Chapter 6: The Maker's Will
"Stop this!"
Sister Esme glared at the Revered Mother. The two had been arguing this matter all day, the head of this chantry was usually a very open woman, willing to listen to reason…
In this, however, she was not.
The older woman sighed.
"There is nothing we can do, child," she responded, her thick Orlesian accent hinting at a past in the capital city. Esme had only been in Orlais a few months herself, having been transferred from the Circle Tower of Ferelden.
Though transfer was not the most appropriate definition, she thought with a frown, exiled was a better one.
After what happened with Aubrey, the Knight-Commander could never have let her stay.
Never.
Even if she had wanted to…
The Village of Port de Armasse was where she was to pay her penance. It was a small thing, a tiny blot one would likely not find on any official chart. A small village full of people with even smaller minds…
From her first day here the Revered Mother had suggested that she accept the people here as they were. They were the Maker's flock and needed their guidance; however it was also wise to stay out of the way when they all got a single idea into their heads. Resistance could lead to trouble.
The Revered Mother thought it best that Esme avoid trouble.
The young sister shook her head, her long black hair done up in a simple braid bobbed as she tried to make the older woman see sense.
"This cannot be the Maker's will," she hissed, "I know this village has suffered. I know it's been having a bad season, but this…this…"
The sister gestured to the door, outside the voices of an angry crowd could be heard; torchlight flickered through the chantry windows…
The mob was getting ready to enjoy the show.
They had captured the elven boy in the woods. He had led the hunters on a merry chase for a while, but now it was all over.
Now…the town was ready to deliver what it thought was justice for dozens of imagined slights.
The very thought made Esme sick.
"You must do something," she repeated, "You must!"
Again the Revered Mother sighed.
"This is out of our hands," she repeated, "The people need someone to blame."
Esme's eyes narrowed.
"So we let them burn that poor boy at the stake?"
The Revered Mother frowned.
"That boy attacked Francois and Arin in the woods," she reminded her, "He threw fire at them, and burned poor Francois quite badly…"
The Mother shook his head.
"These people know that the Dalish have been passing through near here for the past two years, since that time, good fortune seems to have abandoned this place."
"That is not the boy's fault," Esme interrupted, "He is a mage. He should be turned over to the Templars given to the circle."
"I tried to explain that to the mayor," the Revered Mother said.
Esme snorted.
"He is out there holding a torch right now!" she spat, "What kind of justice can we expect from him?!"
"He understands his flock," the Mother answered.
She glared down at the young sister.
"You should try to as well."
Esme shook her head. She whispered a silent prayer to Andraste, asking that the prophet give her the wisdom to help the Revered Mother see sense…
The chantry was the moral compass of the village, if the head of the chantry spoke up now…
Was it so much to ask, what she was trying to do? She was trying to save a child from a horrible fate.
She suppressed a whimper.
If only Aubrey had been so lucky.
Thinking of her twin only increased her resolve to stop this farce. Aubrey had been a loyal member of the circle, a healer, and a friend to all who needed his aid.
It was because of her brother that she took up the cloth in the first place. She could not do what Aubrey could do, but that did not mean that she could not help in her own way.
No, she thought, I will not give up!
I can't.
She dropped to her knees, a sinner begging for forgiveness.
"Please, Your Reverence," she pleaded, "In the name of all that is good, please do something! All I ask is a bit of honest Andrastian charity. Have mercy on that poor boy, the Maker will truly smile upon you if you do."
The older woman gave her a sad smile. She reached up and stroked the girl's cheek.
"Ah, the passion of the young," she cooed, "I admire what you are trying to do Sister Esme, but it is not within my power to stop what is to come."
Esme's lip trembled.
"Your Reverence! Please!"
"If the boy is saved, then he will be saved. If he dies, then he dies, that is the will of the Maker."
She put a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder.
"We should not intervene."
Esme frowned. Anger burned in her eyes, anger and disappointment.
Somehow, she had hoped for better than this. Knight Commander Greagoir had showed her twin no mercy…
She had hoped that a fellow sister would at least listen to her pleas.
She was sadly, mistaken.
Esme rose and dusted off her robes. It was clear that there was nothing left to be said.
She turned and made for the door.
The Mother gave her a nervous look.
"Where are you going child?"
Esme turned; a deep frown marred her pretty features.
"If this is the Maker's will, then it is my duty to watch what occurs first hand," she said coldly, "The least I can do for the boy is bear witness."
The Mother cringed where she stood.
"Such matters should not be left to one so young," she advised, "Return to your room, I will call you when this is over."
Esme shook her head.
"I am sorry, Your Reverence, but I will not bury my head in the sand, not when the Maker chooses to vet out his…justice."
She sighed and opened the door.
"I will not ask you or any of the others to join me," she said, "But…I wish you would, if this is the Maker's will, then we owe it to our flock to stand witness."
The Revered Mother said nothing; she did not even try to call for the others.
Esme's heart fell.
She expected as much.
"Child?" the Revered Mother called out.
Esme ignored her.
"Child! Stop!"
Esme did not obey; she stepped out into the night, the fire and cries of vengeance wrapped around her like a diseased blanket.
Sister Esme sighed.
She had hoped for more, but was not surprised.
The Revered Mother had her conscience.
Esme had hers.
She hoped that she would at least be able to sleep tonight without hearing that poor boy's screams.
Hope, she thought with a sad chuckle.
It had abandoned her long ago.
Now all she could do was watch…
Watch…and bear witness.
She stepped out into the town square. The forty or so people that made up their congregation stood before a large wooden stake awaiting the start of the show. Torches were carried, as well as a few scythes and swords. All that could be armed were armed, in case the boy tried to use his magic to escape. Already a massive pile ring of wood surrounded the post. The constable and two of his guards stood watch, armed and armored, to make sure this…this travesty did not get more out of hand then it possibly could.
Esme shook her head.
Word had been sent to the White Spire, but the Templars would still not arrive for several days. The crowd was unwilling to wait that long, two years of poor hunting and weak crops had turned the good people of this village rabid.
They needed someone to blame, a scapegoat that they could punish.
In the elven boy, they had found it.
All eyes were on the small guard station. When the constable gestured, the elf was dragged out into the street. He was dirty, his short black hair a rat's nest atop his head. His left eye was blackened, blood leaked from his nose. He was gagged so that he could not speak any of his wicked spells, his hands bound painfully.
Esme whimpered.
If only the Templars had caught the boy, that had to be better than what was about to occur.
It had to be.
The constable read the charges. The boy had been captured yesterday, and tried in absentia that evening.
For the crimes against the good people of Port De Armasse he was to be burned. Only then would the evil that had haunted their peaceful little town be lifted.
Esme shook her head.
This was not how one cleansed evil, she thought.
This is how one gave into it.
She cupped her hands before her, begging one last time for the Maker to intervene. The Dalish boy had done nothing, nothing but defend himself. What had happened to this place was no more his fault then it was hers.
She glanced at the constable, hoping to get his attention.
The man noticed her; she had already tried once already to plead the boy's case.
The Constable shook his head no.
This matter would go on as planned.
The Sister prayed for the boy's soul, that and for hers as well, and for the good people of this little village.
Fear makes monsters of us all, she thought.
Now we must live with what we are about to do.
The Dalish boy glared at his captors, his anger undeniable, she did not blame him. The elves in these parts often thought of the humans as monsters.
Today, her village was providing proof for that theory.
The boy had refused any religious council. He refused to answer to the servants of the "shem god" whatever that meant. Esme did not fault him for his beliefs. Once, the worship of Andraste was thought of as the worst sacrilege.
She had no right to oppose anyone else's faith, not after tonight.
The boy was dragged up to the pole; two of the constable's men forced him back while the others bound him tight. They stepped forward quickly, as the mayor approached, torch in hand.
Esme's hands twisted into fists. She wanted to leap up, shield the boy, but knew that she would only be dragged away, perhaps even accused of being the thrall of the young mage.
If that happened, the chantry would punish her, she might even be sent to Aeonar.
That fear alone stopped her.
She bowed her head, ashamed of her cowardice.
The mayor raised the torch, even as he quoted the chant of light.
"The righteous shall stand before the darkness, and the Maker shall…"
He never got to finish.
An arrow knocked the torch from his hand.
Esme's eyes widened.
The constable drew his sword, only to have second arrow strike his blade as well.
The people began to panic; they had not expected this…
All it would take would be one final incident and the mob would be out of control.
That incident came…in the form of a burning wagon. It rolled down the street picking up speed.
The townsfolk shrieked and panicked, one of the men tried to stop it, but was struck in the arm by another arrow.
The burning wagon rolled into the crowd.
Chaos ensued.
IOI
Lyna kept her distance; the shadows of the building shielded her from detection even as there diversion did its work.
The Dalish warden frowned.
This…was not quite what she expected.
They had arrived too late, and now they had to take direct action to liberate their prize. They also had to be careful.
No killing, she had warned, fight only to protect yourself.
She no desire to become an outlaw here in Orlais, but considering what had happened at that Tavern on the Exalted Plains…
It was best that they keep a low profile.
Then…there was the mage himself.
Lyna frowned.
He was not quite what she had hoped for.
When Kierhen suggested that he knew where they could find a mage, she had hoped for something more than the boy bound to the post. He was a da'len, not even old enough to be given his Vallaslin.
She would air her frustration to the ranger later, right now; she had a life to save.
No one deserved the fate the shemlen here had in mind for that poor boy.
She and Kierhen moved through the shadows on opposite sides of the crowd, firing arrows at anyone even attempting to resist or light that pyre. Royce had set the card ablaze and on its merry course, it had been his idea truth be told.
Lyna smiled.
Her friend had a good grasp of tactics.
She could not see Bok, but knew the dwarf was there. When they had found the remains of the elf's camp, they had tracked the people that had taken him here.
Bok, pretending to be a merchant's guard had learned everything he could about what was happening tonight.
Even now the dwarf would be sneaking though the crowd, he would cut the boy free, and they would make a run for it.
Perhaps it was not the best of plans, but what choice did she have.
She needed magical help.
Another guard lost his blade to one of Kierhen's arrows; his partner whirled about to charge in the direction that the ranger had fired from.
Lyna fired one of her own; the man's weapon flew out of his hand.
Disarmed the two guards panicked and started running around like the rest of the villagers.
Lyna smirked.
She had no desire to hurt these people, but that did not mean she was above punishing them for their arrogance.
That would teach them to pick on a Da'len.
She moved forward, darting from shadow to shadow, another arrow already nocked.
She smiled fiercely.
The fun continued.
IOI
Esme kept back, trying not to be trampled by the maddened crowd.
The sister's eyes narrowed. She spotted movement by the post, the boy struggled, but unless she was mistaken.
Esme smiled.
It seemed that the Maker had taken a hand in tonight's events after all.
A dwarf in rough leather armor was untying the boy, no sooner had he gotten the elf's hands free that he grabbed his wrist and started dragging him away. The boy struggled. The dwarf shouted something at him, but his words were lost in the chaos.
Esme's eyes widened.
She was not the only one who noticed the boy's escape.
One of the constable's men had gone for his crossbow.
He had the boy dead in his sights.
Esme dashed forward.
She was not sure what she was doing, it was madness, complete and utter madness!
She scooped up a fallen quarter staff, likely dropped by one of the village farmer's
The Sister's eyes narrowed.
She did not hesitate.
She twirled the staff overhead, and...
TWAP!
The hard wood struck the constable's man; he staggered his finger squeezing the trigger even as his aim was spoiled by the impact.
The bolt went over the heads of several villagers, adding even further to the chaos.
Esme stood in shock, looking down on the groaning guard.
She…she…
She gasped.
Oh Maker!
What have I done!
An armored hand clamped onto her shoulder, she was spun around quite violently.
She found herself eye to eye with the constable, his eyes filled with a cold and righteous anger.
"What have you done," he demanded.
She squeaked as he tightened his grip.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"
Esme tried not to panic, but fear robbed her of all reason.
She grabbed the constable's gauntlet.
"No," she gasped.
The Constable's eyes widened.
Intense cold flowed from Esme's hand; the constable's gauntlet was coated in ice in seconds!
He was so surprised that he released her. He just stood there, gaping at his hand.
Something large came up behind him. The Constable did not even have time to cry out.
A large heavy sword hilt struck him in the back of the head.
He fell like a sack of flour.
Esme swallowed hard.
The man standing before her was large and brutish, his arms and armor were clearly not Orlesian, his fur lined cloak seemed to blend in with his wild hair.
He grabbed her wrist.
"Come on," he shouted.
She stood there frozen.
He glared at her.
"COME ON!"
She shook her head no.
"Do you want to explain what you did to the Templars girl?"
Esme hiccupped, she had done nothing, and the ice thing had not been her fault…
Her eyes widened.
Striking that guardsman however, had been…
No, she thought.
Sweet Andraste!
NO!
The man gave her a compassionate look.
"You hit that man," he reminded, "The Templars won't forgive that!"
Esme almost laughed, it would have been fatalistic laugh, but a laugh none the less…
He had not seen.
He did not know!
Praise Andraste!
Alas, if she stayed here the Templars would investigate, they would question her…
They would find out!
They would see!
She took one last look at the town, the carriage had crashed into the tavern, fire was spreading, and all were too occupied fighting it to look at what was going on.
She whimpered.
The man might be criminal, perhaps a slaver.
She could not go with him, but if she didn't.
"Come on," he repeated.
He pinned her with his sad eyes.
"Please."
Esme had no choice.
She let him lead her.
Already guardsmen were crying out.
She could not stop.
She ran.
They ran.