Nike slid off the spider's back as they reached the top of the ramparts, crouching as she carefully looked into the courtyard below.

It was eerily quiet. She could see no sign anything living had passed this way in days- even the few spots of horse manure here and there were old and dried. The inner gate that led directly into the Keep was closed, and she did not relish climbing upon Morrigan's back again to find another open entry. Crouched among the shadows, moving as silently as she could, she instead headed for the gatehouse.

If she could open the front gate, the others would be able to enter. Morrigan, resuming her human form almost the moment Nike had her own feet, followed along closely.

The upper gatehouse door was unlatched, but the dark inside filled Nike with even more disquiet. She exchanged a glance with Morrigan, and the mage carefully lifted a ball of eldritch green flame that would give the warden some light by which to see, but not carry so far it would be spotted easily by others.

In the sickly, swamp fire flare of this ball, Nike felt her gorge want to rise again.

Two dead men were below in the gatehouse proper. From appearances, they looked to have been dead for months rather than mere days. There was no smell beyond a faint, musty reek.

The one upon the floor was missing his head. The other had died in apparently far more terrible circumstances. His left arm and half of his torso had been caught in the great gears that controlled the castle's portcullis, jamming it in the 'open' position.

Nike edged down the stairs toward the ground floor but only halfway there, Morrigan quickly caught her arm. Almost the same instance, the corpse caught in the gears lifted its head and looked at her.

There were no eyes. From the marks on his cheeks and around the sockets, they looked to have been eaten by rats. Still, she felt a cold certainty that he could see her perfectly well. He opened a mouth, and the same raspy, wordless cry whispered from him. His free arm lifted and reached toward her, but he could not free himself enough to actually attack.

"That is disquieting," Nike said.

"That is the darkest type of magic," Morrigan replied. "Tis no true life that fills him. He and the others like him that attacked the village are but puppets."

Nike reached the floor, and remaining well out of the way of the grasping hand, edged over to the courtyard door beside the gate. "You still feel there is a demon here?" she asked Morrigan.

The mage was silent a moment, looking thoughtfully around the small gatehouse as if contemplating the taste of the décor. Then she said, "I do. But demon or no, there is a mage here of malicious intent. Of that there is no question."

Nike had no desire to face a demon on her own, nor even a malicious mage. Slipping out of the gatehouse door she hurried to the gate itself, only to curse low under her breath.

It had been barred. The massive bolt dropped in its place across them would have been difficult enough for even the pair of women to lift and remove on their own, but great iron locks had been fastened to both bolt and rests, preventing even the attempt.

"Can you melt the iron?" Nike asked. "If we can heat the locks enough- "

"T'would take a prolonged effort," Morrigan said. "Such an effort would be felt, by whatever mage or demon stalks these halls. Just as well shine a search-light upon us, or ring an alarm bell. Remain here. I can go to the Bann and let him know our situation, see if there is an alternate route into the Keep than the front gate."

Nike had no desire to be in this place alone but it was the only real course of action they were offered. She gave Morrigan a slight nod, and the mage touched her shoulder a moment before she stepped away from the gate and became the raven, giving a great flap of her wings as she started to rise into the air.

With no warning whatsoever, something hissed across the courtyard. Morrigan gave a single, agonized squawk and dropped in a heap of feathers to the dirt.

Nike reacted before thought. Far Song snapped upward with a blazing arrow set to its string and she loosed it in the direction the attack had come from- an open window in one of the overlook towers. She barely paused to hear the thud as her arrow hit home, unsure if it had even hit the intended target.

Swooping down, she scooped the raven into her arms and ducked back into the gatehouse. Taking the steps two at a time, she reached the door onto the ramparts. It opened inward, and she pressed her back to it to hold it closed should someone try and enter.

"Morrigan," she whispered in a panic, half crouching on the ground. She could feel the raven's feathers, feel heat upon her hand, but the dark was all but perfect. Keeping her back braced on the door she cradled the bird in the crook of one arm and drew an arrow out of her quiver with the other. Touching the fletch of the arrow against the wood of the bow was sufficient for its magic to take hold; the arrow tip lit with flame, and by the light she worriedly looked at her companion.

The raven's beak was opened as it panted. Just below her right wing, a bolt was protruding. Nike could not tell if the point of the bolt was in muscle or had punctured through to lung. It was bleeding, but not dramatically.

"Stay as still as you can," Nike said softly, worriedly, almost speaking directly into the bird's ear. "I'm going to get you out of here, I swear it. I'll keep you safe."

It was clear she couldn't stay here. She had no idea if Morrigan could resume her human form while injured, or if such a shift would make the wound worse. She had to get her somewhere there was light, ideally somewhere edevas could be found. At Highever, that meant the kitchens. Here, she didn't expect it would be much different.

She could hear nothing on the other side of the door. She wore a shirt underneath a leather vest tied with laces across her chest. Moving as quickly as she dared, she unfastened the vest and drew it off, then pulled the tie out of the eyelets. Shifting Morrigan as little as she could, she tied her securely to her stomach with the vest acting as a sling, the laces keeping it secure to her neck and waist.

Picking up the bow and arrow again, arms now somewhat free, she set the latter to the former, then pressed her ear to the door.

All was silence.

"I'm going to get you into the kitchens," she whispered. "Find you some edevas. You just stay with me, Morrigan, ok? Please, stay with me."

Edging the door open a little, she looked outward. No shadows or forms moved on the ramparts. She may have hit her quarry, or they were even now waiting for her to poke her nose out and take her down too.

Morrigan may be dying right now; Nike had to risk it.

She slipped carefully out into the darkness. She didn't dare even light the arrow now to gain light to see by, and her eyes were wide as she followed the wall around toward where she hoped the kitchens were.

Finding the stable door without incident, eased it open and then crept inside, hurrying toward the back. The stable would most likely not allow entrance into the kitchens, but it would be attached to the smithy and the armory, and from there through a guardroom into the Keep.

The smithy would be no issue, but Nike was terrified the door into the armory, or the guardroom itself, would be locked.

In truth, the armory door was not only unlocked, it stood open. This increased Nike's caution, and she risked lighting the arrow again as she stretched her bow and stepped inside.

Weapons racks stood empty in the flickering light. Swords, crossbows, longbows, pikes, bills, maces- all of them, were gone. Where braces of bolts and arrows should have been gathered, wrapped in bundles, there were only rags.

In her mind, Nike could see the undead soldiers passing through this room out of the keep, grabbing weapons and armor as they filed out through the smithy, out the stables, and then to the courtyard gates.

It had happened so many nights that they had completely wiped out the armory.

Part of her fretted over this. With Redcliffe's armory completely depleted, with all of her soldiers dead in the attacks on the village, what force could Arl Eamon possibly give them to fight the Blight? Even if they could stop the horror of what was going on here, they would be just as empty handed against the darkspawn hordes as they had been when they arrived.

Possibly more empty-handed, she thought, and immediately pushed the idea away. She was going to get to the kitchens, find edevas, and get Morrigan healed. That's all there was to it.

She had to focus on that right now. Once she knew Morrigan was all right, she could start to worry about getting Alistair, Sten, Teagan and the rest into Redcliffe.

One step at a time.

From the armory she entered the guard room. Seeing no threat, the room just as stripped bare as the armory had been, she hurried across to the door that led into the Keep itself.

It was locked.

"Maker take it!" She barely resisted slamming her fist into the door in frustration. There would be no key in this room. The door itself was thick and reinforced. If she had the tools or the training, she may have been able to pick the lock but of course she had neither. Making a mental note to see if Leliana could teach her later, she quickly filed through her other options.

They could try to freeze the lock with one of her arrows, but she had no idea if that would actually work. Alternating heat and ice might work, but she doubted her flame arrow would be able to get hot enough- and at any rate, it would take quite some time.

She didn't know how much longer Morrigan had. Even now, she wasn't sure if the raven was still alive. Looking around the room again, thinking she may have no choice but to go back out into the courtyard and find another entrance in, she spotted a third door on the side wall, not that far from the door into the armory.

It was ajar, and torchlight spilled through, making patterns of light and shadow on the floor. She'd gone past so fast, focused on the door into the Keep, she hadn't seen it.

"Hang on," she whispered again to the raven, and pulled this door open. A set of stairs went downward, and she felt hope lift in her again.

Keeping her arrow set to her string, she quickly went down the stairs. As she emerged from the well, the torches still lit on the walls reflected off of iron bars. She'd found Redcliffe's dungeon- or what passed for it. As in Highever, the dungeon was little more than a cellar with two small cells, usually used less for holding prisoners and more for storing ale casks or sundries. Any criminal along the Coastlands or in the Bannorn whose crime called for an extended prison sentence would be shipped to Fort Drakon in Denerim. Otherwise, a fine or some sort of community punishment would be meted- or a swift execution if the crime warranted such.

As she was hoping, across the cellar was another set of stairs leading up into the Keep. Providing this door was unlocked-

"Who are you?"

The voice came out of one of the cells as she hurried past. Nike stopped, aiming Far Song at the man behind the bars and he recoiled, holding his hands up.

"Don't, please!"

The man looked like he'd been in the cell a while. His face was gaunt, lips chapped. His unshaven cheeks were frosted with blue stubble, his dark hair dirty and mussed. His clothes were filthy.

"Can you get me some water?" he asked, when she didn't immediately shoot him. He gestured behind her. "Please. I haven't had anything to drink in over- "

"Do you know what's happening here?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said. "And I'll tell you everything, just please. Some water. I'm begging you."

"I'm going to the kitchens, I need edevas. I'll bring some water down later, right now I- "

"No, please. There's water right over there. It'll just take a moment- "

"I need edevas," Nike said angrily, already turning to start for the stairs again. "I don't have time- "

"Are you hurt? Someone hurt?" he asked frantically, reaching through the bars toward her as she started to walk off. "I'm a mage. I'm a mage, I can help! I can- "

Nike stopped again. "You're a mage?" she said, then narrowed her eyes. "Is what's happening here your doing? Did you cause all of this?"

"N-no! And yes. I-I can explain, I swear it. I'll tell you everything. I can help your injury and tell you anything you want to know, if you just please…the water-?"

Nike was torn. On the one hand, she didn't know if the door out into the Keep was unlocked, or if she did make it to the kitchen, she'd even find edevas. This mage might be able to help Morrigan, even save her life.

On the other, Morrigan had said that what was happening here was likely the work of a dark mage. If that were true, and this were he, could she trust him enough to help or even tell her the truth of what was going on in Redcliffe? He could hurt Morrigan worse, maybe even summon a demon to possess her. He could just snap the raven's neck if he put his hand on her.

Does he need to put his hand on her to hurt her? Or you? He's a mage, after all. Could he not attack you through the bars?

She contemplated only a moment, then put the arrow away, sliding her arm back through Far Song. Looking around behind her, she spotted the water barrel and the ladle. Snatching the latter off its hook on the wall she dunked it in the barrel, filling it, then headed his way. His other arm shot out from between the bars and he grabbed it as soon as it was within reach, spilling half the water down his front as he gulped greedily at it. She had intended to pull the ladle away again but as desperate as he was, he tore it right out of her hand.

Once it was empty, he lowered the ladle and hung his head over it. He made a hitching motion, a strangled sound emerging from his throat, and narrowly avoided vomiting. Finally, satisfied he was going to keep the water down, he set the ladle aside and nodded to her, his chin still dripping.

"What's your injury? Let me see."

"I am not injured," she said. Setting Far Song down on the ground, she knelt down out of the reach of his arms, and unwound the laces holding the vest bundle to her chest. She was relieved when she saw a half-lidded yellow eye shift up and look at her, the raven still panting weakly.

"A bird?" the prisoner said in surprise, before he narrowed his eyes. He shifted onto his knees as well, moving closer to the bars. "No. No, I see. She's a mage…"

"Can you help her?" Nike asked him. He held his hands out but instead of passing the bird over, she edged back, holding the raven more protectively.

"No. I am not going to allow you to touch her," she said. "Can you help her, yes or no?"

"I need to see the wound," he said.

"Put your hands back in."

"I need to- "

"Pull your bloody hands back into that cell or I will get back up, put an arrow through your eye, and go my way," she said furiously. He blinked in shock, yanking his hands back behind the bars.

"I'm sorry, I…I need to see the wound. I can't tell you if I can heal it if I cannot see it."

Measuring him a moment, Nike finished unwrapping the vest as gently as she could, taking care not to shift or touch the bolt sticking out of the raven's side. Wincing with every little motion, even when the bird did not, Nike parted the feathers gently and showed him where the bolt had pierced Morrigan's flesh.

Keeping his hands well within the cell, the mage shifted and regarded it, then licked his lips nervously.

"Can you help her?" Nike asked again.

"I can, but in order to do so I need to…I need to use blood magic."

Nike stiffened. She'd heard of blood magic, of course. They were tales told to every Ferelden child, to frighten them before bed.

"No good ever comes from blood magic," she said. "Only evil."

"That isn't true," the mage told her. "Those are tales the Chantry tells, but the Circle itself uses blood magic, and even the Grey Wardens- "

"That is a lie," she said heatedly. She was already starting to wrap Morrigan up again carefully.

"So, you didn't drink darkspawn blood to become a warden?" the mage said quickly, one hand fluttering away from the bars and reaching toward her again in his worry she would leave.

At that, Nike froze. "That…how did you- "

"I was in the Circle," he said. "The Circle uses blood magic to create phylacteries- means by which to bind and track it's mages. I've read about the warden's ceremony. First Enchanter Irving has a few very old books on the subject. I wasn't supposed to read them, they're forbidden to all but the First Enchanter, but I did. What they do to that darkspawn blood, the ritual performed to turn people into Wardens, is blood magic."

She had stopped wrapping Morrigan up, and was staring at him again. He continued on, taking advantage of her silence to explain as much as he could.

"Blood magic is just like any other magic- it can be used for both good and evil," he said. "It's going to be the only way to save her. We have no edevas, and I have no lyrium to heal her in any other way. That wound is going to kill her if you don't let me save her."

"In the kitchens-" Nike began.

"There's no lyrium in the kitchens," he said. "None in the whole castle. There might be edevas but I doubt it, the first thing they tried when Arl Eamon fell ill was edevas. They went through the whole stores trying to wake him up- "

"Do you know what's happened to Eamon?"

"I do, yes, I do. And I will tell it all to you. But if you want to save your friend the only thing that's going to do it is blood magic, right here and right now."

Nike felt the raven's beak suddenly around her thumb. The bird did not peck or bite, but rather gave the digit a gentle squeeze. Nike looked back down at her.

"Morrigan?"

Another gentle squeeze.

"Is it safe?" Nike asked her. "Blood mages…they bring demons, they…they control people like puppets- "

"I'll be using my own blood," he said. "I can't control anyone if I don't use their blood. I'll use mine, absolutely. I wouldn't dare take yours or hers- "

"Shut up!" Nike said furiously at him, and the mage fell silent so quickly she heard his teeth click. She looked back at the raven.

"Is that true? If he uses his own blood-?"

A gentle squeeze.

"I won't do this unless you think it's safe. Unless you want me too," Nike said. "I don't know enough about these things…"

How she wished she had read more as a child. Studied more. Being able to stitch a napery or recite the lineage of Ferelden and Orlesian royalty back thirty generations were so completely and utterly useless out here, past the walls of Highever. If I'd just spent one afternoon reading about blood magic instead of a useless political scandal at the Orlesian courts three generations ago-!

A squeeze.

She looked up from Morrigan to the mage in the cell. The tears of worry starting unfelt in her eyes turned cold as she looked at him.

"If you hurt her- "she said in a low, stony voice.

"I swear it on my life, I won't."

"Good, because it will be your life if you do."