As Finn read more about the Legends of the Black Fox, the last known possessor of Dumat's Claw, our heroes found themselves before the Grand Cathedral of Orlais. But the sacred spell of the Chant was suddenly broken as a racing carriage careered through the square, heading right for them!

Ariane threw herself to the left on instinct, rolling on the hard cobblestones and coming up on one knee. A few feet away, she saw Vashti doing the same; the dog had charged after his mistress, and was skittering in a wide arc as he tried to stop suddenly on the smooth stones. But to her horror, she saw that Finn's reflexes were not the same as theirs.

They had jumped; he had cast. He finished just as Ariane stood up, the pair of horses only a score of feet from him - he would be under their hooves in less than a second unless -

The pale lines of the glyph flashed in the rapidly-narrowing space between Finn and the horses. The spell slammed into the beasts; the driver went flying from his seat. The horses were to heavy for the repulsion effect to throw them, but the impact confused and frightened them. Whinnying with terror, they lunged to the side, fighting each other and their traces, until they both toppled, one on the other, legs thrashing and heads tossing.

The carriage, of course, toppled with them. Painted and gilded wood scraped and splintered on the stones; the wheels spun uselessly. Finn stared at the destruction he had unwittingly wrought, mouth slightly agape. "I can... I can fix this," the healer breathed.

"See to the velashi... the aravel-man, Finn, help him!" Ariane shouted. "Vashti, the horses...?"

"I will try." The ranger had little experience with the large beasts, but it was more than Ariane could do. She dashed to the carriage, to see how those inside it might fare.

She had grabbed the edge of the carriage and gotten herself pushed halfway up when the door opened like a hatch. She found herself staring at a red-faced human whose elaborately coiffed brown curls had been turned into a disheveled bird's nest. He screamed something in Orlesian, sounding much more angry than hurt. "Do you need help?" Ariane asked, but the man just kept shouting as he clambered up out of the carriage and then leapt down to the street. Ariane lowered herself down as well - she saw that a sword swung at his side, and she didn't want to be clinging to the bottom of an upturned carriage if the angry man decided to draw it.

Finn hollered something from the other side of the carriage, and the man turned in that direction. "For the love of holy Andraste, do not do such violence to our language, you ignorant barbarian!"

"Ignorant barbarian? Ser, I am the foremost linguist of the Circle of Magi!" Finn sounded genuinely hurt.

"Of Ferelden! Which I imagine is something like being the most polite and cultured warhound of a pack!" Dog barked, although it was hard to tell whether or not it was in agreement. "Only an ignorant barbarian could fail to realize that when a gentleman is coming through, he should get out of his way!"

Ariane moved towards rear of the carriage, where the Orlesian was, glaring at Finn. The mage was rising from the side of the driver, who was moaning softly on the street. "I apologize for the damage to your vehicle, your beasts, and your man," the mage said crisply. "Your man will need rest but will be well. Your horses, I cannot say - "

Vashti stepped into Ariane's view. "Dead," she said, mouth twisting. "Both were badly injured."

"Those were a matched pair of the finest steeds of Val Chevin!" the man fumed.

"Then perhaps you should have driven them more carefully!" Finn retorted sharply.

"You dare speak to me so, mage? On the very doorstep of the Grand Cathedral? You overreach yourself, barbarian." Stepping towards Finn, the man drew his fist back. Both Dalish started forward, but Vashti got there first, catching his forearm in a viselike grip. Ariane didn't think it was possible, but he got even redder. "You should keep your hounds leashed, mage," he spat, trying - and failing - to shake Vashti off. She stared up at him steadily and smiled, just slightly. "Well. Two hounds for two horses. That seems fair."

"What?" Finn sounded horrified, but Vashti just smiled more widely. With her free hand, she rapped the gilded griffon on her chest. "Try. Please."

He looked down at the griffon, looked up at her vallaslin, then down at the griffon again. "You," he breathed, and there was more venom in the word than in all his prior abuse. "You lying knife-eared bitch." He yanked his arm free; Vashti was staring in surprise, clearly not expecting that.

Ariane and Finn exchanged uneasy glances. The crash and the shouting had drawn a bit of an audience. A pair of chanters was hurrying towards the cathedral, possibly to summon templars. Ariane was confident she knew whose side they'd take here.

"You stole our glory, destroyed our men and took our ancient blade," the man hissed.

Vashti turned her head to regard him sideways. "I killed your horses. Otherwise, I do not know you," she said carefully.

"You are Mahariel, the so-called Hero of Ferelden, yes?" He swept into a mocking bow. "Warden-Commander Thierry du Montsimmard, Commander of the Grey of Orlais. And I know."

Vashti regarded him dubiously. "You know?"

He stepped in closer to her; Vashti warily stepped back. From his rear, Ariane and the dog closed the distance between them, and he stopped, head turned slightly to place them. "I know you did not kill the Archdemon. I know Riordan of Jader did, and that Loghain Mac Tir's dirt-born daughter would not allow the credit to accrue to Orlais. I know that good Orlesian men were sent to serve under the so-called hero and that they all died, because she was really nothing more than a savage barely fit to follow, much less to lead. And I know that the First Warden elected to ignore all of this and grace you with Dumat's Spine, an honor thoroughly undeserved. And I know - " his eyes flickered to the distinctive pommel rising above her shoulder, " - that the honor is now rightly returned to Orlais."

Vashti shook her head, but Ariane thought she looked uncharacteristically uncertain. "No," she said slowly. "That is not so."

"It must be so," he hissed, leaning in again. "As your presence here makes clear." He paused, and it seemed that something passed between the two Wardens unsaid. "Admit it, return the blade to my keeping, and I shall forgive you the horses."

Vashti sighed, but shook her head again. "That is not so," she repeated.

Across the plaza, the doors of the cathedral swung open, and four templars emerged, heading towards them at a jog. "Oh no," Finn said quietly.

Commander Thierry's lips twisted contemptuously. "You area Grey Warden," he said to Vashti, "and for the honor of the Order, I will not simply horsewhip you as I might," and he turned his again slightly to look at Ariane from the corner of his eye, "any other elf. As comical as it might be, let us settle this as equals."

Vashti squinted. "A... duel, yes?"

"Indeed. Greetings, sers," the Commander hailed the templars who were pushing their way through the crowd. "You are just in time to witness a settlement between Wardens. I claim the woman's blade as recompense for my carriage and horses. She will not yield it."

"You stand in the sight of the Maker," one of the templars intoned, "before the greatest cathedral in Thedas. You will not sully these stones with murder."

"Til one yields, then."

"Acceptable," replied the templar, after some consideration. "Do you agree to these terms, Warden?"

Finn leaned forward to murmur something into Vashti's ear; she nodded. "Yes," she repeated aloud. "I agree."

The templars turned to the crowd and cried something in Orlesian, and soon a space was cleared. The church warriors took up positions north, south, east and west to observe and ensure proper protocols were followed. Finn, Ariane and the dog stood behind and just to the right of one of the templars, sidelined as observers. The templar turned his helmeted head to regard Finn for a moment, a silent warning against magical meddling in the outcome.

The templar to the north went over quite a list of questions. Were both parties satisfied with their armor - or lack of it, in Thierry's case? They were. Were they satisfied with the weapons - Thierry's narrow Orlesian blade against Vashti's dar'missan and dar'misu? Thierry suggested it would be more equal if they fought single blade against single blade; the templars upheld it as a reasonable request, and Vashti reluctantly surrendered her dagger to Ariane's keeping. No one had the sun in their eyes, the ground was acceptably level, and so on, until at last the templar called: "Begin!"

Ariane twisted the handle of the dar'misu in her hands as the two Warden Commanders circled each other. She did not know of Vashti's equal with a bow, but with a blade? And without her customary offhand dagger? And if this man did not hold to his promise to fight only until a yield... She glanced at Finn. His face was closed and his eyes were narrowed; he was calculating something. Probably how he might possibly be of use with four templars standing about. Beside her, the dog whined, unhappy to see his mistress in a fight without him.

Thierry lunged first. He attacked strangely, with the point of his blade, as if it were a giant dagger instead of a sword. It was unexpected, and Vashti's parry was clumsy. The tip of the weapon scored a long line across her armor, scratching the golden griffon.

Thierry smiled.

Vashti stayed on the defensive, blade still and protective in front of her, but Thierry seemed disinclined to give her further experience with his fighting style. She feinted, swinging the dar'missan like a Ferelden longsword. He parried easily enough, but was surprised in his turn when she brought the weapon around in the curling, dancing strike the Dalish favored, starting low but ending high. He got his thin sword up barely in time, holding it nearly vertically in front of him, point-down, but the force of her blow knocked it back so that the tip pricked his own calf. Blood spotted his silken hose, but the wound did not even make him stagger; it was obviously superficial.

"First blood to you," Vashti said drily. He glared back and they continued to circle.

They exchanged another set of blows and fell back, and then another. If Ariane were any judge, he was the more skilled swordsman, but Vashti was simply ridiculously fast. Which, if her friend was wise, meant that she would try and end things soon, before fatigue sapped her speed and his skill would win the day.

The cadence of steel-on-steel increased in tempo, but still sounded off to Ariane; the secondary ting! ting! of the dar'misu was absent. Vashti was, indeed, attempting to bring a quick conclusion to the bout, raining blow after blow on the other Warden. He kept up a steady rhythm of parries, and then - just where Ariane should have heard one of the missing tings- his blade snaked out.

But not to hit Vashti. He struck Dumat's Spine, blade against blade, and rolled that narrow sword of his around it, binding it and - with a snap of his elbow - sending it flying out of Vashti's hand to clatter on the stones. Another snap, and the point was back and at her throat.

"Yield," he said gravely.

There was a long moment of silence as the Dalish Warden looked, bewildered, from the Orlesian to her blade and back again. The chief templar cleared his throat noisily. "The duel is done," he said, "and Commander Thierry is the victor. Commander, take your blade and -"

"No," Thierry said mildly, not moving. "The duel was til one yields."

Ariane had thought that Vashti hated darkspawn. She knew the Warden had a certain bond with the verminous monsters, that she could feel their presence, and that it revolted her. Ariane had seen the Warden's grim but eager smile that welcomed them to their deaths, and the look of utterly focused satisfaction that Vashti had when she killed them.

That was nothing compared to the expression of black hatred she wore now.

He didn't poke or prod her; the threat would be empty, with the templars standing there. But he did not put down his weapon. The silence stretched out until the crowd started to murmur. "Wardens, please," the templar implored. "We cannot be at this all - "

"As the sapling bends, so must I," Vashti said suddenly, and Ariane and Finn both let out sighs of relief. "I yield."

Thierry's sword flickered away instantly. Without so much as a word, he turned, picked up Dumat's Spine and handed it to his recovered driver. "Have this mess cleaned up," he said offhandedly to the templars, waving at the carriage and dead horses, "and send the bill to me. My thanks for your assistance, gentlemen."

And then he strode off, the driver hurrying behind, taking the ancient sword with him.

Oh no! Our heroes went searching for a dagger but have lost the sword! What will Finn and Ariane make of his dire accusations? Tune in next time to find out as they work through their shared History!