The brush caught and scratched at her as Nike plunged into it, almost immediately catching her feet up on the uneven rocks and roots it hid. She crashed down to the ground, the knife that felt as if it were twisting in her back driving several inches deeper. She could hear Alistair lumbering after her and hauled herself up before he could catch hold of her again. He'd only stop her, afraid she'd hurt herself more.
"Holly?" she called again, and she heard another whine, a faint scrabble of dirt. "Holly, I'm here! I'm coming!"
She forced her way through a cluster of bramble and heard the faint rip of cloth as her trousers snagged on the thorns, before she finally caught sight of the mabari.
She was laying in what looked like a small dry stream bed, a heap of torn and patched brown fur thick with dried blood, mud, and gore. Hearing Nike coming, the mabari lifted her head and it was the sight of those bright, knowing eyes and the happy wiggle of an almost non-existent tail that tore at her more than the brambles had. Nike fell again as she reached the slight slope of the stream and she caught her arms around the dog's big head as she dropped beside her.
"Holly, shh, shh," she said, her hands shaking as she wedged herself up into a sit, unaware of the tears on her face before a wide, rough tongue began to lick them away.
"Nike-" Alistair had pushed through the brambles after her.
"Get someone, get Morrigan," Nike told him. "Hurry."
As he ran back through the brush she continued her soft shushing, both trying to cradle the dog's head and assess the damage.
The mabari was badly hurt. How she had gotten all the way out here under her own steam was impossible to imagine. Under the tangled and clotted gunk, she had at least four bad gashes on her shoulder and along her side that Nike could see, as well as countless smaller ones. In one of the larger gashes the occasional gleam of a rib or two could be seen.
At least one of her hind legs had been visibly broken. Punctures lined her shoulders and neck. One had bled badly enough it had formed a collar of stiff maroon bristles that stood out like a lion's ruff. An ear had been torn, more heavy scratches and tears covered the big face, and it appeared she was missing an eye. On the other side of the stream bed it was clear where the determined mabari had pulled herself along.
Trying to both hold and comfort the dog, and not touch her wounds or hurt her any more, Nike was openly weeping.
"Holly…Holly…shhh…no, stay still. It's ok…I'm here. My poor little bear cub! Look at you! You were so brave! Such a good girl, getting here. You're such a good bear cub!"
Nike hadn't called Holly her little bear cub since the mabari had been a young pup, but the old affectionate nickname came unbidden now.
It seemed to take an age for Alistair to return. Nike heard him pushing through the brush and looked over just as Morrigan moved past him and lightly stepped into the stream bed.
"Help her!" Nike said. Morrigan was already uncorking a small vial and whispered a soft 'shh' herself as she did so. Nike was not clear if the shush was intended for Holly or herself. She lowered her head to the mabari's and whispered to her.
"It's ok, sweetheart. She's going to give you something to help. Everything will be all right, my little cub."
A couple of clear drops patted onto the dog's tongue as Morrigan tipped the vial, and a moment later the dog suddenly sagged, deadweight in Nike's arms.
Horror moved through the warden. She'd seen edevas administered before, even had some herself as a child. It did not cause unconsciousness.
"No! No, what did you-"
"Tis all right," Morrigan said, gripping her shoulder lightly. "She only sleeps. I cannot lift her, and I cannot administer edevas until her bones are set. From the looks, her leg at least must be tended to and it is possible there are more. I shall have to set them here, and I do not relish the idea of being torn to pieces while I do so."
Still cradling Holly's head, Nike continued to murmur to the sleeping dog as Morrigan gently probed over the rest of her body. Alistair hovered on the stream bank, wanting to help but unable to see how he could.
Morrigan passed over the dog's body inch by inch, her long fingers moving as quickly but as delicately as if she were plucking out a tune on a lute. As she reached the dog's head and carefully checked her eyes she finally spoke again.
"Both her hind legs are broken, in numerous places. Her shoulder, and a rib or two as well. She has lost this eye, there is nothing to be done about that. Even edevas will not grow it back." She looked from the dog to Nike's face. "You are in pain."
"Just help her."
"That is my intention," Morrigan said dryly. "However, I would not see you paralyzed to save your hound. You should still have been abed, not running about through the Wilds. You may have done yourself permanent damage."
"Just help her," Nike told her again, her teeth grit.
"I shall." Morrigan looked over at Alistair. "You, come here."
"What? Oh…" Alistair stepped carefully down into the stream bed.
"You shall have to lift her." Morrigan told him. He nodded, then shifted to put his arms around Holly's shoulders.
"Not the dog. Your warden friend. Take her back to Mother. Do not let her walk."
"Uh, oh. Oh, of course."
"Don't you touch me, Alistair," Nike said. "I'm not leaving Holly."
"I shall tend to the mabari with all care," Morrigan said again. When Nike glared at her she added, "I swear it on my life."
Nike was silent a long moment, before she looked back at her unconscious dog and bent over her again. She whispered something, then kissed a spot between the dog's ears. Alistair looked at her hesitantly as she straightened and nodded, then carefully put his arms around her and lifted her up.
The pain was incredible as Alistair picked his way carefully back through the bramble and brush, and across the dooryard of the little hut. Nike's breath was rapid and short, and Alistair grimaced and muttered apologies with every step.
Flemeth said something as they stepped inside, but Nike didn't hear it. Her entire back felt gored by the time he laid her down gently on the small bed she'd woken up in before. There was another exchange before Alistair was carefully lifting her head, a vial touching her lips.
Edevas tasted both bitter and peppery, but she sipped at it greedily knowing it would help the feeling of daggers digging and twisting into her. Numbness followed the taste of pepper down her throat, and a crawling, singing sort of buzz shifted through her scalp and hair.
"Better?" Alistair asked softly. She nodded, the pain now a distant, tense little ball at her lower back.
"I would suggest against doing that again, child," Flemeth said from over Alistair's shoulder. "Even edevas can only do so much, and our few stores are nearly gone."
"I shall keep that in mind," Nike said to the old hag. "I can deal with pain."
"It's not the pain that you need worry about," Flemeth said. "You took a grievous injury to the back. Nerves are not quickly healed by edevas. You do that again, and you'll have more than pain to worry about."
"It's mine to worry about," Nike said angrily.
"As you will. However, I have never heard of a useful warden who needed servants to change their nappies, or carry them horseback into battle. Perhaps you'll be the first."
She heard the room door open and shut, signaling that Flemeth had gone. Alistair, however, lingered.
"Maker, I'd rather have tea with darkspawn than with her any day," he said.
"Do you think they'll follow her?" Nike asked. He blinked at her.
"I'm sorry?"
"The darkspawn," she said. "Holly had to have been dragging herself, she had so many wounds, and the blood-…"
"I see. I wouldn't worry too much about that," he said. "There would have been so much blood at the battlefield, and…"
He broke off, and Nike looked over at him. "Alistair?"
"I'm sorry. I was just…Duncan, and the others. It just seems like this can't be happening. It all seems like a terrible dream."
She nodded, looking back up at the mobiles above her head. After a long silence he cleared his throat.
"Anyway, I wouldn't worry about the darkspawn. That woman and her daughter are creepy enough, I doubt any of them would come within six miles of this place. I don't trust them."
"They didn't have to help us," Nike said. "They didn't have to save the-"
She broke off suddenly, blinking. Seeing her face Alistair leaned forward again, forehead creasing in concern. "Your back?"
"No," she said. "I just remembered the first time we were here. To get the treaties."
"Seems like it was years ago, doesn't it?"
"I suppose Duncan had them?" Nike said, her impending sense of revelation deflating as she realized this. Of course the treaties would be lost. If Duncan did not have them, they'd have been left back in camp, in Ostagar, and be part of some darkspawn's dung heap by now.
"The treaties? No, he gave them to me."
Nike turned her head and looked at him. Her skin was crawling again with the healing effects of the edevas but she barely noticed, save an unconscious scratch or two at her arms. "He gave you the treaties?"
"Yes. For safe keeping. He didn't want to leave them laying around camp and obviously he couldn't bring them in…to…battle." She saw the dawning realization in his eyes as well. "I have the treaties. Nike, I have the treaties! I had them in my satchel, when we headed toward the Tower. When I woke up, my satchel was- I'll be right back!"
He rose and rushed out of the little room. She heard him saying something quickly- probably another apology- and Flemeth's response, and then he was returning, his satchel in his hands. "Here, they're here."
He sat back down, quickly opening the satchel and rummaging through it. "Yes, yes, they're all here. The Dalish, the dwarves, mages-"
"These treaties, are they air tight? I mean, if we presented the treaties they'd have to help?"
"Absolutely. The hard part will be getting to them to present the treaties in the first place," Alistair said, chewing his lip. "The Dalish are mostly nomads, and suspicious of strangers. As I recall, they have no single leader to present the treaties to. It should be easy enough to get to the Circle Tower in Lake Calenhad."
"The Circle Mages weren't all at Ostagar?" Nike asked. He shook his head.
"Not all, there should be a fair number left. The Circle doesn't like letting mages out if they can help it, but with the treaties they're duty bound to agree. That should bring a decent number of Templars as well. And the dwarves-"
He broke off suddenly and closed the satchel. She frowned at him. "Alistair?"
"Nothing, it's nothing. You need to be resting, not worrying about this. With these I'm almost certain we can get an army together, and I may be able to reach out to Arl Eamon and-…no, no. Don't worry about this. It'll take some doing, and I need to think. You just rest for now. I'll think this through and…and see if I can get some more information out of that old woman."
"Alistair, I can-…oh for Maker's sake!" He was already out the door, clutching the satchel to his chest as if he had just realized it contained his firstborn child. She looked back up at the dangling, glittering bits of glass and bone and let out a breath.
Could we really do this? she wondered. They'd need to somehow get a message to the Wardens in Orlais, to at least get some further information on how exactly one went about killing an archdemon. Nike knew who Arl Eamon Guerrin was, though they'd never met in person; his name had passed through Highever's halls more than once.
Wouldn't the Arl's men have been at Ostagar too, however? That thought gave her pause. Why would Eamon not have sent men to Ostagar? Why would he not have been there himself?
She'd have to wait on answers to that one. Provided that he still had men at Redcliffe, and they could enforce the treaties with the Dalish, dwarves, and the remaining mages at Lake Calenhad…why, that'd be a decent sized army, wouldn't it? One large enough to help a Grey Warden or two to reach the archdemon and put down the Blight?
You cannot be considering actually doing this, can you?
She didn't know how she could consider not doing it. If she left and went straight to Highever to put down Howe, that would only spell the end of Highever in short course. The Blight had to be put down first, and as quickly as they were able.
One thing had been made crystal clear to her during the last few days; she may be a sworn Grey Warden now, and no way to put it aside, but she was no warrior. Her first battle had proven that. If she was going to even help to take down an archdemon she needed training. And while they may be able to put together a conscripted army to help put down the Blight, she was under no delusion that she could impress that army to help her take back Highever. No treaty that Alistair had in that satchel of his obligated anyone to do that.
It would be her, alone, against Rendon Howe and all his forces at Highever. No bold warrior striding up to the front gate, however skilled, would win her the vengeance she needed for what Howe had done to her family. To put their blood at rest, Howe had to die.
A warrior may not be able to do it, but an assassin…that may just do the trick.
To get her home back, she'd have to stop the Blight. To stop the Blight, she'd have to be a Grey Warden, and get an army together however they could. To kill Howe, however, she'd have to become a killer.
Right now, however, she could do nothing but wait. Wait for Alistair to think things through. Wait for Morrigan to heal poor Holly. Wait for her back to stop screaming at her, to finish resting and healing or she'd stand no chance at all against any of it, and that was unacceptable.
Closing her eyes, she tried not to think of the sight of little Oren dead in his room, or the tears on her mother's face as she told her child to leave them to die. She tried not to think of Fergus in that copse of trees, or falling in battle to the darkspawn, or of Tahja's face, her expression of worry as they left her alone in that camp.
She tried not to hear poor Holly screaming as that monster threw her from the Tower.
She tried. Maker, how hard she tried, but in the end, it was only by picturing Howe's face as she cut his throat that she was finally able to get those thoughts to leave her alone, and fall once more into sleep.