Chapter 9

The disarmed mercenary latched onto the rim of Alistair's shield with both hands and spun it like the helm of a ship, trying to wrench it out of his grip. So Alistair let go of the handle and bemusedly let the man spin it around completely before he gripped it again and pulled it out of the man's surprised hands.

Such was the usefulness of boss-held round shields. Had it been the kind of shield where the arm was looped through a strap, the same twisting motion would have wrenched his elbow loose. Or something equally painful.

But that wasn't the case, and this allowed Alistair to punch the man with his shield hand, driving the rim of the shield diagonally into his face. A satisfying wet crunch was the result, and the man dropped like a recently cut tree.

Poor bastard, Alistair thought as he stepped around his fallen foe. Probably a broken nose and a few broken teeth. I love you, shield. Okay, nex – holy hell!

Greeted by the downward swing of a two-handed axe, Alistair had precious seconds to respond, and he did so by raising his shield and turtling behind it.

Alistair hated axes. Especially the big two-handed ones. They reminded him too much of the many afternoons spent chopping wood. Although it had been part of Templar training and had strengthened his back muscles considerably, the activity itself wasn't very fun.

You split shields the same way you split logs, his instructor had told him back then. Alistair had always doubted that. Now, as the axe's bit split his shield right down to the boss, he felt vindicated. It wasn't a very good feeling.

I don't ever want to feel vindicated again. Wait. Is that even a good thing?

His faithful shield, though finally beaten, would still be of use. Being made of wood, it would trap the axe for a bit. He used that time to slap his opponent's helmet right over the left ear with his sword. Although the clang was far from sonorous, it gave Alistair and opening to unhand his shield, step in and smash his elbow across the bridge of the man's nose, dropping him.

It was for this reason that Alistair liked his opponents in open-faced helmets.

"Right," he muttered and turned around. The fighting had died down by then. It wasn't surprising, either. Their party was a rather monstrous one. No band of mercenaries – Antivan Crow or no – stood a chance. The thought made him swell with pride, but then he looked at his shield and his face fell.

"Any injuries, Alistair? The girl did catch you with a spell."

Wynne had made her way up to him, and being the resident healer of their brood, had posed the question like a field medic.

"Well, my shield died," he replied and took off his helmet. "The Stonefist destroyed most of the plates riveted to my front, so I'll have to ask about a new suit of brigandine. Other than that, I'm all right. Really." He sighed. "Guess who won't be helping out damsels in distress from now on, eh?"

It had all started when a woman had approached them on the road, stating she needed help and that bandits had ambushed her wagon. Moments later, said woman sent a fist of stone into his gut and their party was besieged by some elf calling himself an Antivan Crow.

The whole event reminded Alistair of why he wasn't overly fond of mages. They can roast you or freeze you or both. What's there to like?

But he liked Wynne. She was nice and grandmother-ish-esque. She teased him and pinched his cheeks fondly when he got flustered. Something a real grandmother would do. It was nice to experience that amidst all the chaos. Though he complained about it, Alistair rather looked forward to the cheek pinching. For someone who hadn't had a family, such moments were to be treasured.

So it was panic that he felt first when Wynne's eyes rolled up to the top of her head and her legs folded beneath her. Alistair dropped his helmet and knelt hurriedly to stop the elderly mage from hitting the ground.

"Wynne?" he patted her cheek. His voice must've gotten high-pitched for some of the others came running. Alistair didn't pay attention to them. "Hey, Wynne? Can you hear me?"

Though she didn't open her eyes, Wynne rubbed her forehead with a hand. "Unhh... I... fell..."

Alistair sighed in relief. "Incredibly observant as that is, are you all right?"

This time, he was certain he heard her snort. Wynne reached out and pinched his cheek. "Yes, quite. But for a moment... I thought it was all over."

"Thought what was over?"

Leliana's voice.

"Everything," Wynne replied and opened her eyes. She smiled wanly at Alistair and the others. "I will... I will explain everything at camp. Now is not the time. For now, I think I just need to rest a while."

"Give her some breathing room, people. Let Solona handle this." Aedan's voice this time. "And Alistair, I want to have a word with you."

"Take care of her," Alistair muttered to Solona and got up. Aedan was sitting against a rock, while Sten and Oghren kept watch of the elf. "You okay?"

A shrug. "Few cuts and scrapes. I'll live. What about you? You're the one who took a boulder to the gut."

"Yes, well, we Fereldans tend to have strong stomachs."

"That was horrible."

"I regret nothing."

Aedan sighed. "Well if you can joke about it, then you're going to be all right. What about Wynne?"

"She just sort of... fell? I think it was exhaustion, personally."

"Could be. She is old. Think she'll be all right?"

Alistiar stroked his chin and said, "Well, she was talking and even pinched my cheek." But the bit about explaining seems scary. "Anyway, what'd you want to talk to me about?"

Aedan flicked his thumb over his shoulder at the unconscious elf. "Him."

"What about him?"

"I think it's very likely that Loghain hired him. Either him or Howe."

"Oh I don't doubt that, but the thing is," he rubbed the back of his neck, "the Crows don't really operate like this, you know? They're assassins, not a mercenary army. They won't just charge like the light brigade."

Aedan clapped his palms together and pressed his forefingers to his lips. "Exactly. My sister-in-law is... was Antivan." His jaw tensed for a moment. "I've heard stories."

"So what do you want to do?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Aedan said and turned to look over at Oghren. "Wake him, Oghren. We're going to interrogate him."

At this, the dwarf gleefully walked up to Alistair and handed him his axe. "Hold this, bub. Lemme show you soddin' surfacers how we dwarves wake up our prisoners for questioning."

Okay?

With that, Oghren walked up to the elf, pulled down his pants, sat down on his haunches and farted.