Chapter 2 – Night of the Living Dead, Medieval Style
Part 1 – The Storm and What Came After It
It wasn't a battle. It was an outright massacre. Alistair, Aiden and his hound, and I survived only because we'd been sent to the Tower of Ishal to light the signal beacon. We couldn't see what was going on below us in the battlefield, but the sounds and screams were horrific. Immediately after the fire was lit, a band of darkspawn ambushed us on the roof, almost as if they'd waited for us to finish our task. It was… eerie. I passed out from blood loss, expecting to wake up in the hereafter (to the sound of the Maker reprimanding me for disrespecting Andraste). Instead, I awoke days later in Morrigan's shack, healed and rested.
We three wardens—the last of our order in Ferelden—conferred and decided we'd imposed on the two eccentric women's hospitality long enough. Flemeth had one more bit of help to give us. None of us suspected that "help" was to have Morrigan accompany us. Alistair protested, Aiden approved, and I was indifferent. If she could be of real help to us, fine. If she was hell-bent on using her cruel wit against Alistair, she could stay in the swamps for all I cared. Aiden persuaded us to let her to come along. If she became more trouble than help, he had no qualms about my ejecting her from our party. With that agreement, Alistair and I relented. She suggested we go north to Lothering, the nearest village, for supplies.
On the walk between Flemeth's hut and Lothering, Aiden related some stories about his family and their relationship with the Theirins. Aiden and Cailan were a year apart in age, and they'd been friends. He told of a young prince who was sensitive to others' needs, generous, and fun-loving; a man devoted to family, his country, and his people above all else. When he became king, he sought ways to make his subjects' lives easier—that is, when corrupt advisors didn't deliberately hide the truth from him. King Cailan was not the power-mad, arrogant, lecherous man I thought him to be. The more I heard, the worse I felt about the way I spoke to him in our only meeting.
Aiden, a gentle, cultured, and attractive man, was the first to befriend me. (No strings attached, which was the only kind of friendship anyone would get from me.) He leaned near and confided, "Don't feel badly, Winter. Cailan would not have taken your words to heart. He was not a man easily offended." I nodded, but the guilt would persist for weeks before I could get past it.
Lothering was a dying village. The people were desperate, destitute, and terrified. Families were separated and children were wandering alone looking for their parents. It was a heartrending sight. It was from the chantry's senior templar, Ser Bryant, that we learned Loghain had put all the blame for the king's death on the wardens. We were appalled at the crazy accusation, but Ser Bryant assured us few people believed the story. Seeing how poorly outfitted we were, he offered what little armor he could spare and wished us well. Before we left him, I urged him to get out of Lothering before the horde struck.
"That is my hope, Warden," he said, but his voice didn't reflect any real hope. He was man of duty. Whether he lived or died, he would do so fighting for the refugees under his protection.
I take back my initial assessment of Fereldan men. They aren't all asses, as I'd thought when I first arrived. Thus far I'd met several who were fine examples of courage and sacrifice: Alistair. Aiden. Ser Bryant. Duncan. King Cailan.
In Lothering, we found two more fighters willing to join our party. One was a chantry sister named Leliana. None of us wanted her along, and I was repulsed by the mere thought of having a preachy chantry mouse in our midst. However, she fought like a she-devil, so there was more to her than her little girl lisp and her innocent act revealed. If we weren't so desperate for fighters, I would have flatly denied her plea to join us. But we weren't in a position to be picky, so with her promise not to start reciting the Chant of Light or proselytizing, I let her come along.
Better, we found an imprisoned Qunari warrior called Sten. He was a big fellow—a giant compared to me—and quite strong. He wouldn't say why he was locked in a small cage without room enough to sit and placed outdoors like an animal, but I wasn't going to leave anyone to be devoured alive by the darkspawn that were only days away from the village. The revered mother, who held the key to the cage and acted as the law of the village, refused to release him into my custody. Irked by her phony piety and very real cruelty, I picked the lock and freed him myself.
Our seventh, and most unique member, was a stone golem that went by the name of Shale. We found him by accident, after we'd encountered a merchant who claimed to have a golem control rod, which he gave me without charge. The golem, he said, was in a village to the south called Honnleath. We'd all heard of golems—ancient warriors built by the dwarves, made completely of stone—but none of us had actually seen one. If for no other reason than to satisfy my curiosity, I felt it was worth investigating.
It wasn't as easy as waving a rod and walking off with a new stone soldier. We first had to go through clusters of darkspawn, demons, and one possessed tabby cat. Then on to the golem. He came to life—or the equivalent of "life" to a hunk of rock—and immediately took on a personality like Morrigan's. His comments were sardonic, abrasive, and condescending. I was tempted to leave the thing behind, but an indestructible soldier was too tempting to pass up. And as with every new member of our band, I reserved the option to boot him out at any time. We left Honnleath and went in search of a permanent camp.
We found a place which, in retrospect, was possibly the worst we could have chosen in terms of defensibility. Instead of looking for high ground, we picked an indentation surrounded by a sharp, natural embankment, with a small opening that served as a road. Only one way in or out, so that in itself was a plus, if one didn't take into consideration the darkspawn rogues with the ability to rise up out of the ground at any place and time. We ignored the fact and camped there anyway.
Its best feature, in my opinion, was the secluded waterfall. After each bout of hiking and fighting, we'd return covered in sweat and darkspawn blood. If we were to live in close quarters, we needed a place to wash off. It was one thing to have to stomach the stench of the creatures while we fought them, quite another to wear their smell on our flesh and clothing during our down time. Even Shale complained of the stink. You can imagine how bad it was if a talking rock could smell it. I wish I could say the water came from a hot spring and it was warm year-round, but that wasn't the case. It was icy cold, but better than no water at all.
Alistair, Leliana, Aiden, and I grouped our tents in the middle of the area around the campfire. Morrigan separated herself from the group, choosing to camp as far from us as she could get and still be inside the cul-de-sac. Shale never slept, so we always had someone (or something) standing guard. If Sten slept, I never saw it. He had no tent and carried no additional equipment. If he couldn't wear it at the time, he didn't keep it. He was as practical as he was stubborn. The rest of us took turns on watch anyway, excluding Morrigan. She saw no threat and therefore felt no need to deprive herself of sleep.
Regarding the rulership of Ferelden, Cailan's widow Anora became queen upon her husband's death. She allowed her father Loghain to declare himself as regent, and he took control of everything: land, armies, and the citizens. The new regent called all the nobles of the country together to issue his edicts. The first rumblings of civil war were heard in the landsmeet that day.
Politics didn't concern us. Our duty was unchanged: to find allies and raise an army to combat the blight. Alistair and I looked over the treaties we'd retrieved from the wilds. These ancient Grey Warden documents compelled Ferelden's cities, as well as her population of elves and dwarves, to supply their armies when the wardens required them. Our first stop would be Redcliffe. Alistair knew Arl Eamon. Since the arl's armies weren't at Ostagar, he would still have all his men. It would be a good start in building a militia.
Alistair pushed me into the role of leader, and I gave him no argument. It was a surprising move on his part, all things considered. He was a native Fereldan; I was a foreigner. The man was a powerful warrior. He was fearless. He would follow any order I gave, but he wouldn't take charge. If he didn't have the willingness or self-confidence to lead, we were better off with someone who had those traits. Aiden would probably have been a capable leader but we weren't to find out. He was too busy flirting with Morrigan to care who was in commanding the group.
The night before we were to set out for Redcliffe, I was resting in my tent and I overheard Alistair and Aiden talking. Alistair was still mourning Duncan's loss. Duncan had been a father figure to him, and he took his death hard. Aiden related his story of how his family had been betrayed and slain by a man they considered a friend. Aiden's older brother Fergus had left their estate earlier in the day to join with the army at Ostagar, but their parents, younger sister Alyssa, Fergus' wife, and his young son were among the dead. It was only with Duncan's help that Aiden escaped the slaughter. The killer was now Loghain's chief lackey, a man named Rendon Howe.
The loss of our leader and mentor affected me too, but not as deeply as it did Alistair because I hardly got to know Duncan. Still, during the time we traveled together from Highever to Ostagar, he'd been kind to me. I felt badly for my lack of courtesy when we first met. Guilt over my unfavorable feelings toward King Cailan still haunted me too. True, the time I'd spent in the Starkhaven prison changed me, but I didn't want to be standoffish. Aloofness was my only defense against being deceived and hurt again, and I wasn't prepared to drop my guard.
Despite attempts to deny my feelings, Aiden's story brought back the memory my own parents, and his grief and outrage sparked mine. Aiden knew why his parents were murdered, and by whom. Who killed my parents, and why, was still a mystery. A random break-in didn't make sense. The murders were too sadistic, too personal. It had to be someone who knew us, someone who wanted my father's position, or less likely, someone who was jealous of our relation to the Vaels. Hardly motives for murder.
While my mind was on a self-flagellating bent, I recounted the romance-deception-betrayal cycle with Sebastian. I chided myself for having been a naïve fool to fall in love with a rabid womanizer in the first place. How quickly he went from scoundrel to gentleman to religious fanatic! His early misbehavior was his way of getting his father's attention, but once he had it, it cost him the freedom he craved. It wasn't me that he needed. Still, I was the one who paid the price for the prince's stubborn adherence to family tradition and for Sebastian's wrath—and I had nothing to do with their disagreements.
Wallowing in self-pity, are we? Let it go.
I can't. I want to, but I don't know how.
Thoughts of the past kept me from sleeping, and after the men retired I took a walk around the camp. I made a pretense of patrolling the area, coming across the ever-wakeful Shale. "Can't sleep? Pity," he said, pitilessly. "I'm not bothered with such fleshly weaknesses."
"Yes, so you've told me. Many times," I sighed. I wasn't in the mood for his arrogance. Whoever gave this stone creature the power of speech should have been hanged. Then again, Shale was probably hundreds of years old. His creator was long dead while the creation was immortal. What a cruel trick of fate! I left Shale to bask in his perfection and returned to my tent.
Aiden jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward Winter's tent, lowered his voice, and asked Alistair, "What's her story?"
Alistair shrugged. "I wish I knew."
"Come on, what's so secret that you can't share it with a friend?" Aiden prodded.
"There's nothing to tell. She doesn't talk about herself."
"Alistair, I've heard you two talking when you're on watch together. Do you expect me to believe she never, ever talks about herself or her life before she became a warden?"
"Believe it. She never, ever talks about herself."
"I thought you two had grown close. Guess I was wrong."
Alistair sighed. "I've tried to draw her out of her silence, but she won't budge. What more can I do? Nag her until she spills her life story?"
"You're just the man for the job," Aiden teased. "But seriously, don't you wonder how a young, lovely woman came to be in a foreign land all alone, and she keeps to herself as if she's carrying around a dark secret or something?"
"Of course I wonder. If she wants to talk, she will. If not, there's no forcing the issue. One thing we do know about her is that she's headstrong."
"Maybe she's not the sociable type," Aiden proffered. "Like Morrigan."
"She's nothing like Morrigan," Alistair said. Winter wasn't open about her life, but she was a far cry from the spiteful apostate. Too, Winter was slowly beginning to show signs of trust. She was still mum about her past, but by her tone and mien, she wasn't unapproachable as she'd been the day she arrived at Ostagar. Occasionally she let her humor show, and he found her fun and playful. But she quickly recovered herself, and her mask fell back into place. He believed, with patience, he would eventually see the real Winter MacEwan. He looked forward to the discovery. Until then… "I worry about her," he thought aloud.
"Do you? Why? Is there something you're not telling me?" Aiden's interest was piqued.
Alistair smiled. "Sorry to disappoint you, but no, I don't know juicy gossip about our leader."
"Well, if that's the best entertainment you can offer tonight, I'm going to turn in and let you have the watch alone," Aiden sniffed.
"Right, of course. I'd tell you to say hello to Morrigan for me, but I can't stand the bitch."
Aiden grinned at him, then ambled off in the direction of Morrigan's tent. Maybe she was in the mood for a tumble tonight. Her unpredictability made her more challenging, and because of it, his interest in her deepened. In spite of her warnings against the "weakness of love," Aiden felt himself falling for her.
Alistair gazed in the direction of Winter's tent, wondering for the hundredth time how and why she ended up here, in Ferelden, in the Grey Wardens. She was well educated, which indicated she came from nobility. He didn't believe she'd just grown bored with her life and set off on an adventure that ended with her drinking tainted blood and having nightmares like the rest of the wardens. There was more to her story, a lot more, but unless she saw fit to share it with him, he would have to accept her as she was and respect her privacy. For now.
The following morning I selected Alistair, Leliana, and Sten to accompany me to Redcliffe, and left Aiden in charge of the camp in my absence. Leliana was a childish, irritating woman, but she was a skilled archer and I wanted a balanced party of fighters. It would have been more balanced if I'd taken along Morrigan instead of Sten, but I figured Morrigan needed a break. Leliana annoyed Morrigan much more than she did me because of her open attraction to the witch. Morrigan had told her flatly she wasn't interested in women, least of all a chantry sister. In a rare moment of openness, she told Leliana she and Aiden were lovers. Not exactly a secret to the rest of us, but I was surprised she'd blurted it out. She tried to dissuade Leliana by insults and threats of bodily harm, but Leliana was either too smitten or too dense to get the message. She persisted in gawking at Morrigan with puppy eyes.
Alistair found amusement in the situation. Not that he cared who Leliana fancied—as long as he wasn't the target of her affection—but because it caused Morrigan so much displeasure. The witch had gone out of her way to ridicule him at every turn. This way, without saying a word, he was enjoying some payback.
Our camp wasn't too distant from Redcliffe. The town was situated on the southern bank of Lake Calenhad in a hilly region. As we topped the final hill before reaching the arling we were afforded a majestic view of the town and the lake. Here, Alistair called me aside for a private chat.
"I have something to tell you," he began. I braced myself for bad news. As it turned out, he was one of King Maric's bastard sons. He wanted to elaborate but I didn't care about his lineage.
"I see," I cut in. What difference did he think it made? We needed to see the arl. I already knew Arl Eamon raised Alistair until he was ten years old, then sent him to the chantry for his education. Or something along those lines.
"That's all you have to say? 'I see'? It means Cailan was my half-brother, and now that he's dead… Aren't you even curious as to why I didn't tell you any of this before?"
"Not at all," I answered. "I'm sure you had your reasons and I respect that."
"Fine," he huffed. "Let's just go on like we never had this conversation, and I'll make a note to myself that our leader has no interest in the lives of her companions."
"As you wish." I added with a cheeky smile and a low curtsy, "My prince."
"Agh! You're as difficult as Sten, you know that?"
"Maybe, but I'm prettier," I joked.
"Marginally," he snorted, then grew serious again. "I heard you moving about camp late last night. Is everything alright?"
Caught off guard, I was unable to come up with a reasonable excuse. "I… um, yes, everything is fine. I had a little bout of insomnia, but…" I shrugged and trailed off.
"You're not a good liar," he chided, "which I suppose speaks well of you. Anyway, I'm here for you, you know. If you ever need to talk, or if you just want company, or if you're sad or want to share good news, I'm available."
I appreciated his concern, but I'd grown self-reliant. Life lessons had caused me to shun people who tried to get too close. Experience was a grand teacher, if a cruel one. "Share my secrets with you? You're the biggest gossip in camp," I smiled. I was only half-joking now.
"Only if they don't know I'm gossiping about them," he said. "You've been forewarned, so it ruins the fun." After a pause, he returned to his serious note. "I've been watching you, Winter. Not in a creepy way, so don't look at me like that. I mean I've been attentive, and sometimes I see sadness in your eyes. Duncan saw it too. He told me he believed you had a death wish, and that was part of what made you such a good warden. Someone who's given up on life won't hold back in battle. And if that sounds callous, it's only my poor wording. Duncan was fond of you."
"As I was of him," I replied.
"Just so you're aware, my curiosity isn't mere idle nosiness where you're concerned. I wonder what could have happened to make such an intelligent and beautiful woman lose all hope."
"Flattery?" I countered archly. "It won't get you off watch duty, you know."
"I'm serious, Winter. I care about you."
"And I care about you, Alistair. And about Aiden. And, on occasion, the rest of the band, too."
"Well, there's a heartfelt attitude," he smirked. "Before we melt into two puddles of sentimental goo, let's move on and see what awaits us in Recliffe." For a change, he walked in the lead and I followed. I could tell by his bearing that I'd ruffled his feathers. It lasted as long as it took us to reach the bottom of the hill, then he stepped aside and allowed me to pass him.
A representative of the town met us on the way. "Help us!" he cried. He appeared on the verge of literally bursting into tears. "Our village is under attack and I've been stationed here to flag down help. Please, messers, speak with our leader. Come, I'll take you to Bann Teagan."
"Bann Teagan?" Alistair echoed. "He's here? Yes, please take us to him." Then he confided to me, "Bann Teagan is Arl Eamon's brother. He was the closest thing I had to an uncle."
If we had the support of the arl's brother, it could work in our favor. First things first, though. Redcliffe needed our help, and we had to learn what was happening to the town to ascertain if we could provide the aid they required.
The town square was lined with barricades, and on one side targets had been set up for the villagers to practice their archery and sword skills. (I use the word "skills" lightly. The poor townsfolk weren't prepared to fight off a cold, much less armed men.) The man led us into the chantry, then rushed ahead to tell Bann Teagan we were there.
A stunningly attractive man approached us. He appeared to be in his late thirties, smartly dressed, with chestnut hair and blue eyes. His neat moustache and goatee accentuated his…
…kissable lips…
…facial features. When he smiled, the warmth touched his eyes and gave them a gemlike sparkle. If this was Bann Teagan, I had no objection whatsoever to dealing with him.
"Welcome, friends. I am Bann Teagan," he confirmed.
Maker, even his voice is beautiful!
Whoa, girl. Don't lose your head. Have you already forgotten where that can lead?
Alistair greeted Bann Teagan, and the elder gent beamed upon seeing him again. "We were told all Grey Wardens died at Ostagar after they betrayed and killed the king. I didn't believe that story, but some people aren't as familiar with Loghain's flair for deception and manipulation."
I hope I get to face this Loghain someday, I thought. I'll give him real reason to hate wardens.
"Bann Teagan, your man told us the village is under attack," I said, turning the conversation from politics to the immediate problem.
Teagan told us a bizarre story of walking corpses that had been attacking the village for a fortnight. Each night was worse and each attack more severe. He feared this night would be too much for them. The number of monsters increased, while the number of fighters from the town was thinning out. "Please, Alistair, we need your help. I don't know if we can hold out against these things."
Alistair glanced in my direction. "I want to help, Bann Teagan, but the final decision rests with Winter."
"Of course we'll help," I readily agreed. "Tell me more about these creatures so we'll know what we're up against. Do you know who or what might have summoned such beings?"
Before Teagan could reply, Sten muttered something about it being "pointless to save a tiny village." I was vexed by his rudeness, so I sent the rest of the party on a mundane errand to check out the village, see to any needs, help train the fighters, and talk to the people—with strict instructions to let Alistair do the talking.
"Let's find a place where we can sit and talk," Teagan offered when they'd left. There wasn't a quiet spot in the chantry because of the influx of refugees, many of whom were children. I was sure I recognized a few faces from Lothering—people who'd fled to the nearest town to find shelter from the horde, only to be assailed by another form of evil. He led me toward the front doors. On the way out, he spoke to the workers who were helping him find food and sleeping places for the homeless. He mentioned the name 'Jetta' to one of the workers.
"Is that woman Jetta?" I asked.
"Yes, why do you ask?" Teagan said. "Do you know her?"
"If you'll give me a moment, I have something for her," I said, adding in a near-whisper, "It's not good news." Teagan nodded and stood aside when I approached the woman. I gave her a small box I'd found in the wilds, which she recognized instantly. She thanked me graciously, with tears welling in her eyes.
I rejoined Teagan, who had witnessed the exchange. "Sad," he commented. "Their son came back weeks ago saying he didn't know where his father was, and that they'd lost contact when their camp was attacked by darkspawn. I hoped for the best but feared the worst."
"That's the hardest part of being a warden," I replied. "Fighting is easy compared to having to inform someone their loved ones have been killed."
"Indeed. We've had deaths here recently as well. I fear it will get worse before this is all over." He sighed heavily. "If you please, I'd like us to focus on the town. Come with me." We went to the tavern at the top of a steep hill. A few villagers were downing ale to try to bolster their courage for the coming night's battle.
Teagan found a table in a secluded corner, ordered mead for each of us, then he explained how the attacks had started shortly after his brother Eamon fell ill. Worst for him was that he couldn't get any news of his brother's condition. Even the arl's knights—what few were left in Redcliffe—couldn't approach the castle because the gates were supernaturally sealed shut.
"Why are there so few knights?" I wondered. Surely the arl had a large complement of them.
"The arlessa sent all of them to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes, a relic believed to hold Andraste's ashes," he answered with an edge to his tone. "Only three of the knights have returned, and none with word of an urn's location. I fear the others met with some ill fate on this fool's errand."
"Not a strict Andrastian?" I smiled.
"Not a superstitious man," he responded. "The arlessa is a devout woman and she believes the ashes will cure Eamon. Personally, I don't believe in the legend, but I was in no position to stop her from leaving Eamon and the castle virtually defenseless." His brow had creased with consternation.
"About the attacks on the village," I prompted, changing the subject. "From what you've told me, these are definitely not darkspawn. I would have been able to sense them." Something entirely different was assaulting the village, but he still hadn't explained those walking corpses. "Tell me about the creatures themselves."
He spread his hands in bewilderment. "If I had to venture a guess, I would say they were the dead raised to life, and set upon us for our destruction," he said. "They surely look like corpses, and they are single-minded in their purpose to kill us to the last man, woman, and child."
"Who else is in the castle besides the arl?"
"Eamon's wife Isolde, and my young nephew Connor. There were servants there, and I imagine some of them were killed and became walking corpses. I pray Isolde and Connor weren't among them. If they were, and if we've killed them…"
His expression was so pained I could feel his anxiety. It wouldn't have been prudent to point out that if his sister-in-law and nephew had been undead monsters, they were dead already, and putting them down for good was a mercy. I kept the thought to myself. "We're here to help. I promise we'll defeat these monsters," I assured him. "And we'll find a way to get to the castle. Trust me."
"You have my deepest gratitude," he said sincerely. "For your aid, and for your company. I didn't realize how badly I needed to get my mind off things." If it was enough to inspirit him, I didn't mind. On the contrary, I enjoyed talking with him. I wondered what he was like when things were normal. I quickly found out, because for the next few minutes we forgot the village, the monsters, and the peril, and we had a normal chat.
He continued, "If it weren't for you coming along when you did… You and your companions, I mean. Maker, I'm getting flustered. It's not often I find myself in the company of such a beautiful woman."
"You flatter me," I smiled. "But thank you all the same." Since he'd opened the door to personal discussion, I asked, "Do you have a family, Bann Teagan?"
"Me? You mean am I married? No. No I'm not. I haven't been fortunate enough to find someone like you." A slow flush crept into his already ruddy cheeks. "That's fact, not flattery. What of you, dear lady? Are you married?"
"Not me," I said. "I have yet to find a man who could tame me." What a strange turn the conversation had taken, but our banter was entertaining. Maybe breaking the tension was just what he needed… what I needed as well. I hadn't felt this cheered in a long time.
"Only a fool would want to change you by 'taming' you, as you say," he responded.
He was an attractive man. But I'd never been drawn to older men, and the last thing I needed in my life at this point was the complication of a romance—with anyone. "I think the mead has gone to our heads," I said, putting a halt to the foolishness before it went further.
"I like your explanation," he grinned. "My secret crush will remain a secret."
The repartee had extended beyond my comfort level. "If you'll excuse me, Bann Teagan—"
"Just Teagan, please."
"If you'll excuse me, Teagan, I'll go find my companions and see what kind of trouble they've gotten into."
His smile faded and his gaze was fixed elsewhere. "That man over there. The elf. Did you notice him earlier? I've never seen him before."
I looked around. A young elf, armed with a bow and with daggers, sat alone across the tavern. He wasn't drinking. He simply appeared to be waiting. For whom? Or what? The serving girl told us the elf had been there every day, all day, for weeks, having convinced the tavern owner to let him sleep in the attic for a goodly sum of gold. She found the elf suspicious and "creepy."
Teagan and I approached him. I put a foot on the bench next to him and leaned close enough to make him uncomfortable—a calculated move. "Berwick, is it? So tell me, Berwick, why someone with such impressive weapons would hole up in the tavern like a coward instead of fighting with the rest of the town? Are you a coward, Berwick?"
"What? Who are you? What business do you have with me? I don't bother anyone. Leave me be." There was a slight tremor in his voice. And he whined. I hated whining.
"You certainly sound like a coward. Doesn't he, Bann Teagan? A coward, or maybe a spy."
"A spy," Teagan nodded, enjoying my game of intimidate-the-creepy-elf. "Definitely."
"Look, I didn't bargain for this!" The elf broke so easily, I was almost embarrassed for him. "I was told to watch the castle for any changes, that's all. And then those… those things started attacking and I couldn't leave. I'm not getting paid for all this trouble!"
He claimed an agent of Rendon Howe (now that was a familiar name, and an unsavory one) hired him to watch and report. Nothing more. I didn't care what he was supposed to do. He was an intruder, and possibly a danger to the arl. Worst of all, he was in the employ of the man who'd murdered Aiden's family. "Come with us," I said, gripping his arm while Teagan grabbed the other. Berwick didn't struggle, but he whined all the way out the door. We hustled him around the side of the tavern to the edge of the walkway. It ended in a long, sharp fall. The elf began to struggle.
"Don't do that," I murmured in his ear. "It'll only hurt more."
"What? What will hurt more? Do you intend to throw me off this hill to my death?" Berwick was sniveling by this time.
"No, I'm not that cruel," I cooed. "The fall might only maim you." With that, I sunk my dagger into his side, all the way to the hilt, piercing lung and heart. He died instantly. "Now I'll throw you off." The dead weight was considerably harder to maneuver, but with Teagan's aid I got him over the edge. He landed in a thicket where he'd be found and eaten by wild animals, or vanish from memory. Either was fine with me.
"To the business at hand," Teagan said, leading the way back down to the village. He requested I speak with Murdock, the village mayor, and Ser Perth, Arl Eamon's senior knight. "They will be able to give you the most help outside. I'll stay in the chantry to protect the citizens, unless I'm needed outside. I'm at your disposal, whatever you wish."
"I'd prefer you remain with them," I said. "I'm sure your presence is a comfort to them, and we don't want anyone to panic and open the doors once the attack starts. Should that happen, I need a capable fighter inside to defend them until we can get in."
"I saw you cozying up to Bann Teagan," Alistair teased. "With a village to protect, the two of you saw fit to go have a drink."
"You're jealous," I shot back facetiously. "But don't be. The mead here is watered down."
"What? His meadery makes the finest mead I've ever tasted! Not that I've tasted any other…"
"He owns a meadery? I like him more already."
"He's bann of Rainesfere," Alistair said, and stopped at that, as if I knew where Rainesfere was and what made it so special. Aside from its charming bann.
"Rainesfere," I repeated. "And the significance of that is…?"
"Of course, sorry, I forgot you're not from Ferelden. Not that your accent isn't a dead giveaway," he said, having to put a humorous spin on everything. "Rainesfere is a small bannorn to the northwest, along the lake. It has the most incredible apple orchards and the best mead in the country. Teagan's meaderies supply his unique apple-honey mead to all the taverns across Ferelden."
"When this is over, we should drop in on him and swim in his mead vats," I suggested. Alistair thought it was a fine idea.
With the approach of nightfall, Leliana and I helped herd the non-fighting villagers into the chantry. When everyone was safely inside, Teagan asked again if he was needed in the square. "No, please stay with the people. I need you right where you are."
"As you wish," he replied. He touched my shoulder to halt me as I turned to join the fighters. "Do be careful, Winter. I would hate to see you come to harm."
"I'll be fine," I assured him, "and Maker willing, we'll put an end to these attacks once and for all." He nodded his appreciation and shut the doors.
"He likes you," Leliana observed coyly. I didn't respond to her unwelcome comment.
Chapter 2, Part 2 – Every Little Thing He Does is Magic
When Teagan predicted this night would be the worst, he wasn't exaggerating. The monsters were armed with maces and longswords, and they wielded them with fiendish accuracy. Hour after hour we battled them. There seemed to be an endless supply of the undead coming from the castle. They were just as Teagan had described them—walking corpses. Some wore the uniform of housemaids, others were townsfolk, still others were castle guards. My party and I had a few close scrapes.
I felt most alive when I was in mortal danger. Maybe Duncan had been right after all—since I felt I had nothing left to lose, I gave my all in battle. I thought I'd always been that way because I loved fighting, but truthfully, I was different now. I took more risks and used less common sense than I had when I was in Starkhaven. My strategy back then was equally defensive and offensive; now it leaned much more toward offense. The goal was to take down a target before they had a chance to wound me. The reality was that I was often reckless with my life. If that made me a better fighter, so be it. If I came off as cocky, it wasn't my intent, but I couldn't let people's opinions of me change what I did and how I performed.
In my disregard for my own life, I was like Sten. He swung his greatsword with his immense strength, mowing down two or three of the monsters in a single swipe. Many times they rose again, receiving for their troubles another, deadlier blow. The town square was strewn with—what shall I call them—dead undead, hewn in half, beheaded, or pierced with multiple arrows.
Leliana fired off arrows as rapidly as she could, and her aim was precise. One had to admire her fortitude. She fought relentlessly, even when her fingers bled through her gloves from the pressure she exerted on her bowstring. Alistair employed his shield to bash the creatures to the ground, then ran them through or beheaded them with his longsword. I fought with two swords. With one sword I'd skewer a monster, with the other I'd behead them. Or I'd do a dual sweep, crossing the blades over an opponent's neck and sweeping outward, lopping off their heads. Either way, heads were rolling about by our feet. Because the things were already dead, there was almost no blood on our weapons. What little there was smelled like rotten eggs, different from darkspawn blood, but not like human blood either.
At dawn, the last of them fell to our swords and arrows, and we were fortunate enough to suffer no losses. The townsfolk were informed it was safe to leave the chantry. They would suffer no more monster attacks because we intended to get to the cause of the problem. Teagan asked us to meet him at the top of the hill by the windmill, which was near the castle gates.
When we reached the windmill, Teagan handed me his signet ring. Alistair quipped, "Isn't this a little sudden, you two? You've just met."
Teagan chuckled. "As tempting as it sounds, this isn't a proposal. My signet ring opens a secret passage to the castle. You can access it through the windmill."
"Teagan! Oh Teagan, thank the Maker you're alive!" A hysterical female with an Orlesian accent came running into our midst. The arlessa, no doubt. She ignored us and focused on Teagan. I had a fleeting mental image of a bird of prey.
"Isolde, how did you get out of the castle? Is everyone alright? How is Eamon? Where is Connor?" Teagan shot questions at her faster than she could form a reply.
"Teagan I need your help," she answered, not answering anything he'd asked her. "I need you to come back to the castle with me right away."
"Why does Teagan have to go with you?" I asked.
She turned and gave me a cold look. "Who might you be, and what business is it of yours?"
Teagan stepped in and told her, "Isolde, these are my friends. They saved us. We owe them more courtesy than that."
"Why does he have to go with you?" I repeated, more firmly this time. "To the void with your courtesy; I think you owe us some kind of explanation."
"How dare you!" she snapped. "Who do you think you are to talk to me in that manner?"
"I think I might be the one who will save your life if you stop acting like a spoiled child and show a little cooperation," I sassed right back. Her title didn't matter to me one bit. She needed us; we didn't need her. "What's going on at the castle?"
"My husband is very ill," she wailed. "Now my son is acting strangely. And the creatures… I don't know where they came from or why they're attacking the village, but…" she turned to Teagan again, "…you need to come now. Now!"
"I will come with you, but I need to speak to my friends for a moment first," Teagan said.
Her relief was so obvious I thought she was going to pee herself and ruin that expensive silk dress. "Thank you Teagan. Please hurry." And off she went to wait for him by the gates.
"Are you sure this is wise?" I asked, knowing full well it wasn't wise for him to go alone with that uppity kook.
"No, I'm not sure of anything, but I must get to my brother," Teagan replied. "Once I'm gone, if you're still of a mind to help, use my signet ring and get into the castle."
"We'll be there, and we'll find out who's causing the monsters and stop them," I promised.
"As courageous as you are beautiful," he smiled. "If things were different… But no matter. I'll try to learn all I can before you arrive."
The signet ring fit into a small lock, and a trap door opened to a narrow passage that widened into the castle's dungeon. There was a mage incarcerated in one of the cells.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," I answered. "By the looks of things, you're not a welcome guest of the arl."
"My name is Jowan," he answered. "Lady Isolde hired me to tutor her son."
Alistair spoke up. "Connor? Connor's a mage?"
"Yes," Jowan nodded. "Lady Isolde didn't want him sent to the tower, so she hired me to teach him just enough to be able to hide his abilities."
"That's hardly reason to lock you in the dungeon," I said. "What aren't you telling us?"
He answered miserably, "I poisoned the arl."
"Why?" I couldn't believe he just spit out the admission without prodding, but now I needed to know more.
"I can't say. If I speak of it, I'll be killed."
"If you don't tell me, I'll kill you myself," I threatened. "What did you give him? Can you reverse it?"
"No. The poison was of my own make and it has no antidote. It's slow but definitely lethal. I purposely designed it to look like an illness so no one would suspect poison." He paused. "Although… it's taking a lot longer than it should. He should have died within a few days."
"What else have you done?" I asked, my patience running out for this idiot. "What about the creatures that attacked the village? What's the story behind those?"
He shook his head and vehemently denied any involvement with the creatures. "I only poisoned the arl. I didn't have anything to do with the creatures." He moved closer to the bars. "Please, I feel badly for what I've done. Let me go with you and try to help. I know some blood magic…"
"Absolutely not!" Alistair interjected before I could reply. My response would have been similar. "You've already done enough harm. I'll cut you down before I let you near the arl again."
The mage seemed sincere in his desire to help, but I didn't trust him. I wasn't familiar enough with mages to know if they used any kind of mind control, but this man had already admitted to attempted murder, and that sealed it for me. Leliana wanted him to come with us; Sten wanted him killed on the spot. I decided to leave him where he was for now, tend to the arl, and let someone else decide the mage's fate. We proceeded upstairs and into the castle.
We were greeted by a startling sight. Teagan was doing what I could only describe as a carnival performance. A boy of about ten years was egging him on with skin-crawling, fiendish delight. Isolde looked on, close to tears, begging the boy to stop and to release Teagan. The boy was obviously possessed by some sort of spirit.
I was out of my element, but Alistair recognized the thing as a demon. His templar skills included the ability to detect and dispel some magic, but the demon was too powerful. He couldn't stop or impede its evil games, and none of us knew how to rid the boy of the thing. We discussed our options—kill the boy or send for the mage to see if he could do anything—and were interrupted when the demon set Teagan and the castle guards on us.
I didn't want to see Teagan hurt, but he'd drawn his sword and meant to kill me. I dueled with him while the rest of my team dealt with the possessed guards. He was either more skilled than he'd let on or the demon had enhanced his abilities, because he fought with uncanny proficiency. If I hadn't been determined not to wound him, I might have been able to best him more quickly. My caution was a hindrance and he almost got the best of me, slashing at my midsection to gut me. I sidestepped and avoided the killing blow but received a deep slash in my upper arm. Evading that blade became my main concern. At the right moment I swept his legs from under him and struck him on the head with my pommel, knocking him unconscious. When he fell, all the knights fell with him and the fight ended.
Alistair tended to my wound while Leliana opened the castle doors and the courtyard gate to let the knights in. They had been waiting for us to give them access but there hadn't been time until now. Pity, because we could have used their assistance. They were tough, fearless fighters.
When Isolde saw Teagan sprawled out on the floor, she jumped to her feet and railed at me for killing him. "He's not dead," I snapped at her. I'd had enough of this stupid woman's interference. Knowing what we did now—that she was aware of her son's magic and she'd hired an apostate to tutor him, and that he'd poisoned the arl—I trusted her less than the mage. At least he openly admitted his guilt. She was still playing the victim.
Teagan stirred, and she ran to his side to help him up. "Oh Teagan, I thought she had killed you. I would have thrown her in the dungeon—"
"Enough, Isolde," Teagan cut her off. He said to me, "Thank you for stopping me. I had no control. I'm sorry."
"I understand, and no harm done," I said. From here on, the less I said to Isolde, the less chance there would be of me knocking her out next.
"You're wounded," he said, and immediately began to apologize again. "Maker, what have I done? I'm sorry, Winter. After all you've done to help…"
"Stop. Please. There are more important things for us to talk about than a scratch on my arm." It was more than a scratch and it hurt like hell, but I wasn't going to make him feel any worse than he already did. I didn't blame anyone but the demon. And Isolde.
"This needs stitches," Alistair announced. "I can stem the bleeding for a while, but you won't be able to move your arm without opening the wound again."
Stitches. I shuddered. Nothing else about fighting and swordplay bothered me, but having a needle slowly, repeatedly run through my flesh and dragging a length of thread behind it was my idea of torture. Truth be told, needles were my one phobia. "Are you sure? Can't you just bandage it tightly and… and I'll…"
"And you'll eventually bleed out," he finished. A mischievous glint lit his eyes. "What's all this? Our fearless leader isn't so fearless when it comes to needles?" He noted my apprehension and added, on a more sympathetic note, "Can't say I blame you. Don't worry; I've been trained in patching up battle wounds." He reached into his pack and pulled out a small bundle, unwrapped it, and produced a wicked-looking curved needle and a foot or so of thick black thread. "Sorry, I don't have pretty colors for ladies."
"I don't think that would make it any easier," I groused. Like it or not, he was right—the wound was deep and it needed to be closed. Better to endure stitches than cauterization, right?
Teagan apologized again, needlessly. It was too much to handle at once—having my arm skewered and sewn like a blanket, holding my irrational terror in check, dealing with Teagan's regret—and I tried to mentally shut everything out. If I concentrated on something pleasant, this would all be over quickly. The first jab of the needle put an end to that idea. I jumped, and the needle went deeper than Alistair intended.
"I'm sorry, Winter, but this is necessary," he said with compassion and, for a change, no humor this time. "You'll have to hold still."
Teagan assisted the gory project, mopping away the blood so Alistair could see where to place the next stitch. Isolde watched from across the room, scowling, resentful she wasn't getting all the attention. Seeing her pout and fume gave me a sense of satisfaction, as petty as it may have been. She was an attractive bitch, and the men of this castle were blind to her manipulations. She was Eamon's wife, but she was oddly possessive of Teagan, and she vilified anyone who took a step inside her domain. It made me determined to trample all over it before I was done. She'd forgotten her place as a person who received her title by marriage and not by birth.
I glanced up at Teagan and was met by his pained eyes. His "I'm sorry's" oozed from every pore. "It's alright," I reassured him. "I have the Grey Wardens' best healer caring for my wound." A little humor couldn't hurt. The needle did. That damned needle.
Sten was becoming impatient, as usual. He grumbled about human weaknesses and inability to handle pain and injury. And I called myself a warrior? There was an archdemon to kill, he reminded us. We didn't have time for pampering and recuperation.
"In good time," I said through clenched teeth as the needle bored into my flesh and out again, dragging the thread behind it. Adding injury to Sten's insult. The process seemed to go on for hours.
Alistair looked up from his work of tormenting me, allowing me a much-needed pause from the sewing. "Almost done," he said. He smiled to bolster my nerve, and the smile held none of his usual playfulness. It was completely sincere, and I have to say, he never looked as appealing as he did in that moment. He was just Alistair, without the jokes, without the nonsense. I smiled back to express my appreciation for his kindness. It was easier than trying to talk. He added, "Just a couple more, and you'll be good as new. With a brand new, ugly, jagged scar to show off to your friends. You'll be the envy of everyone at camp." His serious moment had passed.
"Thanks for that," I replied dryly. "I'll be sure to give you due credit for the scar."
Stitch work complete, he bandaged the wound and pronounced me fit for duty. "Light duty," he emphasized. "If you insist on swinging swords, you'll have to do it one-handed for a while." All things considered, it could have been much worse. Sten could have been using the needle on me.
I was ready to get back to business. "We need to deal with the demon. I can only assume Isolde knew about it all along, since she knew about Connor's magic."
Teagan looked at Isolde like he was seeing an intruder in the house. "What's this? Connor's a mage? You knew this and didn't tell anyone? You endangered an entire village? Why? How could you be so selfish?"
"They would have taken him away," she wailed. "I had to protect my son, so I hired a mage to teach him how to hide his magic, so no one would know of it."
"Eamon wouldn't…" Teagan began, then realization hit him. "Eamon doesn't know, does he?"
"No, I kept it from him." Isolde wasted no time turning the blame from herself to another. "He fell ill soon after the mage arrived. I think… I think maybe the mage has hurt my family."
How do you make your voice tremble at will, I wondered. Unkind, yes. But the situation is a tangle of deception. How involved are you? Or are you at the core of it, Arlessa?
Teagan demanded, "Where is this mage? Is he yet alive?"
I shelved my suspicions for the time being and spoke up. "He's in the dungeon. He's alive, for now. He has admitted to poisoning the arl, but refuses to say why he did it."
"Can he help Connor and Eamon? Did he say why he sent the creatures against the village?"
I related what the mage had told me about the poison, and finished with, "He insists he knew nothing about the creatures until he saw them in the dungeon corridor."
"He lies! Bring him, Teagan," Isolde begged. "He can help my Connor."
"And your husband?" I supplied.
"Of course. And my husband."
Teagan left us to fetch Jowan, and I consulted with my companions, leaving Isolde to think up more trickery. I asked Alistair, "What can we do about Connor? I've never dealt with demonic possession before."
Alistair shook his head sadly. "The boy is an abomination. Only one thing can be done with him."
Sten agreed with Alistair, and volunteered to end the boy's suffering quickly.
"Not yet," I said. I didn't want the boy killed unless there was no other alternative. "Let's see what the mage has to say. Maybe something can be done to drive the demon out of him."
Isolde's eyes were fixed on Jowan when he was brought in. She didn't speak to him verbally, but her stare conveyed some kind of private message to the mage. He cowered before her. I wasn't sure if any of the others noticed the change in our hostess, but something had happened between these two that was more than the usual employer-employee relationship. What it was, I didn't know for certain, but I had some thoughts on the nature of their connection.
Isolde snarled at Jowan. "Whatever you've done to my son, I want you to reverse it this instant." I noticed she didn't mention what he'd done to her husband. Twice she'd neglected to include him, as if she'd written him off while he still lived. Was she aware the poison had no cure?
"I did nothing to Connor, I swear," Jowan insisted.
"But you admitted you're a blood mage," Alistair reminded him. "That's an open door for demons."
"I… No, I wouldn't hurt Connor," Jowan stammered. "I don't consort with demons."
"You fool," Alistair rejoined. "You can't do blood magic without the help of demons."
"Tell me what can be done for Connor," I interjected. "How can we rid him of the demon?"
Jowan explained that there were two methods. Either kill Connor outright, or kill the demon in the Fade. The second method was trickier, and we lacked the means to perform the ritual: a quantity of lyrium and several mages. Or a human sacrifice for his blood ritual.
"No, that's not an option," I insisted. "There's a better way, but it will take time. We'll have to go to the tower and bring back some mages to perform the exorcism."
"Connor doesn't have that much time," Isolde moaned. "Please, use me as the sacrifice."
Teagan and Alistair refused her request in unison. I agreed with them with only a touch of reluctance, and the mage was sent back to the dungeon to await his sentence.
"The tower is a long hike from here," Teagan said. "Please, if you would, take some of Eamon's horses and get there and back as quickly as you can."
"We'll return with help as soon as possible." I had no idea what the next few days held in store for me when I made that promise.