Chapter Eighty-Nine: Paradox
The time travel spell did not send gravity swirling nor did it give us any sensation of falling. Aurelia's power as a mage and our positioning within the vortex assured a far more safe spell than the one Alexius had used. However, we had all still been wearing nightvision goggles when it had swallowed us, so once more, I had runes and hieroglyphs flashing as afterimages interfering with my sight.
When I finally was able to see clearly, what I saw was very encouraging. The fire in the fireplace was out, so it was dark, but I could recognise the shape of the room and the smell of woodsmoke from the embers. We were back in Redcliffe Castle, the same room that we had been sent from.
"Looks like we're back," I said, "Can we get some light here."
Armen sent a few magelights hovering around the roof in response, bathing the space in unnatural white illumination. My initial confidence that the spell had worked was damaged by what was revealed; it appeared that the space was set up as a very large bedroom. Alexius was not there for us to kill, nor was Fiona around either.
"Who are they?" Dorian asked, pointing at something with his still-gloved hand off to my left. I turned to see who he was talking about.
There appeared to be a number of bodies slumped against the walls of the room. Most of them seemed to be rotting corpses, like the hunger demons we had so recently encountered but decaying and mostly naked. However, there were two more corpses that were not like the others, dressed in fine clothes and very much not rotting. One male, one female; dressed in Fereldan and Orlesian fashions respectively.
I groaned. Clearly we were in the wrong time, again. We would need to secure the area, find exactly where we were all over again before the
"See if they're alive," I ordered, directing the command at Ciara, before adding a more general one to the others, "Deadcheck those corpses, don't want them getting up and doing something."
Everyone else armed with a firelance aimed in the general direction of the bodies, and shot a pair of rounds into the heads of each. Some seemed to twitch, as if they had merely been unconscious, but the bullets did the job.
Dorian joined Ciara in seeing to the exceptional bodies. Holding fingers to the necks, they searched for pulses.
"They're alive," Ciara said, "Knocked out cold though." She carefully picked up the woman, who was not very tall, and laid her on the bed nearby. Dorian moved to do the same with the man.
"Displacement from the spell," Aurelia explained, "Anything in the way of the vortex gets pushed aside, forcefully."
Dorian cleared his throat pointedly, once he had deposited the Fereldan man on the bed by the woman. "We have a problem," he said, "I think I know this man. This is Teagan, the Arl."
Those words set my teeth on edge. I strode over and took a look for myself. The Altus was absolutely right. It was Teagan, looking younger and with no grey in his hair, but the man was unmistakable.
"Shit, you're right," I said, "I'd recognise this scowling prick anywhere. Or anywhen, I guess. What about the other one? Anyone recognise her?"
The others crowded around, struggling to do so on account of the massively padded coats we were all still wearing. Hell, we all still had scarves around our faces and ski goggles over our eyes. Despite this, everyone managed to get a good look. Everyone shook their heads.
"Mariette, any clue?" I asked, "Orlesian nobles in Ferelden can't be too common, especially outside the capital." The last intel reports on Denerim that I had read indicated that the place was a hive of both Orlesian royalist and Trojan operatives, as Queen Anora was a cultured woman who hired many tradespeople and academics.
Redcliffe on the other hand was not anything like as cultured. Foreigners were rarer.
Mariette pulled down her scarf, revealing a face that was pale with worry. "There's only one Orlesian noblewoman that has lived in Redcliffe since the expulsion of Orlais that I am aware of," she began. Before she could reveal the name of this person, the wood and the embers remaining of the fire shifted, the ashes and logs hissing as something moved them.
A Desire demon stumbled out of the fireplace, kicking the embers as it went.
It was badly injured, with some small burns on one side of its purple skin, and small but bloody wounds on the other. The impression I got was that the thing had jumped into our spell vortex at the last second, and the displacement blast of our time travel spell had blown it into the fireplace. Even I felt a pang of sympathy for the thing as it tried and failed to stand upright.
"How dare you!" it screeched without looking at us, instead crossing its arms over its chest as it touched the burns and cuts.
Its palms glowed as it attempted to heal itself, but it was slow going, probably because concentrating on a healing spell when you're injured is quite difficult. Desire demons are not exactly known for their discipline.
We quickly made a wide semi-circle around it, aiming our weapons as the thing finished healing itself and started brushing the soot off of itself. When it finally stopped, it looked up, lips drawn back in anger... but it froze quickly. Interesting.
I made the obvious assumption. "I see you understand that you're screwed," I said in Common, "You probably shouldn't have followed us here."
The snarl on its mouth dampened a little, and the demon cocked its head. "I have no idea what you are talking about," it said, "I did not follow you anywhere. I was here first. Leave!"
"We intend to do just that," I replied to the demon.
"Merde," Mariette said under her breath, realising before the rest of us what the demon's words meant for our situation. I ignored it, stupidly, assuming she was simply stating her displeasure with the creature.
"But first, you die," Aurelia smiled.
With a flick of her naginata, an icicle as long as a spear exploded forth from the tip. One blink of the eye later, and it was buried in the heart of the Desire demon, whose snarl had dropped open to a toothy gape of surprise. It slumped forward, not falling to the ground but being held in a macabre kneeling position by the length of ice.
"What have you done!" Mariette shouted in Orlesian, running to the demon's corpse.
"I killed a demon," Aurelia growled back, her tone of voice indicating she was dangerously pissed at the objection to her act of violence, "This is the appropriate way of dealing with one, or did you miss the last month of our lives?"
The harlequin put her head in her hands in frustration. "Do you see a hellgate in here?" Mariette continued over her shoulder, "This demon is an abomination, a possessed mage! Not one that wandered in through a rift!"
"What significance does that have?" Tam asked, unusually taking the side of Aurelia, "A demon is a demon." And demons were for killing. Expressions of all that was wrong with magic.
"Along with the noblewoman on the bed over there, it tells us what time we have arrived in," Mariette said, "It's the Fifth Blight!"
As if to illustrate what she was talking about, the Desire demon's body began to disintegrate, green sparks swirling away into the Fade. In its place, the body of a male child dressed in the same sort of finery as the two adults emerged. The ice spear was still lodged through him, and as soon as the demon's legs dematerialised, the kid fell on his side.
I recoiled, my own jaw dropping open in shock. The look of horrified anguish on the kid's corpse still haunts my regrets as a particularly dark episode of my life. The others were still as statues, looking between Aurelia and the scene before them. For her part, my Tevinter spouse was defiant, or seemed so.
Unable to tolerate the situation, I marched over to the corpse. Taking the ice in my grip, I pulled it out, moved the body onto its back, then closed the wide-open mouth and eyes. Whatever happened, the next people to see him would see a dignified final repose. Whatever value that had.
"Mariette," I called, "Explain. How do you know?"
"The woman over there is Isolde," the harlequin replied, "She famously fell in love with the local lord and stayed when our rule in Ferelden ended. They had a child, who was possessed by a desire demon during the Fifth Blight. The town was overrun with walking corpses, until the Hero of Ferelden showed up, saved the town and killed the demon."
The evidence added up perfectly. There were armed, old corpses around. The woman was in Orlesian style clothing, and come to think of it, the kid looked like her a lot.
Tam made a gasp of recognition. "The Arishok told of this moment!" she declared, "That the Hero and his party made sure the demon was purged. His ruthlessness towards even a child possessed was a matter of great approval." The man was fighting a Blight, and as we would discover, 'any means necessary' is something Wardens generally take very seriously.
"So we've just stolen the Hero of Ferelden's kill," I said, not vocalising the fact it was kid who was the target, "Great. We need to skedaddle, ASAP."
"Agreed, we can't interfere with this event any further," Dorian said, "It could change the whole course of history, and not necessarily in a good way." As in, maybe the Hero doesn't beat the Blight in only a year, or at all.
No damn way I was risking that. "How long to set up the next spell?" I asked.
"Five minutes," Aurelia replied, "Need to figure out what went wrong. We were not far off in our calculations given that time is infinite. It should not be difficult to adjust." Dorian nodded, confirming her words.
"Get on it," I said, "Everyone else, ammo check and then cover the doors."
For a minute, the sounds of the two Tevinter mages whispering and the clacking of magazines as every bullet was accounted for were the only things that could be heard. Eventually, everyone informed me that they had plenty of ammo left, though less than I would've liked to face bouncing around through time.
We had prepared for the worst case scenarios, but this had not been among them. I was beginning to regret not moving the bulk of the armaments in the same spell as ourselves. We still had a single example of both heavy and precision firelances respectively, but they wouldn't be enough if we kept doing this.
So, when the sounds of heavy footfalls and clanking armour came from behind the double doors, it was less than welcome.
"Contact," I said quietly, my radio assuring that everyone heard me, "Aurelia, Dorian, keep working on the spell. Armen, shield them with a barrier. Everyone else, split into two groups and hug the walls." All did as ordered.
Armen set up a static magical barrier in the centre of the room to cover the 'Vints, glowing faintly in a blue-white like a far lesser version of the magelights still hovering over our heads. Tam took Ciara and Julie to the left side of the room behind some chests of drawers, while I took Mariette and Leha to the right behind a vanity and a writing desk.
We levelled our firelances at the source of the increasingly loud sounds, joined by clearer and clearer voices. The acoustics of the castle carried the noise easily. "Teagan?!" a voice called, in a sort of Fereldan accent that was specifically familiar in some way.
The footsteps and clanking grew louder and then stopped. They must've noticed the light from under the doors. I began sweating, mostly because the castle was a little warm for full blizzard clothing, but the itching of my skin gave away that it wasn't all temperature either.
"When they come through, I'll warn them," I said, realising who it might be, "Darken the room. Goggles on." We would have the advantage in the dark with our NV goggles, particularly with the magical barrier offering a more obvious target.
The unnatural light of the room disappeared instantly, and my sight returned to the now very familiar green tones provided by the technology in front of my eyes. It seems that whoever was coming thought that whatever had happened in the room was now over. The footsteps and clanking resumed, accompanied with voices now loud enough to hear.
"This is a spectacularly bad idea," said a woman's voice, her accent cultured and English to my ear, even more so than that of King Alistair, yet just as acerbic in tone, "We have absolutely no idea what is going on in there. We should return to the village, gather the others, and then attempt this again." Wise words, I thought with amusement.
"That would leave the village defenceless," replied a man's voice, husky and in the same strangely familiar accent from before, "Leaving possessed corpses to massacre people is the last thing we need for our reputation. We already have a price on our heads."
Another itch came over me, this time as my brain was attempting to piece something together.
"We destroyed the corpses," came the reply.
"We don't know that we destroyed them all," sighed the counter.
"We must face the demon now," another deep male voice agreed. My heart froze at the sound. His accent was very obviously Qunari. I knew exactly who was coming now, and how it narrowed the range of options we had to deal with them.
"If you are so eager to face it, then by all means," the female voice drawled, "After you."
"As if you would go first in other circumstances," another, older woman remarked.
With that discussion finished, the double doors swung open slowly. A very large man came in just as slowly. He was wearing silverite plate armour from head to toe; practically the only thing that could in any way resist small-calibre Earth firelances, albeit only at greater ranges than this. His white hair was tied back in cornrows, and his eyes glanced around before settling on the barrier.
This was the Sten, who would be Arishok, who would be a corpse on the banks of the Alba at the hands of Isewen's lancers.
A man about my own height but with a wiry build came in from behind and joined him.
This guy dressed in enchanted mage's mail bearing the symbols of the Libertarian fraternity and the Grey Wardens. His head was chin length and well combed, but he was clean shaven otherwise. I would've taken him for a surfer dude if he had been walking around a beach on Earth. He was remarkably calm, like walking into a demon's lair was no big thing for him.
His staff was not unlike Armen's own; it was tipped with a broad spearhead at one point and a crystal on the other, except it was made of a black material that seemed to eat all the light around it. On NV, it looked very... anomalous. An appropriate weapon for Daylen Amell, perhaps the most powerful mage the Circle of Magi at Kinloch had produced in centuries.
The Hero of Ferelden, the man who had saved the world.
The next person to enter was a woman, in her forties maybe, dressed in mages robes with Aequitarian markings. As the robes suggested, she was also a mage, her staff being a metal pole with a pair of dragon heads biting an orb at the top; a popular design among Circle mages in fact. I didn't know who she was at the time, but Armen would later tell me; it was Wynne, a senior enchanter of the Circle Tower at Kinloch and later a leading voice of the Aequitarian fraternity.
The last person slipped inside the doors only once the others had clearly created a safe zone to do so; a woman with dark hair, a beautiful face and figure, dressed in what appeared to be a combination of a classic shaman's outfit and a bikini.
A hood with black feathers was over her head, concealing most of her hair, a wide necklace of gold and brass adorned her collar just above her barely concealed breasts, and she was wearing long leather pants and boots, again decorated with many feathers. Yet another mage too, the staff in her hands being a thin gnarled piece of wood with various shamanistic trinkets hanging from its top.
There was only one person this could be; Morrigan, Witch of the Wilds and lover of the Hero.
Most interestingly, the irises of her eyes glowed and I wondered if she could see in the dark. If so, she was too distracted by the magic in the middle of the room to look nearer the edges. For the moment.
I almost laughed as an absurd thought dug itself out of my mind; this whole scenario was like a bad joke. 'Three mages and a Qunari sten walk into a bedroom together. Who gets out alive?' It was relief for my mind, which was now racing over how to deal with them.
We couldn't kill the Hero and the Witch, because that would have screwed up the Blight being defeated.
We couldn't kill the Sten, because he was supposed to be Arishok. If he died, maybe a more cautious replacement doesn't attempt to invade Troy via Hercinia.
Truth be told, we couldn't kill Wynne either, though I did not know at the time, because her role in the beginning of open hostilities between the mages and templars was not small. A strange honour for an Aequitarian.
So, unable to just light them up like so many other people who had inconveniently stood in our way while bearing arms, I decided to try talking, albeit. I waited until they had all noticed what our own mages were up to, so the element of surprise would still be ours.
"The demon is dead," I declared out of the darkness, drawing as much authority into my voice as I could muster, "Turn around and leave, and you will not be harmed."
Eyes looked in my general direction. The Witch's found my position directly. Looked like she really could see better in the dark than normal. I moved my aim to her.
The Hero took a step forward, his gaze narrowed. Clearly he did not like being ordered around. Ex-Circle mages rarely did. His next actions told me that he knew his position wasn't very advantageous. "Who are you?" he asked, "Why have you come to kill the demon?"
"No one you need to be concerned about," I replied, "But our business is our own. Turn around and leave."
The Hero leaned his weight on his staff, talking in the general direction of my voice. Our second team remained hidden. "No," he said, "I do not take orders from or trust the word of voices in the dark." Clearly not a man who would fall for so easy a bluff.
"Warning shot," I said in Leha's ear, upping the ante.
From in front of me, she fired a single round from her firelance, through a gap between the figures. That was a little more threatening than I had wanted it to be, truth be told. The sound of the bullet passing by their heads and the muzzle flash made them flinch and duck away, the mages even throwing up barriers around the group quickly as they retreated to the doorway.
"That was just a demonstration!" I declared, "Let's not spill blood tonight. Comply!"
The Hero of Ferelden was not giving an inch.
"You have a remarkable regard for our lives!" Amell shouted back, around the doorframe, "I saw the others in the light of your weapon and where they are. You could've killed us without us even realising. Which makes me wonder why you didn't as we walked in. Why do you care if we live?"
Annoyed that he wasn't just going along with my command, I grit my teeth. A fucking smartass with real intelligence in his skull, and stubborn too. No wonder he beat the Archdemon.
"My patience is running out," I replied, "This is no longer your business. The demon is dead. Lord Teagan and the lady are alive but out cold. You will be free to retrieve them tomorrow, if that is your concern. Withdraw." I couldn't drop the bluff. I needed to keep them out of the room, to keep our identities secret.
There was some whispering, barely audible, followed by a groan.
"Or you could let us inside, so we can see you aren't lying," Amell said, "How do I know the demon is dead? You seem to be performing a ritual in there. Saw that too. Doesn't inspire confidence that you're truthful." I looked back at our own mages, and they did seem to be doing something to the amulet. Reconfiguring it. The light of the magic was revealing their positions.
"It has nothing to do with Guerrins or the Blight," I said.
"See, now you've mentioned the Guerrins," Amell responded, "If I don't see what the hell you're doing, the Arl is going to wonder why not. Especially with his brother in with you somewhere."
There was no arguing with this guy, I decided. "Suppressing fire if they come into view again," I said quietly into my radio mouthpiece, still under the scarf, "One at a time. We'll go clockwise starting with Leha." That way, almost everyone would be able to shoot if they came at us so quickly that we'd have no choice.
"Not a problem," the dwarf replied, "Your weapons are fun. Lots more fun than a crossbow." Not that she was a crack shot by any means. Not yet anyway.
"We're coming out!" Amell shouted, "Shooting at us with that magic would be a bad idea." The threat was casual but firm. Worse, even if we weren't constrained by the problem of killing people who should not be killed, three mages was easily enough to do something lethal to those of us without the Outlander trait. Especially in close quarters.
Yet there seemed to be no other way. I readied my weapon, preparing to try to disable rather than kill the party. That might equally result in disaster, but it at least offered a lower chance of it; three mages also meant at least one of them was capable of healing.
A rustling ahead indicated that the Hero of Ferelden was similarly preparing to fight. A clink of a vial hitting the stone floor informed us that lyrium or another elixir had been drunk. They were very much determined to win.
Someone moved between the two groups, and a small shift of my head told me it was Tam. She was standing up, removing her helmet. I couldn't believe it. A spike of fear went through me. We were seconds from a deadly confrontation with a group that had skills guaranteed to put at least some of us down.
I jumped up with the intention of trying to pull her back out of danger, but she managed to speak before I did. "Sten!" she shouted at the doorway, booming out authority with her voice, "Parshaara!"
A head appeared, looking out at her. The Sten had no doubt heard the commands of a tamassran from birth, and was compelled to listen. The tone that Tam was using was certainly reminiscent of a parent speaking to a child. That is how the priestly class of the Qun often speak to the others. No wonder there was a schism.
"Stenokost!" Tam continued, "Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun." Roughly translated, that means 'Be at peace, Sten. There is nothing here to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun.'. Well chosen words to calm a Qunari warrior.
There was loud mumbling beyond the doorway, as the Sten spoke with the rest of his party. And suddenly...
"What do you mean you can't fight against her!" Morrigan's voice exclaimed, "You were very happy to fight to kill mages and demons before!"
"Silence, saarebas!" the Sten shouted, as he stepped into view again, "Give me light!"
The Qunari held his sword blade down, and walked out like there wasn't five firelances aimed at him. Amell or Enchanter Wynne sent their own magelights floating behind him, so now we could get a real good luck at each other.
Not about to give him an opportunity to attack her before we could respond, I stood up from the cover I was behind and moved nearer to Tam, so I could hose the man down with five-five-six bullets in direct opposition to his line of assault.
Sten spoke a string of other Qunari words I did not recognise, though his inflection told me it was a question.
I will paraphrase here from what Tam later told me was said.
"You are Tamassran?" he asked, his voice straining with surprise, "What brings you to Ferelden?" Qunari names refer to their role in society, after all. He was effectively asking what authority she had to tell him to cease fighting.
For those that need a refresher, Tamassran is the most common overall title of the Qunari priesthood class, one reserved for the women who effectively ruled Qunandar through control of society.
They performed a variety of vital societal tasks, from the selective breeding programme from which most Qunari are born, the raising of all those children, assigning societal roles to teenagers and converts alike, helping the disabled, all the way to more eclectic tasks like administering the mind-wipe drugs to unruly types and the form of temple prostitution as a service to Qunari generally.
Tam was smarter than to give a general title though, which would imply a lower rank.
"I am Rasaan," she replied, "Your obedience is required."
As Tam herself once told us, a Rasaan was a more specific and far higher rank; someone considered worthy enough to be on the shortlist to succeed to the highest priestly office of all, the Ariqun. Usually, they acted as ambassadors, political commissars in the Qunari military, and handled the conversion of the populations of areas the Qun occupied.
In other words, a mere Sten would have no business disobeying a Rasaan, and it was not unusual for one to have an entourage of converts.
Our Empress was a crafty one, but even I was impressed by this trick.
"My obedience is assured," the Sten replied, before his eyes shifted towards me, "May I ask who these are?"
"Viddathari arvaarad, specialists," Tam stated, "They are helping me with the saarebasari." Viddathari being converts to the Qun, and arvaarad refers to someone whose job it is to watch over mages.
"The mages are unchained," the Sten noted.
"They are not of the Qun," Tam replied, "It is a matter of grave importance. The demon here did much damage of a magical nature, damage another could exploit. We were sent to investigate another magical anomaly at a village called Haven, the Ashes of Andraste, but detected this." She was using her knowledge gleaned from this very man's own future to trick him.
Tam glanced at us almost theatrically, though it was not as if the Sten would know the difference. "I will attempt to detain them afterwards, and I have qamek if it is required. They do not know this and they do not speak our language." I was sure the mages with him could sense that the Veil had been breached and had told him.
The Sten nodded, appearing to accept our explanation. As far as the Antaam was concerned, spooky magical shit was very much better handled by the priests or the Ben Hassrath. Using the basra as tools was also common practice. Hell, the Sten himself could be said to have used the Hero of Ferelden and his other companions, if the latter hadn't been basalit-an.
"I have been assigned by the Beresaad to investigate the Blight," the Sten explained, "The circumstances of my joining these saarebasari are... complicated. I can explain if you require."
Tam stared at him for a moment, evaluating. "It will not be necessary," she said at last, "Your immediate compliance with my command was enough. Your mission is worthy and of great importance. I can only imagine your association with these basra is due to that." Mentioning the Blight in terms of not knowing anything about it was a mistake.
Of course, I didn't understand most of the words they were saying... Learning Qunari was on my to-dos, for various reasons, but it hadn't happened yet. The only thing I knew for sure was that Tam had introduced herself as Rasaan and there was talk about the Blight.
"What is she saying?" Amell asked, "Are they Qunari?"
"They don't look Qunari," Morrigan added, popping her head out and scanning us with her eyes. Explanation of the racial definition of the word versus the ideological one was not forthcoming. I was not surprised she was confused by it, from what I knew of where she grew up.
The Sten seemed to frown at this question, probably because it had a complex answer. But he was clearly in no mood to fully explain, or feared the reaction of Tam. "Yes they are," he said in Common, "It would be best if we left. This is a matter for the Qun. We can return when they withdraw."
There was hissed whispering among the still-hidden mages.
"Sten, you know we can't," Amell replied, some suppressed anger leaking out of his tone, "I know you're serious about your duty, but we need this castle to be secure for the Arl. We can't do that with unknown mages doing something they don't allow us to see. How do we know Teagan or Isolde are even alive!"
What the Sten said next truly surprised me. He turned around, back to us, and brandished his blade again. "I cannot allow you to stay here," he stated. Not to us, but to his own companions.
Tam had done a great job convincing him. I thought it was just her own persuasiveness, but apparently, speaking Qunlat with a high Par Vollen accent is not something easily faked. Defectors from the Qun are almost never from the capital of their empire too. Even Asala was born in a secondary city.
There was a pause while the Hero of Ferelden's people considered the threat of their own comrade.
"Don't make me regret taking you out of that cage," Amell said, his tone as cold as ice, "You know what I am capable of." The crackle of lightning magic tore the air, as warning, sending brief flashes of light through the doorway.
"I know it well," the Sten replied, unphased, "But I am still Sten of the Beresaad. This is the Emissary for Those Who Speak. She can command me. Her words are those of the Qun." In other words, her word was law. This was also before the Hero had earned the man's loyalty and respect.
Tam glanced back at me for a moment. I could tell that she was deeply uncomfortable with the role she was playing. Strangely to my mind, as she now possessed absolute power in Troy. But she approved of the Trojan system, and she could truly mould it. The Qun was inflexible. So much so that it would split over the question of war with Tevinter less than four years later.
"There is no need for conflict," Tam said, also in Common, "You fight the Blight. It would be foolish of me to interfere with his mission, just as it would be for him to interfere with mine."
She had sounded far more like she did when I first met her, than the woman who had picked up numerous Orlesian and American influences in her Common speech. It appeared that she was also using her right as Empress to overrule my decision; she was letting the party inside. She knew the Hero would call our bluff right up to his death and had come up with an alternative.
"So you're letting us in?" Amell asked, "Because I don't know what magic that was earlier..."
"They are gaatlok weapons," Tam said, "And you need not fear them as long as you do not interfere with us." Sten stood down... and took a keen interest in the weapons being held by everyone around. A bad sign; an inconsistency with what he knew about Qunari firelances of that era. A reason to suspect that Tam was not who she claiming to be.
One does wonder if this was the moment that put us in trouble with The Iron Bull all those years later, or why the Qunari were determined to capture or kill us. It's not like the Arishok who was Sten at this time is around for questioning. Taking a lance to the chest will create such an inconvenience. We would make it much worse for ourselves than just curious weapons, of course. Though I blame the Hero.
"What is the name of the man who speaks for you?" Tam asked the Sten, in Qunlat again, "The one his own kind gave him."
"Amell," Sten grunted back.
"Very well," Tam continued, returning to Common, "Sten, escort Amell to the injured. His companions can stay by the door." She turned to our own mages. "Bas-Saarath, continue your work," she ordered over her shoulder at Aurelia. Dorian gave a bow from the neck in response, to at least contribute to the charade.
And then to me. "Salit, have the others return to their watch of the saarebas." Salit was a rank in the Ben Hassrath, one with the authority to recruit and train the agents known as Tallis. Presumably everyone else who wasn't a mage in our group were Tallises... if that's even a word.
I understand her intention at once. "Yes, rasaan," I responded, before barking off a series of orders. The Sten watched me closely, which was somewhat unnerving given that he was so hard to read, but I put it down to the strangeness of my accent and continued on.
Amell emerged from the doorway once again, while the two women that had been with him stayed there, able to jump into cover quickly or launch magical attacks to cover the Hero as needed.
Armen dropped the static barrier, allowing us to take up position around our mages. Tam moved first and went to pretend to supervise the ritual, getting the mages to nearer one wall while the Hero and the Sten moved along the other to the bed.
Their eyes were glued to us as they passed, and ours were glued to them. Subtle shifts in our position or weight told them we were ready to attack from whatever direction they came from, while their grip on their own weapons told us they were prepared to receive such an attack and give some back. Even Sten was taking no chances, and Tam later informed me that there was significant tension between the Qunari military and the priesthood even back in 9:30. It was a tense moment, but it passed without incident.
The Hero looked over Teagan and Isolde, checking that they were still alive and then for wounds. Sten stood behind him, arms crossed.
Dorian came over to me and whispered in my ear. "This is harder than we thought," he warned, "It may take longer than we have." Referring to the time spell.
Terrible news. I began noticing that Amell was paying as much attention to us as to his patients. "Can we go somewhere else and do it?" I asked quietly, "Somewhere more private?"
Dorian shrugged. "We could, but it would make it even more difficult," he said, "Perhaps it would be best if we leave, wait until they do the same, and come back before the Arl repossesses the place?" I frowned, doubting that there would be any gap at all.
My answer to that suggestion was cut before it could begin by the sound of a throat being cleared. It had been Amell, leaning over the two unconscious nobles.
"These two have received blows to the head," he said, addressing me rather than Tam, "Thrown against the wall?"
Without sensing his agenda, I answered. "It was necessary," I growled, "The demon had control of them." I tilted my head in the direction of the dead Connor Guerrin.
Amell looked and then nodded a few times, either to make us believe that he believed us or because it was a pretty plausible explanation. Perhaps he had seen something like that before. He also had confirmation that I either spoke out of turn a lot for a Qunari spy, or that I was higher ranked than Tam had claimed. If Sten noticed, he did not show a sign of it, and I certainly did not.
"Regardless, if I wake the Arl only to tell him that his son, wife and brother were all killed by a Qunari strike team..." he said, "The lord will likely ask why I did not stop you. My quest would not survive him being displeased with us. We have a healer, would you permit me to go bring her here. Sten can return to the doorway."
Tam agreed to the proposal without a word, instead waving him on. The Hero moved past us once again, leading the Sten back. This time, he did not seem to be ready to pounce, and his gait was far more relaxed... but his eyes never left her. The moment he was closest to her between the two points he was walking, a small grin appeared on his face and his head turned away.
I wanted to ask her what the hell that was about, but it seemed more prudent to keep my mouth shut. Nor did Tam actually have the answer to such a question.
The Hero's group seemed to huddle for a little bit, talking amongst themselves. It was a long conversation, in which every member of the group seemed to take part, and none raised their voices enough for us to hear. They also made a point of not sparing us so much as a glance. But in the end, the huddle broke up, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Nothing seemed to be wrong, and Amell returned through the doorway with Enchanter Wynne, the healer. All as planned. Once again, he went to pass us by. By now, I paid him little heed; His staff was now on his back not in his hands, and I was busy watching Sten and Morrigan, as they seemed to be watching us with a strange interest. Drawing the attention of most of us.
Which was how Amell was able to walk right past me and stand beside Tam.
"You are a Grey Warden," he stated, like he had just noticed a particularly nice dress on her. My blood ran cold. I spun on the spot, moving closer to Tam. Should've understood that the man could possibly notice their shared … situation.
Tam was forced to improvise. "I have received the Joining ritual," she replied, "I was once tainted in an expedition to the Deep Roads. But I am not a Grey Warden. The Order could not take me. I serve the Qun."
There was movement in the doorway; Sten unsheathing his sword. He didn't believe her. Fuck. I tried thinking of options, but was coming up short.
Amell's grin fell from his face, replaced with a dangerous parody of one, accompanied by narrowed eyes. "Liar," he declared, "Your weapons, that magical amulet your mages are playing with... your Tainted blood and the story about your Joining? The Order would not grant you the Joining unless they were assured you would join. They kill those that refuse, I have seen it. You're no more Qunari than I am. And since you are a Warden, and you have gone to so much trouble to deceive us, I must know why."
That was the cue for a determined Enchanter Wynne to sprint as fast as she could, away to the bed. Amell raised his hands quickly in our direction, glowing a warm yellow. Once they had been stretched out as far as he could make them, two bolts of magical force blasted out towards us. The targets, myself and Tam, were quite naturally unaffected by this, the spells dissipating.
It was pure luck that the two of us had been selected; Ciara or Leha would've likely been crushed against the wall behind us, not unlike how Teagan and Isolde had. Amell's eyes flickered between us, like he had found an unexpected shit he had stepped in more than something outside of his understanding of reality on Thedas. More fatefully for our future, he now knew that we were immune to magic and so did Morrigan. Both would do anything for each other.
The Hero's intention was obvious now; knock the leadership out, capture or kill the rest, and interrogate us with the locals in attendance. And the Hero of Ferelden might have been smart enough to pull it off. Needless to say, I wasn't about to let that happen. All the memories of the last few years came flooding back. Iron Bull attempting to take us on the road, the Templar assault at Christmas, the Qunari attack on Hearth, Ianto and his pirates, the Battle of the Alba. All the bloodshed and suffering as a result of someone trying to take us, alive or dead.
To hell with the consequences.
"Light 'em up!" I commanded, aiming right at the Hero of Ferelden and squeezing the trigger. The world was consumed with strobing muzzle flashes, ear-ringing shooting and magic shooting off at random. My peripheral vision was filled with vague sights of the others laying down a steady barrage of fire at the doorway.
My lip curled with amusement at just how exposed my target was, my weapon barked and spat out a burst of three bullets, flying right towards Amell's chest. His barrier came up, as expected, but that was no worry at all. No barrier I had ever faced lasted more than a few bullets. Except this one did.
The Hero of Ferelden had taken our magical immunity completely in stride, and angled his barrier like a cone pointing towards us, rather than around his own body. The bullets deflected along the sides of the magic, metal sparks flying and screeching. The barrier seemed to wobble under the force of the hits... but it did not break.
Something I should've expected from a man who historically has claims on killing multiple dragons.
How irritating, I remember thinking, before aiming once more for the kill. His intelligence had kept him alive for a few more seconds, but I still had twenty-seven more bullets.
He broke into a sprint, shooting magic at random as he retreated towards Morrigan and the Sten. His barriers failed quickly, but once he had a clear path, he Fade-stepped straight through the doorway and into cover. Yet another series of life-saving decisions. I couldn't help but have a begrudging admiration for his effort, at least until I saw what everyone else was doing.
The Sten had closed the distance with a speed a man of his size and wearing that much armour should not have been capable of. Once again, we got lucky; if his target had been me, I would've been cleaved in half. But he had identified a far more worthy person for his ire; Tam. The False Rasaan. She was also the closest when the shooting had started as well.
The two were trading blows, moving around this way and that. Tam had shed her winter coat entirely, and had taken her longsword to hand just in time to meet the whirling blows of the Sten's two-handed greatsword. Her enhanced Warden strength, defensive training and extensive experience kept her alive, stepping out of the direct way of incoming attacks and deflecting each as much as possible with her own.
Meanwhile, everyone else tried to exchange shots without hitting them. Amell and Morrigan let lightning and ice attacks whenever a gap in the personal melee arrived, and they were answered with bullets from my companions, but for the most part, the Sten and Tam were taking up the space needed to really exchange deadly blows.
There was no getting in to help directly either, they were moving too erratically.
This was an excellent chance, I thought. I turned to Aurelia and Dorian, the latter of whom was half-occupied with helping to keep the barriers up around Ciara and Leha.
I noted that Enchanter Wynne was behind them, her own static barrier enveloping the bed and the two nobles on it, protecting them while she worked her healing magic. She kept glancing up at us, anticipating an attack that did not come. Armen was watching attentively, more than capable of handling an attack from her.
The temptation to hold her hostage sprung to the front of my mind, until I remembered that Amell had a reputation for ruthlessness. He wouldn't respond to a threat like that with anything other than violence. "Get us out of here!" I said to the two Vints.
Both looked at me like it was an unreasonable request.
"We're not finished," Aurelia replied, "We've reversed the direction of travel and narrowed things down, but the adjustments aren't ready."
"Let me be clear: We need to get the fuck out of here now," I shouted, over another exchange of spells and gunfire, "Tam is buying us a moment, but eventually those mages are going to use something the others won't survive."
A wave of icicles shattered overhead on the stone ceiling, showering us with chunks of ice. They bounced off our helmets, causing us to duck a little. I held my arms up to either side, as if to say 'see what I mean?'
"We can get within five years of the target and to the nearest magical anomaly," Dorian said to Aurelia, "It's close enough." That didn't sound anything like close enough to me.
Aurelia hung her head, clearly thinking the same as I did, but escape was essential. Almost anywhere in the future would be more viable than screwing with the past more than we already had. "You're right," she conceded to Dorian, "I'm ready when you are."
"What do we do about that?" he asked, pointing at Tam and the Sten, still going at it like fucking gladiators. Both were getting more desperate with fatigue. Someone was going to win.
"Leave it to me," Aurelia said, nonchalant as ever
"Tam, Aurelia's going to pluck you out of the fight," I said into my radio mouthpiece, hoping she could hear me over the blood pumping, "Everyone else, withdraw to Dorian's position. We're leaving."
"About time," Leha complained, the sound of her shots coming through the radio with her words.
The others left their positions and ran back to Dorian, as Aurelia and I moved forward to assist Tam. Julie broke off and joined us, either thinking we'd need support or not trusting Aurelia. She need not have bothered.
The Vint waited until Tam dodged a blade, getting out of the way, before thrusting her naginata's blade straight at the Sten's head. It didn't have a hope in hell of actually making contact with him, and he slapped it away with his gauntlet. But as he touched it, the tip exploded with a blinding white light and a booming noise, directed forwards.
Aurelia had just unleashed the equivalent of a flashbang into his face.
He roared with pain and staggered back, barely remaining on his feet, one of his hands going to his eyes. At this point, Tam or Julie could have and would have stepped in to finish him... but Aurelia wasn't done. She spun the naginata like a baton and unleashed a magic bolt of her own, sending him sprawling through the air and onto his ass in the doorway. Amell dragged him out of the firing line while Morrigan unleashed a flurry of fire bolts to stop us shooting them both. She was just as smart as he was.
"Go back," Aurelia said to the three of us, "I'll be right there." Her swirling barriers erupted around her like a tornado, swatting Morrigan's attack away with contemptuous ease.
I grabbed the discarded winter coat off the ground and we ran, Julie and I helping an exhausted Tam by letting her lean on our shoulders. We reached our group, who were covering Wynne on one side and the magical fight on the other.
Aurelia planted the butt of her weapon on the floor and held it to the side of her, Morrigan's spellwork deflecting and being absorbed all around her as she raised a hand. Snowflakes began rushing all around, coalescing into a solid mass in front. For a moment, I thought she was building a series of snowmen, until she clenched her hand into a fist.
The snow pillars that had built up shoved into the doorway and along the walls to either side, completely filling it, and then turned to solid ice so deep that you could've a small car in the volume end-to-end. The enemy was now blocked off, for a few minutes at least. We could proceed in peace. Aurelia dismissed her barriers, her job done, and walked back to us.
Very nicely done. There was just a small matter; Wynne was on our side of the ice wall.
"Who are you?" she asked from the bedside, "I have never seen such magic as that!" Well, of course you haven't deary, you were caged in a southern Circle.
I felt like that she deserved an answer, if only to try and repair things.
"We're the good guys," I said, "I know that you are too. And I suggest you never speak of what happened here. It is better if people do not know about it. Especially those two." I pointed at Teagan and Isolde. Wynne cocked an eyebrow, not sure what that meant.
"You'll understand," I said, before turning to Aurelia, "Let's go." With that, she held up the amulet, and the spell vortex opened up again. I watched Wynne's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates as the magic took us, which I would've found funny if it wasn't for the seriousness of what we were doing. I prayed we would get home to my children again, already done with the fucking time travel.
Redcliffe 9:30 fell away, the consequences of our actions unknown to us, and Redcliffe 9:42 greeted us.