Chapter 3
I wanted to keep my time in this town minimal, but the people in this city where kind and finding work was not all that hard. During the day, I did mostly manual labour. I would help move things, lift heavy crates, or even work on construction sites. I also threw myself fully back into training, until every step, every gesture, every incantation, came as naturally as blinking. I now had more need of it than ever, as during the nights, I had taken up being a mercenary of sorts.
Insomnia plagued me near constantly, so I had taken to wandering the streets at night. On too many occasions I had stumbled upon roving bands of ruffians looking to pinch a little extra coin from any unsuspecting passers-by. When they had ignored my polite refusals to hand over my coin purse, I had settled things with a quarterstaff and a good deal of irritation.
After the third instance, I had concluded that my skills could be put to good use here. So, at night I covered my face with a mask and hood and ventured out to enact a little vigilante justice. I might have been a tad paranoid, given the heavy templar presence. I had no desire to be dragged off to a Circle of Magi. Here, I was finally free, and I had no desire to change the fact.
Tonight, I sat at the docks dressed in my mercenary attire. I wore dark leather armour over a black cotton shirt and leather pants with soft soled boots. A new set of daggers made a home on my belt as well as a sword. I thought it would be a good idea to make the previous set from the manor disappear. I had shelled out heavily for some new equipment and it set me back in getting to Val Royeaux. Armour and weapons were expensive, especially if you wanted decent equipment.
I had other expenses to pay as well, such as clothes and food, also generous donations to the Chantry for providing a roof over my head. Revered Mother Anette had insisted I stay, and I had been loath to refuse. A room at the Chantry was almost certainly cheaper than most inns in the area, and I would likely be sharing my bed with fewer flees.
She only ever asked once where I was at night. I had brushed her off with something about insomnia and walks, and she hadn't pushed further. However, I later found potions sitting beside my bed. The label declared them sleeping draughts. It gave no further details as to what they contained and given some of the strange concoctions hawked around the markets here, I was hesitant to try drinking them. Thus, even as the twin moons sat high in the sky, I remained awake and alert.
I wasn't particularly looking for work tonight. I had been in Val Firmin for two months now; the people that needed or wanted my services knew where to find me at this point. Instead, I sat on the docks, my feet hovering above the water below as I drummed my heels on the wall in time with a tune, I hummed softly to myself. It was a nursery rhyme, I think, but I couldn't remember the words.
"Sir, you are the mercenary I have been recommended, yes?" A tall, slim man stood above me, flanked by three bodyguards. He was dressed in the latest fashions from Val Royeaux, all made from high quality cloth. A wealthy client, it was then. I ceased humming and stood to face them.
"Your contract please." I spoke in a monotone drawl, with a thick, rural Orlesian accent. A mask wouldn't hide my real voice, after all.
"Ah, right to the point." The man made a motion and one of the guards approached and handed me a sheet of paper, folded, and sealed. I slipped my thumb beneath the wax, breaking it open, and cast my eyes over its contents.
He wanted me to go deal with some mercenary company as an infiltration expert, breaking into the home of a local small-time, yet wealthy, lord. I scanned the page twice more, pondering the words written there. This wouldn't be my first foray into this line of work, and thus far I had been largely successful. Provided, there were no magical traps or wards, with my magic at hand, it shouldn't be difficult. Once I had broken and entered, I was to retrieve a precious artifact from within the landowner's study. It didn't say what it was, only that it was in a dark wood box, the lid engraved with a dragon curled around to swallow its own tail, like an ouroboros. I didn't care for, or want, further details. The less I knew, the cleaner my hands. The pay was astoundingly good, though. I sighed. Apparently, the mercenary company was to serve as a distraction for me to get in and take the item.
The location was also a few days journey from Val Firmin. I shouldn't need more than a week to complete the task, even factoring in travel, and other potential surprises.
I scanned my way to the signature at the bottom of the contract. The mercenary band was called Fisher's Company. I had heard rumours of them over the past months, and it seemed their leader left something to be desired. No matter, I was sure I could manage myself quite well.
"I agree to the terms. I will leave tomorrow." The guard next to me pulled out another letter.
"That is for the Captain of the mercenary company. Hand it to him as proof of who you are," the rich man said. I nodded and took the envelope from the guard. I had quite the trip ahead of me.
Explaining my absence to Mother Annette had been easy, I claimed to be attempting to retrieve any of my family's heirlooms that might have been left behind after the bandits took everything of mine they assumed to be of value. I didn't expect to get anything for my troubles, but it was worth a shot to see if anything remained. She gave me a gently pitying smile, and some bread and cheese from the Chantry for the road. I accepted it gratefully, despite already having acquired travel rations. I had learned not to deny her fussing.
I had replaced the black jacket with a navy blue one some weeks back and had also purchased a new shirt and waistcoat. It was nice to finally have clothes that were mine; a small pleasure I still found time to revel in.
A few hours out of town I would have to dress in my mercenary equipment, it wasn't safe to travel any other way. My cover story, did after all, have a modicum of substance: the roads were crawling with bandits, and my jacket would do little to stop an incoming arrow or blade.
It took me a full day to get to the Fisher's Company camp. I had drawn on my magic to expedite my journey, but quickly dropped it when I spotted the flicker of campfires in the distance. I walked up to the mercenary camp, making no effort to hide my presence. These did not seem like the sort of folks who enjoyed being startled.
"Halt! Who goes there?" I could see several people at the edges of the camp all aiming bows at me. I sighed.
"I am here as an independent contractor, an infiltration expert. I have a letter as proof of identification for Mr. Fisher," I stated loudly in Orlesian. Whispers spread around the camp for a moment and a man bearing an impressive handlebar moustache and clad in plate armour walked up to me.
"The letter, boy." I sighed and pulled it from my inner pocket. He took it from my hands a little roughly. He broke the seal and scowled as he scanned the page. "Well, about time you showed up," he huffed in annoyance. His breath had a distinctly fishy note, which mixed unpleasantly with the smells of smoke and body odour wafting off him. I fought the urge to wrinkle my nose.
The camp was full of a wide variety of people. I spotted a man hunched beside a fire. He was enormous, with shoulders twice as broad as mine. His skin had a grey tint, and two great horns jutted from the sides of his skull. When he turned towards me, I saw that one eye was covered by a patch. He was clearly Qunari. I had only read of these people in Gwen's library, but had yet to encounter them in person. I didn't know too much about them at all. I tore my gaze away from him, not wanting to appear rude. A human man sat next to him, as well as an elven woman leaning on a staff, and a dwarf who appeared to be tinkering with some sort of alchemical experiment. Their gear was battle-worn, and many of them bore deep scars. They were clearly experienced combatants.
"Tall and lanky, you gonna stand and stare at all of us all night, or are you gonna have a drink?" The Qunari spoke out snapping my attention back to him. He faced me now with a smirk on his face. He was observant to say the least. The others looked up at the sound of his voice, then turned to follow his gaze, taking me in with a mixture of contempt and curiosity. I shrugged and moved to join them beside the fire pit. I took an empty seat on a half-round log.
"Here. Have a drink." The man next to the Qunari handed me a mug of what I assumed to be either ale or spirits. His accent was Tevene. "I'm Krem, by the way, and the big lug is The Iron Bull." I took the proffered mug with a nod.
"Merci, Krem," I said with a tight smile, then I addressed the Iron Bull. "I am curious, forgive me, but I am from a rather small town, and I must ask, how did a Qunari and man from Tevinter end up here?" Krem smiled sorrowfully at me.
"Now that's a story isn't it Krem." Iron Bull gave Krem a big pat on the back, making him wheeze.
"Yeah Chief. Look it's a lot on my part in this story." I nodded my head in understanding. Sometimes you didn't want to share your life story. I certainly didn't want to share mine, minimal though it was. Krem could keep their story all they wanted.
"I won't pry," I said. "We all carry tales we do not wish to tell."
Krem shot me a look of surprised gratitude. "Uh, thanks. Well, long story short, the Chief and I met at a border town in Tevinter at a tavern. I was attacked by a Tevinter tribune and his men for deserting. Bull here came in between me and the guys flail. He saved my ass but lost his eye."
"That is impressive. Leaving one's home no matter what kind of experiences is a difficult thing to do, but here you both are ever stronger for it." Krem had an easy smile that I liked; it carried a great warmth and kindness.
"You're not a bad guy, for a glorified thief." Iron Bull said in a teasing tone. I clasped my chest in false shock.
"How rude! I am hardly just a thief." I paused for a moment and placed my hand on my chin as if in thought. "Though I do suppose that this job is just a glorified thieving mission. I didn't have the heart to tell the man that I could safely get the item he desired without the distraction. That would have not given any of you pay, who am I to judge a noble on spending more money than he knows what to do with?" I shrugged.
"You talk a lot too, once given the chance." Iron Bull laughed a hearty laugh. "Do you have a name Infiltration Expert?"
"None that I have… chosen yet." Iron Bull nodded his head in response, his brow furrowed in contemplation.
"Well that won't do, you need a name if you want people to hire you. Gives something for people to look for. Like the Iron Bull. Good, right? Gives people a certain impression. And don't you go forgetting the
'The.' That's the important bit. Makes me sound less like a person, and more like a weapon to be wielded in battle."
"You might not be a weapon, but you're definitely a tool," Krem muttered beneath his breath, and I stifled a chuckle.
"I would think the Iron Dragon would be more impressive." I thought out loud. The Iron Bull sputtered for a moment. Krem laughed at him and a few others in the company joined in.
"Shit that's good! Why didn't I think of that?!" The Iron Bull said.
The remainder of the evening passed in drinking and easy conversation. If I weren't careful, I could find myself rather warming to these people.
The next morning, I was up with the cook helping make food. It gave me something to do; it was better than lying around doing nothing and pretending to sleep. Captain Fisher was one of the first few awake with the cook; the sun had not yet risen. Only when food started to smell good and the sun was up, did everyone else start to move. The Captain gave a resoundingly dull speech about the upcoming mission over breakfast. I tuned out most of what he said, instead staring absently at my increasingly cold bowl of porridge.
With the briefing, and follow up questions over, I left the washing up to someone else, and packed up my kit with practiced ease.
As I was about to haul my pack onto my back, the Iron Bull's deep voice rang out across the campsite: "hey, Thiefy, you arrived without a horse, right?" He approached with his own horse. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, contemplating my next words.
"It is fine I will arrive at the desired location before you regardless." I didn't want to say directly that I could use magic to expedite my process. Also, I didn't know how to ride a horse, a fact I certainly don't need these people to know.
"Yeah sure, why don't you just say you're afraid of horses and share with Krem." I sputtered at The Iron Bulls conclusion and protested that no, I wasn't afraid of horses, okay maybe the height that I would be at up on a horse, more so falling off and hurting myself but regardless not afraid of horses. I huffed at The Iron Bull as he laughed at me for my reaction.
"Fine, but if I fall off and die, I blame you." I marched off to find Krem. I ignored the Iron Bull's guffaw as I left.
Krem was at the edge of the campsite, loading bags onto a decidedly mountainous steed. It gave him a baleful side-eye as he moved to tighten its girth. There was malice in that gaze. I was sure of it. I swallowed past my slightly dry throat, and I shuffled from foot to foot again.
"Oi Krem, the Thiefy here wants to ride with you, be careful though, he is afraid of horses." I hissed under my breath and crossed my arms. Krem laughed and held out his hand for my bag. I sighed over dramatically and handed it to him. This was not going to be fun.
"It is not my fault horses are dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle," I grumbled. This earned me a hearty chuckle from both of them.
Our destination was most of a day of brisk riding away, so it was already dark as we crested the final hill.
The manor sat on the horizon, a squat, hulking shadow, with only the occasional flicker of candlelight visible behind un-shuttered windows.
Thankfully, Krem's horse had proved to be almost amiable, so when we arrived, I was only mildly grouchy and saddle-sore. My dismount was an awkward one. I slid gingerly sideways and landed hard on shaky legs. I caught the Iron Bull eyeing me shrewdly, with just a hint of a grin. I glanced away quickly. I was not in the mood for more teasing.
We left the horses tethered in a small copse at the outskirts of the estate, and our bags with them. I retrieved my sword and twin daggers and reattached them securely to my belt. The company around me were also gathering their weapons, sharing jokes and words of encouragement, as well as small red flasks containing a clear red liquid that I assumed were healing potions.
It was time to take my leave.
The sun had well and truly sunk below the horizon at this point, leaving the vast swathes of grounds before me lit only by what weak trickle of moonlight could seep through the cloud cover. The cloaking dark made my approach almost easy.
The manor sat high on a sweeping hill, surveying the surrounding lands with what felt like an air of disapproval. It was a great, hulking, brick affair, with sharply angled roof lines, and perhaps too many ornamental pillars to be considered entirely tasteful.
It wasn't long before I was enveloped in its long shadow, my feet making soft scrunching noises on the grass already dusted with frost. The manor's façade rose high before me, the hollows of dark windows glaring down at me like empty eye sockets. I shuddered, unable to shake the sensation of being watched.
I muttered a few words beneath my breath, and felt the familiar, warm flush of magic wash over me. I glanced down to see the dark, gloved shapes of my hands fade away to invisibility, with nothing but a slight flickering distortion of the air to give them away.
Now able to move more freely, I reached the manor in a matter of minutes, and pressed my back into the rough stonework with a silent sigh of relief. I shuffled around the side of the building, my eyes probing the dark for any sort of entrance. My efforts were rewarded sooner than I had hoped in the form of an old, oak door sequestered around the rear of the manor. I scrabbled through my belt for my set of lock picks, but I had scarcely slotted them into the keyhole, when the door gave way before me, apparently unlocked, and I just managed to avoid a spectacular faceplant.
The first knot of concern coiled into my stomach. This was much too easy.
The room I had not quite broken into turned out to be a kitchen, as evidenced by the great iron aga, and a hap-hazard pile of boxed turnips in one corner.
Still, I was unlikely to find any valuable items in the kitchen. It was time to head to the upper floors.
Everything remained silent.
The second floor stank of poorly applied wealth and bad taste. Gold filigree snaked across the wallpaper, coiling around jewel coloured birds, visible even in the dim light. Orlesian lions danced across the walls, and littered hallway tables as statuettes, their jaws gaping in silent snarls. The carpets that ran the length of all the second-floor hallways was so obscenely fluffy, it curled over the ends of my boots, and quite masked the sound of my footsteps. It told a very different story to the Baron's rundown wreckage.
Ten minutes of creeping slowly down long corridors, cracking open doors to peer into dark rooms in search of a study, and I was beginning to tire of the whole business. The house was nothing but a gaudy labyrinth, with unflattering portraits of past Divines and Sovereigns leering down at me. But my boredom was soon overturned as the first shouts of alarm echoed up from the courtyard below. It seemed the distraction had begun. It was time to pick up my pace.
Just as I was about to take another step forward, a door burst open beside me, and a small, night-gown clad figure stepped into the hallway. She clutched a lamp in one hand, and her hair spilled from under her nightcap in dark curls. I stood completely frozen in place as her eyes skated over me, unaware of my invisible form. My heart thumped so loudly in my ears I was terrified she might hear. The last thing I wanted was for her to spot me and raise the alarm, though nor did I have any desire to clock her upside the head, and wrestle her unconscious form into a nearby wardrobe to hide my tracks.
She muttered something under her breath, which would likely have been frowned upon coming from the mouth of an aristocrat, and set off at a brisk march so close to me the hem of her nightie brushed the side of my boot.
As her mutters of annoyance grew distant, I allowed myself to breathe a deep sigh of relief.
I slipped past the now partially open door, and headed for the end of the hall, now moving with a good deal less care, as the shouts were joined by the cacophonous clangs of clashing weapons.
The final door was painted in an off-white reminiscent of curdled milk, and trimmed with embossed, gold grapes, the reasoning for which quite escaped me. I tried the handle, which didn't budge.
After a few tense minutes of prodding with lockpicks, it finally sprang open with a deep, satisfying, clunk, and I peered cautiously into the room beyond.
A dark, heavy desk occupied the back of the room, in front of a window. Velvet curtains had been drawn most of the way across it, with a single sliver of light cutting between them, giving me just enough light to spot my prize.
I pushed the door open fully and made my way towards the box in question. It sat, an indelicate lump of a thing, to one side of the desk, inky mahogany just as the briefing had described. It was smaller than I had expected, barely larger than my hand. But more importantly, the lid was roughly carved in the unmistakable form of a great scaled beast. Its eyes were no more than dark slashes, its back was lined with wicked spines, and its tail curled upwards, the end clasped in its mouth. There was no doubt that this was the item I was after. I resisted the urge to pry it open, not that I was sure I could have, given the absence of any visible hinges or latch. Before my curiosity got the better of me, I snatched it up, and shoved it unceremoniously into my coat pocket.
It was about time I made an exit. All I had to do was follow the sounds of fighting and hope I didn't stumble into any more wandering aristocrats.
My departure was much speedier than my arrival, especially as it seemed the entire guard company had flocked to the courtyard at the front of the manor, and its inhabitants had locked themselves securely into their rooms. It seemed the distraction was working as intended.
However, my relief was short lived.
The battle raging was a fierce one. These guards were no lily-livered rich folk looking for a chance to don some shiny armour and carry a sword. They were clearly accomplished warriors in their own right, and Fisher's company was suffering for it.
I picked up my pace, sprinting pell-mell towards the action. There was no sign of Fisher himself, but the Iron Bull and Krem were fighting stoically, back to back. Krem had a deep gash across one cheek, and blood ran down his face, soaking his shirt scarlet. Bull was also soaked in a generous splattering of blood, though it was less clear who it belonged to.
I yanked my sword from its scabbard, dropping my invisibility as I went. One of the guards blinked in astonishment at my sudden appearance. I took the opportunity to get withing stabbing range of him and bring the flat of my blade hard against the side of his head. He gave an odd gurgling, cough, and dropped to the ground, unconscious. I had no desire to kill unnecessarily. But any relief I may have felt was promptly dashed to pieces, as a terrible scream rose behind me. I whirled on the spot, instinctively reaching out to my connection with the fade, pulling its energy around me. One member of the company had been locked in battle with a guard, but as my gaze met his, I felt my stomach drop. The guard's sword had found its mark below his leather breastplate, plunged up through his belly in a wound I knew no mortal could survive. Time seemed to slow, and I watched his eyes wide and terrified. He opened his mouth perhaps to yell in pain, but no sound came forth, only a trail of blood.
He looked so young, so frightened, alone. I didn't even know his name.
The iron tang of it rolled over, me and my stomach lurched. My mind flashed back to another manor, another night, the baron's spittle filled grin, his hands coated in blood, bodies littering the floor…
Then the guard wrenched his sword free, and time resumed. The sound of battle came crashing back to me, and I unleashed the spell I'd been holding with a yell of my own. It enveloped the guard in a sparking cage of lightening, holding him locked in place. I spun, my sword raised, to parry a strike from behind me. The battle had become a blur, stab, slice, dodge, throw a spell, move away, and repeat. The smell of electrocuted flesh lingered in the air. I could feel the magical exhaustion settling into my bones.
"Well, look who's joined us!" Bull's voice roared out. It seemed my magic had caught his attention. "Got what we came for?"
"Yes! All secured." I twisted out of the way of another of my opponent's strikes. "Time to make ourselves scarce, I think."
"Retreat!" The cry went out in Fisher's nasal tones and was soon echoed by others in the company.
The rhythm of the battle began to change, as the company fought their way free, some on the edges of the fight simply turned on the spot and began to sprint for the trees.
I reached for what little mana I had left, feeling the veil warp and bend around me, as I gathered my magic in a wave behind me, launching myself free of the fray, into the dark of the grounds ahead. It was short lived, however, my magic utterly depleted, I joined the mercenaries in their flight, my legs trembling beneath me, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Heavy footsteps thundered beside me, and I glanced over to see Bull swiftly gaining on me, the manor guards spread out behind us in hot pursuit.
Bull shot me a broad grin, which I didn't return. I still couldn't shake the look in the young mercenary's eyes, the sudden certain knowledge of his own death. I stumbled, but Bull was beside me, catching at the back of my coat, and half carried, half pushed me towards the copse where we'd left our horses.
"Holy crap, you're like the calm before the storm and the storm all piled into one, aren't you? Never would have picked you as a mage."
I merely grunted an answer. I didn't have the breath to get into this discussion.
Then the grove was upon us.
We hurtled through the trees, and I nearly sagged with relief at the sight of Krem, already atop our horse, beckoning me urgently. Bull launched me towards him, and I made a clumsy scramble up onto the horse's back, and barely had time to grab a hold of Krem's waist, before we were off, flying into the dark ahead.
The pursuit didn't last long, with the guards on foot, and a couple of hours later, we were slowing to an easy canter. Fisher's company was now largely reunited but for a few conspicuously riderless horses. It seemed the boy I had watched die wasn't the only loss.
As dawn drew near, we made camp, though with no fires this time. We had no desire to send up smoke signals, but it hardly mattered. Instead I sat nibbling on some cold rations, staring into the night through unfocused eyes.
The Iron Bull seemed to come out of nowhere. I was taken off guard and felt myself startle. For a big man he could be quiet when he wanted.
"So, you're a mage, huh?"
"What on earth would make you think that?" I said, with a tired grin.
Bull chuckled. "It might have something to do with the crazy bolts of lightning and shit I saw coming out of your hands in that fight."
"That would be a reasonable assumption, then I suppose."
"Tales of the 'Fury of the Storm' will be all over these parts before you know it."
"I could do without the fame, but I must admit, 'the Storm' has a nice ring to it."
It would be L'Orage in Orlesian. It certainly sounded like a proper secret identity, a mask beyond the clothes I wore, another layer of vital disguise.
"I think I should thank you Iron Bull. L'Orage has a nice ring to it, I think I will use that." The Iron Bull chuckled and patted me on my back too hard. I coughed.
"You'd better give me credit when you use it then, L'Orage."
"We'll see about that," I said with a tired grin.
"I assume you'll be off on your own tomorrow?" Bull asked.
I nodded. "No need to keep my client waiting."
"In that case, L'Orage, I wish you luck. Write to me if you like. We could all use a friend or two in these trying times."
"Thank you. I just might do that," I said.
"Good," Bull said. "And if I don't see you before tomorrow morning, the best of luck to you, and tell your idiot client 'fuck you' from me."
He shot me a wry smile, and stood, moving away into the dark.
And then I slept, utterly dreamless, for the first time in months.