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Ciri noticed the tension in the camp immediately as she dismounted and handed Zephyr's reins off to Scout Ritts. "What's the trouble?"

Ritts' gaze darted around, then traveled a way beyond the Inquisition's tents to a trio of sturdy gray ones by their own fire.

"It's the Wardens, Your Worship. We've got no problem with Warden Malika—she was one of us. But they sent him. Blackwall, er, Rainier. We can't do our jobs and keep him from losing his head. And some of us." She cleared her throat. "Well. Some of us aren't fussed about watching his back out there."

Ciri rubbed her forehead, feeling a twinge behind her eyebrow. "Oh, fantastic. We specifically told them not to send Rainier."

"Yeah, well." Ritts shrugged. "He's here now."

"Tell the other scouts it's not their job to keep Warden Rainier safe in Orlais," Ciri said. "It was the Order's choice to send him back across the border. We'll watch out for him here in Emprise du Lion, but after that, it's the Order's job, and his own."

Ritts bowed, one fist on her heart, the other wrapped around Zephyr's reins. "I'll spread the word."

Ciri stepped out of the way as Ritts led Zephyr off, and she tugged her new fur-lined leather hood up higher as the chill wind blew another strong gust of snowy air through the camp. A pair of heavy boots hit the ground behind her with a thud, crunching the snow, and Olgierd walked over to join her.

"So this is Sahrnia," he said, casting an assessing look past the tents at the village down the path. "Could be picturesque, under different circumstances. A charming little town by a frozen river."

"There's not much charming about this place." Ciri tucked her gloved hands under her armpits and gave him a brief glance. He didn't look too uncomfortable in the biting cold clad in the quilted wool and silk-lined surcoat Josephine had commissioned for him on such short notice. "Leliana's agent said villagers have been going missing, and somehow the village headwoman, Mistress Poulin, always has enough money and food to take care of the remainder despite the freeze halting trade."

"It's a keeper's job to care for all their clan," Mihris said as she and Mahanon came up. The tip of her pale nose was red from the cold, and she wore a similar fur hood and capelet over her Dalish armor. "If this headwoman is sacrificing some of her people, then she's failing all of them."

"Well spoken, da'len." Solas joined them on quiet feet. His only concession to the snow and the bitter chill had been to wrap his feet entirely and to wear a thin lambswool hood over his bald head and ears. Somehow, he managed to emanate warmth and a serene calm. "We should see what information the Grey Wardens have for us."

Ciri nodded and turned to the stone-faced Mahanon. "Will you be coming with us to Suledin Keep or staying with the scouts here?"

"If you're dragging my clan's First into danger, then you won't leave me behind."

"Peace, lethallan," Mihris said, resting a hand on Mahanon's shoulder. "Imshael wouldn't be here if Keeper Thelhen hadn't erred so badly, or if Ser Michel hadn't freed him. This is my responsibility, at least in part."

Olgierd looked sympathetic, as if he understood exactly how she felt.

Mahanon grumbled under his breath and stalked ahead. "The sooner we talk to the Wardens, the sooner we'll have this dealt with!" he called back over his shoulder.

They followed him down the path to the brown tents where a familiar face awaited them alongside two strangers. Malika grinned and jumped to her feet, striding over.

"Your Handiness!" she said cheerfully. "Colder than Maferath's balls out, isn't it?"

Back at the Warden's fire, a familiar voice stifled a laugh, and one of the strangers got to his feet as well.

"It's good to see you again," Ciri said. The burst blood vessels in Malika's left eye had healed almost entirely, leaving it looking only faintly bloodshot. "And you—" She broke off at the stranger's approach. "You shaved your beard."

"Aye," Rainier said. He rubbed his stubbled jaw with a rueful expression. The scar from the Western Approach stood out vividly against his skin without the beard framing it. "It seemed past time. I'm not hiding anything, not any longer."

"A fine sentiment, though your timing's shite," Olgierd told him. "Did your superiors not heed Ciri's warning?"

"No, they heeded it," Rainier said. "Warden-Constable Howe and Senior Warden Velanna went back and forth over it for a whole day before they decided it didn't matter. This is a joint Grey Warden-Inquisition operation, and they wanted to send Wardens who've worked with the Inquisition before."

"You know, given the whole Adamant thing," Malika added. "You like us. They're throwing us out in front to make it easier."

"I do like you," Ciri allowed with a small smile, and Malika grinned even wider. "Tell me what the situation is here."

Malika turned back to the campfire and waved over the second stranger. The woman stood and smoothed down the front of her silverite studded tabard before walking over. She was quite tall for a human woman, taller than Ciri, with dark olive skin and masses of deep brown curls. She gave Ciri a polite nod and a short, firm handshake.

"Senior Warden Anicia Fulfair," she said. "I'm the mage attached to this excursion, and the second most senior Warden. Warden-Constable Estienne is with Wardens Rees and Randulf up by Drakon's Rise dealing with the blighted lyrium there. We already saw to Highgrove."

Ciri approved of her at once. "What exactly are the Wardens doing about the blighted lyrium?"

Warden Anicia jerked a thumb over her shoulder at one of the tents. "Hollow silverite stakes inscribed with cleansing runes. We knock them in place, pour a potion down the shaft, and let it get to work. We'll know it's kicked in when the lyrium starts to turn purple and the humming dies down some. The problem is, it's only a stopgap—it goes red again after a couple months. We won't have a real solution until Ferelden's Warden Commander comes back with a cure."

"That's Queen Elissa, isn't it?" Ciri asked.

"One and the same," Warden Anicia said. "Maker knows how King Alistair is getting on without her."

Judging by how many times he'd brought her up when Ciri had seen him in Skyhold, he missed her intensely.

"So the Warden's solution is only temporary," she said. "That's not good."

"It's not all bad, either," Rainier said. "Once the Blight calms down enough, we can break up the clusters and put them in these special containers the dwarves sent us from Orzammar. We're still working on how to get rid of them safely. Sigrun and Oghren suggested chucking them in that canyon in the Western Approach, the one that's all black from the Blight."

"We'll still need to treat the soil here periodically, however," Warden Anicia said. She frowned and crossed her arms. "It's good you called us in on this, Inquisitor. There may not be an archdemon, but this qualifies as a Blight in our books. Weisshaupt is… unresponsive… so the decision came down to our Warden-Commanders and Constables. Your enemy is one of the original darkspawn, and he has a corrupted dragon under his thrall. We're treating red Templars as a new form of ghoul and assuming they're as contagious. Blighted lyrium is to be considered extremely dangerous and anyone trafficking in it, taking it, or aiding and abetting those who do is guilty of spreading the Blight."

"We'll pass the word along."

Ciri had hoped there might be a cure for the red Templars someday, even given the atrocities they'd taken part in, but she knew that the Grey Wardens had the last word on the Blight. On the bright side, that likely put Mistress Poulin's potential misdeeds in the Warden's hands.

"Good." Warden Anicia looked up toward the rocky peaks that held the quarry. "We don't want you anywhere near the red lyrium if we can help it. You and your people don't have a resistance to the Blight like we do. The keep will likely be full of the stuff, so there's no avoiding it there, but you'll take Thom and Malika when you go."

"I'll trust your judgment," Ciri said. "Where will you be?"

"I'm meeting back up with the others at the Drakon's Rise camp, and then we'll work through the quarry and take back Valeska's Watch." She smoothed her hands down her tabard again and gave Ciri a shallow bow. "Stay safe out there, Inquisitor. Thom, Malika, wait a moment. I'm sending you with supplies."

She slipped away to duck into one of the tents and returned with an armful of long, gleaming metal stakes inscribed with miniscule runes all up and down the shafts. A bulging burlap sack dangled from her hand.

Rainier strapped the stakes to Malika's back beside her bow and tied the sack to his belt. Its contents clinked and sloshed as he moved.

"Thom," Warden Anicia said. "This is the ass end of Orlais, and you'll be with the Inquisitor. That chevalier probably won't try his luck with you. But still. Keep your head down. Even if you are a Warden now, any soldier with a burr up his ass and an axe to grind on this side of the border will take one look at you and start swinging."

"Aye, I know." Rainier busied himself double-checking the knots on the sack, not meeting the eyes of Ciri's companions.

Malika squeezed his arm gently. "Come on, handsome. Let's get going."

"Yes," Ciri agreed, casting an eye over Mihris. The young mage darted tense, anxious glances at the village a short distance away, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. "It's high time we speak to Ser Michel about Imshael."

Mihris looked at Ciri sharply. "'Speak'? You promised me vengeance."

"And I won't keep you from it," Ciri said as they began walking down the path again. "But if he has information about Imshael that we need, and you took your vengeance before we got it, we'd regret it."

Mihris clenched her fist at her side, then slowly nodded. "That's fair. We shall see what he has to say first."

Mahanon rested a supportive hand on Mihris' shoulder, and she gave him a small smile that trembled around the corners. "He'll answer for what he did, lethallin."

"After so long…my clan might finally rest in peace." Mihris blinked hard. "Ser Michel and Imshael, both here. It feels like a dream. Or a nightmare."

Ciri wished she had the words to comfort her. But what could she say in the face of such a loss? No words could have reached her after Cintra fell to Nilfgaard, or after she left Geralt and Yennefer on the Isle of Avalon to recover.

Once again, she was reminded of how very young Mihris was.

Rainier coughed awkwardly. "I have to admit, I was expecting a worse reception from you lot."

Olgierd shrugged, though his face was grim. "Not sure I can rightly judge someone for their past, given what I have in my own."

"What you led your men to do was despicable." Solas' voice was clipped and stern. Rainier just inclined his head in quiet agreement, and Solas sighed and said, "However, few people, if any, have had a blameless life. You live a life in service to others now, even if it is in the Grey Wardens. I can respect that."

"Thank you," Rainier said gruffly. "I'll try to live up to that."

"Do so."

Low voices and the smell of stew over a wood fire reached them as they approached the low stone wall surrounding the village. The homes within had clearly seen better days; many were in dire need of repair, with roofs or even sections of walls open to the elements. A handful of villagers milled around outside, worry written across their wind-chapped faces.

Ciri led her small group along the wall's perimeter. If there was information to be gleaned from the headwoman or the villagers, the scouts would get it. She couldn't delay the coming confrontation any longer, and nor did she truly want to.

Rainier slowly dropped to the back as they approached the lone figure standing at the gap in the wall. Behind Ciri, Mihris drew in a sharp breath.

"That's him," she whispered.

The man in question stiffened. He dropped his hand to his sword hilt, eyeing them all warily. Only at a second look, one that took in Ciri's distinctive armor, did he reluctantly drop his hand and step back.

Ciri looked him over curiously. Ser Michel de Chevin was startlingly handsome: thick golden hair, peachy pink skin, and sky blue eyes set in a symmetrical, fine-boned face. At that moment, however, he stared past her shoulder in unattractive, slack-jawed shock.

"You," he said.

"Me," Mihris agreed as she came to stand by Ciri. "Do you even remember my name, Ser Michel?" She pronounced his title with a mocking edge. "Or was I just another elf to you?"

He glared and took a step forward. "As if I could possibly forget you—Andraste's mercy, Thom Rainier as well? Do you have no shame in the company you keep, Lady Hand?"

"The Warden is not your concern," Mihris hissed. "I am. Do you think at all of that day you cut down six of my clan? The day you freed Imshael to slaughter the rest of us?"

"You were holding us captive!" he retorted. "I had a duty to my empress to see her free. And it was your keeper's greed and folly that put Imshael in your camp, not ours. What he did to your clan had nothing to do with me."

"You broke the elgar'arla. You let him loose to kill men, women—children!" Mihris' voice caught. "There were—entrails hanging from trees. He played with their bodies. I can still hear the screams at night!"

The skin around Michel's eyes tightened, and his lips thinned. "I regret your loss. But the choice to bind Imshael was the keeper's. It was never going to end well."

"You killed my lover!"

"Your lov—" Michel looked at her in confusion, then let out an angry bark of laughter. "The one who threatened to put me in 'Fen'Harel's Teeth' and hunt me for sport?"

Solas stirred and spoke up at that, his voice perfectly mild. "Forgive me; I am unfamiliar with many Dalish customs. What, precisely, are 'Fen'Harel's Teeth'?"

"As it was told to me, it's a game the Dalish play with humans unfortunate enough to wander too close to their camps," Michel said. "They strip the prisoner bare with his hands tied before him and put him in leather leggings with nails driven into them. The 'teeth,' I assume. He's given a count of one hundred to run, and the chase is on."

"Ah," Solas said. "What a fascinating tribute to the Dread Wolf."

"He only meant to scare you into behaving," Mihris protested. "My clan never did that, not for as long as I can remember."

"The only thing I learned from him was that your clan was cruel and barbaric," Michel said. He narrowed his eyes at Mihris. "Does the Inquisitor know, girl? How you walked away from the slaughter?"

Mihris thrust her staff under his nose, the crystal at the top glowing a hard, angry white. Michel didn't flinch. "You're the one who freed Imshael to kill everyone."

"And you actually let that demon possess you."

Mihris screamed and swung her staff at his head. He ducked and caught the shaft in a steady hand.

"I spared your life!" he shouted. "And you let the Forbidden One into your body to chase me for vengeance!"

She screamed again, tears streaming down her face, and yanked at her staff. A light static filled the air, sending sparks off her armor and hood. Rainier swore and took a large step back, and Solas tensed.

Mahanon raced forward to wrap his arms around her. "Shh, shh. Easy, lethallin. Breathe. In with me, one, two, three… and out, one, two, three… Elgara vallas, da'len, melava somniar, mala taren aravas, ara ma'desen melar…"

Mihris gave a violent shudder and wrenched her hand from the staff, turning to cling to Mahanon as she sobbed. The static dissipated harmlessly, and Rainier let out an audible breath. Michel looked on with what seemed like something close to regret.

"Is that all?" he asked Ciri as he handed her Mihris' staff. "I must keep my post here in case Imshael gets greedy and decides to leave Suledin Keep in search of more victims."

Ciri hesitated, then shook her head. "No. You were a chevalier, which means you took part in the graduation ritual."

His face went blank. "What does that have to do with Imshael or the Dalish?"

"Nothing. But as I'm assuming you've been away from society for a while, given your disgrace, you may not be aware that Emperor Cyril has implemented new guidelines for the chevaliers. The pointless slaughter of innocents will result in prison time."

He nodded past her at Rainier. "Bold words. One might call them hypocritical."

"From one vile piece of shit to another, Ser Michel," Rainier said, "do better."

Ser Michel clenched his jaw and stared levelly at Ciri. "The graduation ritual is not something we chevaliers repeat. The elves in the alienage have nothing to fear from me."

"Do you not feel any regret?" Olgierd asked. "For any of it? The way you speak of things makes me wonder if you've even a heart in there at all under that armor."

"I upheld my honor, and I did my duty to my empress," Michel said. "I still choose to protect innocents, even after the empress sent me from her side. What is there to regret?"

"There's an entire clan dead," Ciri said. "There are city elves dead at the end of your blade. There's a lot to regret."

"And when Imshael is no longer a threat, perhaps I'll have the time to spare a thought for any past misdeeds. But he is the priority, not who I may have killed or what I may have done."

"Prick," Malika muttered.

That twinge appeared behind Ciri's eyebrow again, and she rubbed her forehead irritably. "Fine. What do you know of what Imshael is doing in the keep?"

"He has struck some sort of bargain with the red Templars," Michel said. "They bring him victims to play with, and he helps them grow the red lyrium faster." He shook his head. "Sahrnia is fast running out of sacrifices."

"And the headwoman, Poulin. Is she involved?"

"She sold her quarry to the red Templars a while back, and after some months, they started demanding new villagers to work it—to replace the ones that keep dying. If she doesn't give the red Templars her people, the rest of the village will starve," Michel told her. "I suspect the ones remaining look the other way so long as they have full bellies."

"Marvelous." She looked to Rainier, and he nodded back grimly. "Your people will deal with that, I suppose?"

"Aye. We'll see it done."

She glanced at Mihris, whose sobs had tapered off into ragged breaths, and sighed. "Regardless of your unwillingness to admit fault, you still played a large role in the deaths of an entire clan of Dalish elves and killed six of them yourself. I promised Mihris she'd have justice."

"It doesn't concern you that she willingly became an abomination?" he asked.

"I think she suffered more in a single year than most people do in their entire lives," Ciri said. "And she isn't possessed now."

"By a minor miracle, thanks to that other Dalish elf. Fal—no, Felassin."

Solas stirred again, but stayed silent.

"Felassan," Mihris said thickly. "He was from a different clan. I owe him my freedom—I haven't seen him since."

"We'll find him and thank him one day," Mahanon said.

Michel's gauntlets clacked as he crossed his arms over his breastplate. "Very well, Inquisitor. I shall stay and guard what remains of Sahrnia's people while you take a onetime abomination and a murderer to deal with Imshael. If you succeed, I'll surrender myself to your justice."

Ciri made a note to alert the scouts. His 'chevalier honor' might keep him from running off, but given the low esteem he held her party in, she wouldn't take that chance.

She turned to go and paused at the soft sound of Mihris' question. The young mage's voice was no longer thick with tears, but there was a hoarseness to it that gave away how hard she'd been crying.

"Ser Michel de Chevin," she said. "What do you call elves now?"

A long, painful silence came from the man Ciri had turned her back to. Then an answer, just as quiet as Mihris' question.

"I don't know."

They arrived at Drakon's Rise to find Warden Anicia with three other Grey Wardens looking grimly out over a wooden bridge spanning a spiked ditch. They broke off from their muttered conversation at Ciri's approach, and a brawny, ruddy-cheeked human with a full, light brown beard came over to shake her hand.

"Warden-Constable Estienne Pellart," he said. "I hope you had no trouble getting here."

"Very little," Ciri said. "We only had the rifts to deal with, thanks to you."

Adventure had made another appearance during their fight atop the frozen river, his laugh echoing out over the ice as he yanked the demons back through the rift from the other side. In the aftermath, Olgierd had shaken his head at Ciri, still smiling fondly. No sign of Vlodimir in his dreams—not yet, anyway.

The path to Drakon's Rise was littered with growths of blighted lyrium, all of it pulsing ominously and letting off a low, whining hum. The color was strange; the sick, vivid red had faded to an unnatural shade of violet, and its "song," while less oppressive, still wore on Ciri. The faint twinge behind her eyebrow had turned into a full-blown headache, and everyone else bar Malika and Rainier looked to be in as poor shape as she felt.

Warden Estienne squinted at her. "Rees! The potion!"

A thin, pale elven man bristling with daggers came over and offered Ciri a small vial of something wheat colored. "Get that down your gullet, Your Worship," he said. "Pinch your nose if you have to."

Ciri made a face and swallowed the potion down, gagging slightly at the acrid taste. She shook her head hard, her eyes tearing at the corners as Rees laughed.

"Yeah, I hear it's awful. But it should clear up that headache you have."

"You don't have to take it?" Mahanon asked. He still hovered near Mihris, keeping a protective eye on her.

Warden Rees passed around a handful of vials to the rest of the group. "Wardens have Blight resistance. Worst that might happen is all this exposure will speed up the taint we already have. Or the lyrium will drive us crazy, but that's lyrium for you, right? Don't count on this potion actually working for long, though. It's not a cure for the Blight, so get in, get your problem sorted, and get out."

Ciri let out a low sigh as the throbbing behind her eyes began to fade. "Thank you. Now, what has you looking so frustrated?"

Warden Estienne beckoned her over to the bridge, and he pointed to a narrow passage between two prominent rocky formations that sloped downward several yards from the other side. "That."

A gleam of emerald light shone in the passage, just as far as Ciri could see. "Ah. And you can't get past it?"

The last Warden, a tall, sunburnt blond human built like a bear, spat at his feet. "Damn thing's hanging in the air like it's taunting us. And the quarry's just beyond it by the map's reckoning."

"As is Valeska's Watch," Warden Anicia added.

"The Watch can wait," Warden Estienne said. "The quarry can't. Inquisitor, we don't want to put you at the forefront of the fighting here, not when the blighted lyrium affects non-Wardens so badly. But I have to ask."

"We'll handle it." Ciri gave her companions a quick once over and was heartened to see that the atrocious potion had done its job on all who'd needed it. "Anyone need a moment?"

Mihris shook her head, and Solas just gestured to the passage ahead.

"Then let's go."

She led the way across the bridge, drawing Gynvael as she drew closer to the gleam of light. As she entered the pass, the rift cracked to life with the sound of grinding glass, and a barrier fell over her just as the first tendrils of light shot out.

Olgierd shook his head in reluctant amusement at the yank from within the rift that came next, sending one of the tendrils flying back in. "Even if his memory's gone, he's as rash as ever."

Ciri meant to say something in return. But between one breath and the next, demons replaced the tendrils of light, and there was no time for talk.

A shade screeched and rushed toward her, its claws outstretched. She struck quickly and spun out of reach as it shrieked in anger. It pressed her, its claws raking her mail and dragging her close. She grabbed the dagger at her waist and slashed it across the demon's withered arms.

It shrieked again and tightened its hold. She could see its black mouth beneath the hood all too clearly.

She drove the dagger up through the bottom of its chin with a burst of strength and yanked it clear as the shade dissolved into ichor at her feet and all over her hand.

Ciri wiped her hand on her trousers and looked around swiftly. Most of the fighting seemed to be over, though a lone wraith in a ghostly shade of blue still bobbed and spun in the air. Malika and Mahanon sent arrow after arrow toward it as Solas, Mihris, and Olgierd flung their spells.

It stopped and stilled at one blow too many, then disappeared into nothingness. The rift pulsed a second time, and Ciri braced herself.

Her heart dropped into her stomach at the roar of a pride demon. Solas' barrier dropped over her again, and she took a steadying breath.

Rainier barreled past her, his shield upraised and his sword drawn. He charged headfirst into the demon, knocking it back a pace, and struck with a yell. Olgierd looked grim as he joined the fray. His saber cleaved into the armored hide as he gracefully stepped clear of the whips of lightning lashing the passage.

Arrows flew over Ciri's head, peppering the demon. Light flashed in the corner of her eyes, and fire and ice burst across its massive body. She gripped Gynvael's hilt and lunged forward.

A crackling line of lightning snapped above her head as she slashed her sword against the demon's hard belly. The hide split against Gynvael's razor-sharp edge, the sword leaving a line of rime in its wake.

It roared and lashed out, sending Rainier falling backwards. Malika's angry cry echoed through the passage. Ciri struck again, ducking and darting away as the lightning whip cracked out once more.

On the other side of the demon, Olgierd's blows were wide and elegant. It twisted around to strike him and landed a solid hit. Her friend staggered with a low curse. Ciri lashed out hard before the demon could follow through, drawing its attention back to her.

Rainier clambered to his feet and rushed back in with a wince. Another volley of arrows flew.

Ciri cried out in shock, her hand spasming around her hilt, as the tip of the whip grazed her arm. The demon laughed, low and dark. Olgierd swore and pressed the attack. Twin burst of fire and ice came from behind, and the demon roared as the spells impacted its body.

She gritted her teeth and shook out her numb arm, then struck at the demon's side where cold had cracked the armored hide. Her blade sank in, and at the welling of frost-encrusted ichor she drew it back and struck a second time. It dropped to one knee, lightning whips crackling violently in its hands as they trailed on the snow.

Olgierd landed the final heavy blow to the back of its thick neck. The lightning died abruptly, and the giant, armored demon dissolved into nothing more than a puddle of green on a churned-up field of white and brown.

Ciri raised an exhausted arm to the rift and let the connection spark. It raced from her palm in a torrent of emerald light, eager to respond. She gripped the sensation and pulled it back, sealing the rift for good.

They all stood silently for several tired seconds before Rainier said the obvious.

"Well, we're fucked."

"We handled it in the end," Mahanon said defensively.

"Thom's right," Ciri said. "A shade nearly got the better of me. A shade. The only ones who are at their best are Thom and Malika, and there's nowhere safe to camp where we can rest up without going all the way back to Sahrnia. When we take on Imshael—" She broke off. "This will be difficult."

Mihris gripped her staff. Her pale green eyes were filled with fierce resolve. "Whatever it takes. If Ser Michel won't take responsibility, then I will, as my late keeper's First. I should have stopped him. Somehow."

Olgierd was quiet for a long moment. He ran his hand down his face and looked to Ciri in resignation. "I made Josephine a promise that I'd return to her. Don't let me break it."

"I won't," she said. "You'll get back to Skyhold, I'll make sure of it."

He nodded and came over to wrap an arm around her shoulders, turning her back toward Drakon's Rise. "Your word is always good enough for me. Come. Let's see to our injuries before we press on."

She leaned into him briefly and regretted it when he flinched. "Good idea."

The jutting violet spires of lyrium rose before them as they crossed the bridge to the Warden's camp. Warden Estienne came forward, a small, hard look of satisfaction playing around his mouth.

"A hard-fought battle, Inquisitor," he said, his eyes roving across their battered band. "Rest here. We have supplies and healing potions if you need them."

"Thank you," she said. She made note of the tent he pointed to.

"We'll press ahead to clear the tower and make for the quarry," he continued. "Give us an hour before following, if you will. It will allow for the Blight solution to take effect in the lyrium."

"And here," Warden Rees said, pushing a half-dozen vials into her hands. "You'll want these for later."

Ciri nodded her thanks and let Olgierd steer her to a chair by a roughly hewn table. She sat and propped her elbow on it, setting her chin in her hand, and she watched tiredly as the Wardens left the camp. Solas disappeared from her side and came back just as quietly with the healing supplies the Warden-Constable had mentioned, and he looked around at everyone sternly.

"Now is not the time for bravado. If anyone is injured, speak up."

"Got knocked around some," Rainier volunteered. "I think it's just bruising, though."

"Deep bruising," Olgierd said, gingerly touching the spot he'd been struck. "Might have cracked a rib."

"I got hit by that lightning whip," Ciri said. "But it was just on my arm." She held up the arm in question.

Solas frowned and set his armful of supplies on the table. "Ciri first."

"And I'll take care of your injuries," Mihris said to Olgierd and Rainier.

Ciri sighed and rolled up her sleeve under Solas' watchful gaze, shivering a bit, as Olgierd and Rainier both began to strip down to fewer layers.

A dark thought struck her as Solas' fingers carefully prodded the burn mark.

This fight could have gone so much worse. And Imshael, even if he's not O'Dimm, is sure to be a much greater threat than a pride demon.

She pressed her lips together and looked away. Somehow, she didn't think the fight to come would have a happy ending for everyone.