unleashed an indignant wail, a childish whine as the templar unlocked the cell. Torsten cowered, dragging his massive form into a corner and held his shackled hands in front of his face. "No, I'll beg of you, don't hit me! I'll tell you whatever you wish to know! Oh please! Andraste's mercy!"
Nuraya paced to the side of the cell, catching Tassilo's pale expression as he watched in horror. The templar's eyes went to hers and she nodded.
"Do it."
With his gauntlet, Ser Gerold backhanded him with a single, solid clout. Torsten's stare did not change and he began to laugh. Bloody drool dibbled over his shaking girth as the eerie laughter filled the cell.
"You shut your face or you'll taste more steel." Ser Gerold said, enunciating each word, his threats interrupting the maniacal laughter.
Nuraya stepped into the cell behind the templar. "Who ordered the attack?"
"The Mother," said the mage, and then sputtered uncontrollably, slumping into a fit of hysterics.
"Why?"
And as suddenly as it had begun, the laughter stopped. He stared directly at Nuraya, one eye empty, the other hidden behind a fleshy lid. His long and wanting gape seemed as though it could reach out and tear her soul out from her body. With a half-lidded glance, he spit blood at the templar, and missed, the slimy glob nearly landing on the toe of his boot. Ser Gerold made a motion to kick him in retribution, and the mage squirmed tighter into the corner.
Nuraya raised her voice, demanding that he answer her.
"How did she say it?" The mage said with a smirk "You'll just get in her way. You're far too connected."
Nuraya's stomach sunk upon fully accepting that Morrigan had betrayed her.
"Get in the way of what?" she asked, fearing the answer.
Torsten's face blanched, all expression washed away.
"The Son." His eyes widened. "And he will rise and bring Thedas to its knees. And there will be nothing you can do to stop him. The Wardens cannot control the Son." He punctuated the last statement with another maniacal laugh.
Nuraya thought quickly, afraid to pursue this line of questioning in fear that he might reveal the Son's origin. She found another. "What of Prince Brandel? Why does the Mother need him?"
He sniffed wetly. "She does not need the boy. Only his blood. And she will get that. The Mother always takes care of the Son."
A wave of nausea rolled over her. A thousand new questions bubbled to the surface. The mage smiled, and she caught a glint of silver from his parted lips. Before she could identify what it was, he brought his wrists to his mouth, and jerked them across his face. His arms flopped to his lap and he smiled again, his bloated lips were ringed in shining red, the corner turned up into a wry grin. And then she noticed the blood, pooling on the ground, from ragged gashes on his wrists. A sliver of mirror dropped to his chest, catching reflections of the torchlight.
"Makers tears! How did he smuggle that in here! We had him thoroughly searched!"
Nuraya dropped to her knees and held two fingers to his neck. His pulse was thready, and color completely drained from his swollen face. "Do you want me to heal him?" She couldn't believe she had to ask the question, but needed his permission to use magic.
"Maker, yes! We wish to question him further!"
"Then get me bandages." She turned and looked over her shoulder and saw Tassilo heed the request.
She took each meaty paw into her small hands, slick and dark with blood to staunch the bleeding. Her connection to the Fade stirred in the back of her mind and she drew her thoughts into the darkness and imagined the runes to close the wound. Her hands were hot, almost steaming and his thigh twitched in response. And as his blood mixed with her magic, she sensed that he had more to tell. A great deal. The details were nothing more than a nebulous cloud, and she dared not query any further. For a moment, his mind connected with hers—he knows about the ritual.
If he was connected to a demon, she did not wish to channel it into her. With a deep breath, she bit her bottom lip and imagined another rune; a blood-thinning rune she used on the older folk with weaker hearts. From under her grasped hands she felt a steady, warm stream gush between her fingers. The mage let out a mortal sigh and then was silent.
Tassilo was kneeling beside her, offering her a basket of wrappings.
She looked in his forest green eyes and said, "It's too late. There was nothing I could do."
~0oOo0~
She discovered a bench amongst the magnolias in the chantry's back garden. The apple trees were in their full glory, with pink blooms bright like sunset and pale as baby's cheeks that filtered the late afternoon sun. The Revered Mother sent a sister to help her clean up, but her clothing was hopelessly stained. Luckily, Ser Gerold had witnessed the entire scene and vouched that Nuraya's noble act had been dogged but futile. She felt a slight twang of guilt as he proceeded to blame himself for missing the shard of mirror the mage must have kept hidden in his mouth. The Revered Mother dismissed her, almost relieved that the matter had been taken care of.
Tassilo handed her a steaming mug of tea. She accepted, smiling gratefully and edged over, offering him a seat. He took the spot, folding his hands neatly in his lap.
"Professor Saunière will be anxious to hear about what we've learned."
While she was accustomed to spending long hours tending to patients, she felt in dire need of a bath. "Have we learned anything?" she asked.
"The need for the young Prince's blood. That is an important detail. Maybe the professor uncovered a connection this afternoon."
From over the garden's stone walls, she could see the brilliant orange of the sun preparing to set. The garden had a calming effect. She was not quite ready to return to the Castle. There was the Arl's dinner after all, and that meant politics.
"You mentioned you had a message for me?" She asked, sipping the hot tea.
He nodded with a smile and told her about his visit in Dungarven, how he had met her father, Geordie, Boswell and Tulia—everyone dearest to her heart. No one had changed; there was barely any news with the exception of which mares had foaled and how the whole village was up in arms with Sister Audrey. Apparently, Dungarven missed her healing talents. As Tassilo related his story for the second time, offering more detail than the first, her thoughts drifted. It wasn't from lack of interest. It was difficult hearing about the woman who replaced her in the job that she loved best.
It occurred to her that today was the first time she had ever used her healing to kill.
On the one hand, she knew she could have healed him and had plenty of experience dealing injuries that severe. On the other, she had dealt death with magic plenty of times. But that magic was designed to harm. This felt different. It felt wrong, but at the same time, it was the price she was willing to pay to keep the Dark Ritual secret. She had fought long and hard for Alistair to accept the crown. Under Alistair's rule, Ferelden was stable, even thriving and had crawled back from the brink of collapse. She dared not wonder what the Landsmeet might do if they discovered what he had done on the eve of battle.
When Tassilo had finished his tale, he said "There is a letter for you, back at the Castle."
"From who?" she asked. Her father was illiterate.
He gave her a strange look. "Your father, who else?"
Instead of explaining herself, she feigned exhaustion. It was mostly true. The events of the day had started to catch up to her. And she still had to endure the evening.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay and investigate the library?" She asked, deciding that she was quite fond of this spot in the garden.
Tassilo stood, putting his hands behind his back and surveyed the dazzling blossoms in the waning light. "The nice thing about libraries is that they can wait. We don't wish to be late for the Arl's dinner, and I don't know about you, but I could stand to freshen up after being in that putrid hole with that disgusting mage." He turned and wrinkled his nose.
A cool breeze chilled her. She set down her tea and stood. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Do what?"
"This Quest. Find this thing. Get chased across Thedas by a rabid pack of blood mages."
"We've already been on the run from Seekers and a faction of templars. What's a pack of blood mages?" He shrugged, and stated that as if it were merely a fact and not a matter of life or death.
She smiled gratefully. "I haven't travelled with a party in a long time. I thought those days were behind me."
They followed the stone path to the gate. As Tassilo unlatched it, he said, "From all the stories that I've heard, I couldn't have fallen amongst a finer group of mages."
Nuraya laughed. "A most unlikely group if you ask me. But I suppose no stranger than a Crow, Homesick Qunari and the Future king of Ferelden."
As they took the road that took them to the Castle, Tassilo paused and shook her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Nuraya. I'm proud to be a member of this company. Now let's hurry back to the Sutherland before Hawke finds himself in any more trouble."
She thought of the dog but said nothing of it.
Bioware owns all. Many thanks to Kira Tamarion and DoorbellsSpider for their continual and most awesome support. And of course, to everyone who continues to read and review. In celebration of getting my characters together on the page, I commissioned a group portrait! I've saved a link on my profile look for [ Andraste's Key Group Portrait ] and be sure to leave the artist a review as well!