The sun was getting low, and red as they came back toward Redcliffe, and there was no question in Nike's mind how the area had gotten its name. In the setting sun, it looked like blood had been spilt down the rockfaces, and the cataract seemed made of pure molten gold.
Tahja, Leliana, and the dwarves had elected to remain behind in camp once the wardens had outlined what was going on. Bodhann and Sandal had done their part by gathering all the surplus weaponry and armor they'd gotten off the bandits into a bundle for them to take to the villagers. Sandal had gleefully enchanted several of the pieces with his pots and rune-scales until Bodhann had made him stop. Time was not on their side, and if the boy had his way, every inch of every blade would have been covered in runes.
Tahja didn't seem to really want to stay behind, to the point Nike almost feared the girl would find a way to sneak in and help them fight. Nike just hoped she had enough sense to see that until she had learned a bit more on how to defend herself, she'd be more a liability in battle than a boon.
Leliana, at least, understood this. She remained to keep the camp protected, and had been speaking with Tahja about helping her when they had departed. With luck, this would be enough to prevent the elf from doing anything brash.
Sten had come along. He had selected several pieces of armor that fit fairly well, and had his new longsword in hand. Nike had not seen the man fight yet- he had barely spoken a half dozen words since they'd freed him from his cage- but she suspected of all those gathered here, he was the most veteran at such combat.
The bridge into the village was not yet in sight, when a shadow blocked out the reddening sun. Nike lifted her hand, squinting against it, and was relieved to see Morrigan dropping out of the sky. She vanished momentarily behind a large rockface, before she hurried around it in her human form. Without thinking, Nike offered the apostate her hand, and Morrigan grasped it and swung up behind the warden with ease.
"The castle is well sealed," Morrigan said in Nike's ear, an arm wrapping around her waist to keep her seat. Quite unexpectedly, Nike felt a sudden rush of heat quite similar to the one she'd had when Adaon had kissed her. If the apostate noticed her suddenly going stiff, she made no indication. "All doors barred, the wind-shutters on every window fastened. I suspect in some cases, they were even nailed shut. However, I was able to gain entry through the rookery at the topmost tower. T'was an atrocious sight. Every messenger bird had their necks wrung. Some appeared to be savaged. The smell was abysmal."
"The others in the castle?" Nike asked, glad that her voice sounded calm and even enough.
"I did not venture far," Morrigan said. "I saw no others, living or deceased- however I can say this. Tis a presence inside that Keep, quite formidable. If I must guess, I would say a demon lurks there."
"A demon?" Nike whispered back, the warmth she felt at Morrigan's arm around her waist suddenly growing cold. "I admit I am not the best versed in such things, but for a demon to be there, don't they have to be possessing a mage?"
"Or summoned of such," Morrigan told her. "I could be mistaken, but the currents in the air carried dark and troublesome things."
"I doubt you're mistaken," Nike said, then suddenly reined in as a further thought occurred to her. Angry Horse threw his head up a bit in frustration. They were nearing the bridge now, Tomas already having stepped aside to let them through.
Nike turned in the saddle, twisting about as far as she was able to, to look at Morrigan. "Are you in danger?"
"What?" Morrigan seemed a little taken aback.
"Are you in danger?" Nike repeated sternly. "If there is a demon in Redcliffe-"
"If there is a demon in Redcliffe, then tis most likely there because a mage was foolish enough to be possessed of it."
"But can it…can it go from one mage to another? Or maybe more might be there, or-…or drawn there? Are you in danger of being possessed if you go back into that castle?"
Morrigan blinked at her, and for a moment something was in her expression that Nike had not noticed before. Then, Morrigan was smirking wryly, and Nike was no longer sure what she thought she saw had been there at all.
"I can assure you, Redcliffe poses no true danger for me in such a sense. I have been an apostate living in the Wilds since my infancy. Mother was useless in many things but she did teach me skills to prevent such an inconvenient condition as possession. A demon taking hold of her child would have been a nuisance not to be tolerated. I am in no more danger in that castle than would you be. But I do thank you, for your concern."
Nike turned forward again, noticed that Alistair, Sten, and Tomas were watching her at the bridge, and spurred Angry Horse on.
"Of course I'm concerned," Nike said once they were nearly across the bridge. "So do remember, you are a mage but you are also a warden- at least as far as any here should know. Warden Mages aren't considered apostates and aren't in any danger of being run on a rail out of town and right into the Circle Tower."
"I had not forgotten," Morrigan told her airily. "Though were any to try such foolishness they would no longer need fear anything within that castle."
They rode into the square. Teagan and a dozen men were standing on the Chantry steps, the Bann hurrying down to greet them almost before Alistair had drawn his horse to a halt.
"Teagan, we have extra weapons and armor," the Warden told him as he dismounted, pulling one of the bundles off the back of his horse. Teagan was eyeing Sten and Morrigan.
"Only two others?" he asked. "You made it sound as if you had an entire company."
"Don't underestimate them," Nike said, overhearing as she, too, dismounted. "Or us."
"I am sorry," Teagan inclined his head toward her. "I don't mean to second guess. I have to remember you're wardens, not average soldiers. There's just been so much blood and death here of late…well. It's nearly sundown, and we have some final preparations. Mother Hannah would also like to confer a blessing-"
He gestured at the Revered Mother who stood nearby, but Morrigan's laugh cut him off.
"Is there a problem?" he asked.
"Oh, none at all," Morrigan said. "Your men are free to receive such a blessing if they see benefit in such, but I shall pass."
"You think that believing in the Maker is foolishness?" Mother Hannah said, and Nike could see the words on Morrigan's face before she spoke them. She stepped quickly in between the two.
"That is a discussion for a better time, I think," she said, looking up at the Chantry. "We have some more pressing matters at hand. Alistair, I'll leave the swordmen to you. Any archers will join me. Bann, is there a way up onto that roof?"
"The Chantry roof?" the Bann asked, turning to regard the building himself. "I believe there is a belfry? Mother, does that belfry give egress?"
"I believe we can accommodate," the Mother said, then gestured at Nike and the three or four men with bows to follow her inside.
"Will you stay here with the swordsmen?" Nike asked Morrigan, and she got the expected look in response. "Yes, I thought it was pointless asking."
The Chantry roof was heavily cobbled and sloped on either side, but a flat length some ten or fifteen feet wide flanked the belfry to the front and back. They had to watch their step as they made it over to the eaves, but once there the decorative stonework gave them cover while they had a wide and clear view of the entire square and most of the village.
A large artistic flourish marked the front peak of the roof and it was on this that Morrigan perched herself. Though she had not taken on her raven form again, she crouched at its apex with as much ease, her yellow eyes flashing as she looked around the dying day. Nike took up position nearby, and was unsurprised when Morrigan spoke to her.
"Is this not yet another kitten we need rescue from a tree?" she asked.
"I told you," Nike said. "I like kittens."
"Surely there are better expenditures of our time than helping a handful of villagers against a threat they cannot seem to manage on their own."
"We need Eamon's men, against the Blight," Nike said, although the words seemed weak as she said them. Morrigan, with her sharp knack of winnowing out any such weakness, cut right to flaw in those words.
"T'would seem to me that those very men are among the undead who are attacking this village every evening. I do not think they will be of much use against the Blight, save to join its forces against us."
"Then if that is the case," Nike told her. "It is better that we put them down now, is it not? And if there is a demon in that Keep, we cannot risk its power loose in the world, to perhaps bolster the darkspawn or further whittle what forces we are able to gather against the darkspawn down to uselessness. We have enough to fight without adding to it."
She could feel Morrigan's eyes on her, but wasn't sure if that gaze was weighted with disdain or if they were conceding she had a point. She didn't dare look to see which it was. When the mage said nothing, Nike dared to speak again.
"This job is really hard enough, Morrigan, without feeling like you're questioning everything I do. Need I remind you that I didn't ask for this, don't want it, and if I could be miles away back in Highever as nothing more than a spoiled rich little girl I would take it in a heartbeat. But I'm not. And I can't ever go back there. Please, don't make me feel a fool on top of all that."
Another long pause in which she didn't dare look at the mage. Then Morrigan said, quite gently, "But you will be going back."
Now Nike looked at her. The sky had not yet gotten so dark that the apologetic look on her face wasn't clear. Nike felt somewhat guilty for sniping at her, and her own voice was just as gentle as she asked, "What do you mean?"
"You will be going back," Morrigan said, a bit more matter-of-factly. "Your Rendon Howe still needs his throat slit, for what he's done."
That was true. That was one thing that Nike had not lost her conviction in- avenging herself and her family upon Howe. She found herself smiling at Morrigan, and was not in the last bit surprised when she caught Morrigan smiling back.
The long last rays of the sunset had faded, and a hush of anticipation had fallen over all of the village. The wind up on the Chantry roof had picked up a little, and the only motion that could be seen was the flapping of coats or cloaks. Nike's eyes were fixed on the peaked roofline of the castle keep. Teagan had said that there was a bridge that crossed the river over the cataract in that direction, and when the undead came out of the castle they'd see the first evidence there.
So far, there was nothing. Nike wanted to believe that perhaps the undead were not coming this night, but Teagan had also said they did not emerge until full dark, and there was still a glow of light and color in the west. She watched it fade, and fade, the first twinkles of stars beginning to glimmer in twos and threes.
There would be no moon tonight, which would make fighting trickier. Expecting this, the Bann and his men had lit every torch in town and had even dragged the village for refuse and debris that could be burned. More than one pyre had been lit to show the way the dead would come.
Up on the Chantry roof with the archers, they had put out a basin on the flat near the belfry, filled with coals and embers. As it got darker, several rags and light bits of wood were stacked atop the coals and now a fire was burning there too. This one was less to see by, and instead would serve for the archers to light their arrows. Nike of course had no need of it with Far Song in her hand. Her arrows would light the moment she wished them to.
Below in the square, she could see the gathered soldiers. Alistair was distinguishable by his armor, as was Teagan. She was pretty sure the form standing next to them was Sten, though it was difficult to tell. Two or three men in what looked like knight's armor had arrived just at dark from the direction of the great windmill standing near the cataract. Nike was unsure if they truly were knights, as she had thought all of them had gone to search for the Urn.
Beyond this group, nearer the Chantry, were the weary town soldiers and the scattling of villagers- men and women alike-still strong enough to swing a sword. They wore the armor and held the blades that Bodhann had provided. She hoped the runes on them would serve to better keep these folk alive; they were not trained soldiers, and most had no idea how to effectively wield a blade. They could use every advantage they could get.
Almost painfully slowly, the last of the light bled out of the horizon. Nike took her eyes away from the cataract bridge only once, to see Morrigan, still crouching on her stone decoration. Of all those gathered, she seemed the most relaxed, but her eyes were just as fixed in the direction of the castle as theirs.
And then a glint of light just over the cataract, and another, and then another. A sound, faint and hard to make out, began to grow into a rumble of boots on wood. Nike found the first arrow out of her quiver and set it to her bowstring as a soldier near Teagan lifted a horn to his lips and blew.
The dead were coming.