"There's a certain technique to killing these things, no?" Zevran was saying to Oghren.

"Technique?" The dwarf laughed. "Maybe you need technique. I've got a big, sodding axe."

Zevran's teeth practically glittered in the warm light of morning as he grinned. "They are reanimated by magic, because they are already dead, yes? So a mortal wound to any other creature is not always effective. You have to disable their limbs to ensure they cannot keep fighting."

Oghren stared at him.

"What is the adage?" Zevran asked. "I kill you once, shame on you; I kill you twice, shame on me?"

"I swing my axe and they go down," Oghren said.

Donal snorted. It looked as though most of the villagers had lived to see the new day, but he would have to check with Bann Teagan for an official count. Nema had discovered that those things went up like tinder when set alight which had made for quite the display. Unfortunately, they didn't die immediately and kept moving and homes and shops were also flammable. Donal idly wondered what had been worse, the undead monstrosities marauding Redcliffe, or how very nearly the village turned into one enormous bonfire?

Aside from Zevran and Oghren comparing technique, Sten was busy reinforcing weak points along the Chantry. Leliana and the Couslands were singing hymns to a small group of children. Nema was off by herself, she stood on a dock and stared off at Lake Calenhad in the direction of the Circle.

He missed the massive tower library. That, and one of the lesser known talents of the tranquil was that they could make a mean cup of tea. The tea they had brewed camp side had been less mean, more bitter and distraught.

What would First Enchanter Irving think of the dead staggering through Redcliffe, Donal wondered. Disappointment, most likely. Maybe shame. They would have cremated the dead mages and Templars in the tower by this time. With the Circle so close to this village, it was obvious that they weren't as thorough as they'd believed. Something got out.

Morrigan was picking herbs out of the Chantry's garden. Long, lithe limbs reached for elfroot and her spine reminded him of a serpent as she crouched down on her haunches. He found it fascinating how she, with her pale skin, never seemed to get sunburned. Donal walked over to her until he could see his shadow cut across her back.

"Unless you are here to inform me that Flemeth is dead, I have no wish to speak with you." She didn't even bother to look up.

Typical. "We've just been reunited with everyone," he said. "I need more time before I can divert them."

"This isn't a social call." Morrigan turned to glare at him. "The longer she lives, the more likely it is that I will not."

"As soon as we conclude business here, our next stop is the Dalish in the Brecelian Forest, correct?" he said. "The Korcari Wilds are also in that direction from here. I promise you, I won't allow your mother to hurt you."

"Hurt me, no." She grasped a stalk of elfroot and wrenched it from the ground. Chunks of dirt spattered out from the naked roots. "Kill me, yes. Do not make promises you have no way of guaranteeing."

"It is unwise to make promises unless you intend to keep them." He nodded. "I want you to have faith in me, but we have to be patient if we're going to do this correctly."

"Patience?" Morrigan's mouth twisted. "Are we to wait out my death?"

"No," Donal said. "But it's important enough that I don't want to make a mistake. You know, look before you leap and all that."

She turned back to her plants. "I'm more fond of, he who hesitates is lost."

"You would, I suppose." He crouched beside her. "You're picking weeds now. Why?"

"It's brambleweed," she said. "Useless by itself, but very sticky when ground up. It adheres to other agents and helps make them more effective."

Donal grinned. "So would you say I'm like brambleweed? I just have to stick to you?"

She glowered. "No. I would say you're more irritating than a weed."

"Aren't you supposed to rub all your irritations with balm?" He ducked in for a lightning quick peck on her cheek and darted away before she could slap him off her.

"I'm done talking with you," Morrigan insisted.

Donal hopped to his feet and left the Chantry gardens. He climbed up the worn dirt path, past the Chantry and up a hill, beyond a tiny land bridge toward the mill. On the very top of the hill, Bann Teagan stood at the doorway of the mill with Alistair, Adele and Rastaban.

Teagan didn't appear particularly noble, standing on that hill. Stubble dotted his face and his eyes looked as though they could use some more sleep. Had Donal not been touched by magic, had he stayed with his family in Kirkwall, perhaps he would have had a similar life to the bann's, preferably with fewer walking corpses. He shook away the thought.

"Sort of like coming home again," Alistair commented. "But with more undead."

Right. Donal supposed it was good to see that the destruction of the other man's childhood home hadn't traumatized him.

"Odd, how quiet the castle looks from here," Teagan murmured to himself. It left Donal stroking his chin. He wondered if he could pull off stubble like Bann Teagan? He wasn't even sure if he was capable of growing any to pull off. "You would think there was nobody inside at all."

Bann Teagan turned to face them and he smiled, despite the destroyed village and his own personal disarray. "But I shouldn't delay things further," he said. "I had a plan... to enter the castle after the village was secure. There is a secret passage here, in the mill, accessible only to my family."

That made Donal laugh, which brought all their eyes to him. He felt their gazes, some inquisitive, others dagger-like, and he coughed.

"Smart," Donal said, when the silence continued too long. "Use us to save the village before you let us know there's a way into the castle."

Adele frowned at his comment. "You would have abandoned the villagers?" she asked.

"You Grey Wardens have an obligation to stop the Blight, don't you?" Donal replied. "What's one village versus the cost of what a Blight could kill? I like the quick thinking, Bann Teagan."

"Maker's breath!" Teagan exclaimed.

Donal was just about to groan when he noticed that the other man was pointing behind them. An out of breath woman accompanied by a guard was running to them frantically. She wasn't just any villager, her dress was made of fine silks and embroidered in a costly way that wasn't normally found in Ferelden.

"Teagan!" she gasped as she leaned against her thighs and caught her breath. "Thank the Maker you yet live!"

"Isolde!" Teagan was looking her over, checking for injury. "You're alive! How did you...? What has happened?"

Between her thick Orlesian accent and Teagan's familiarity with her, Donal assumed that she was the Arlessa of Redcliffe. There had been a huge scandal years ago when Arl Eamon chose an Orlesian woman for his wife so soon after the war. She was pretty, Donal would credit the arl that. And young. She appeared younger than Teagan, who was quite a few years younger than his older brother.

Must be nice to be the arl.

"I do not have much time to explain!" Isolde kept darting furtive glances to Teagan, the guard, and back up the bridge toward the castle. "I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw the battle was over and I must return quickly. And I..." She glanced down, almost like a naughty child before she composed herself and stared at Teagan. "I need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone."

Because that sounded perfectly reasonable. Safe. Sane. Donal bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing, again.

"Why don't we all go to the castle?" Rastaban spoke suddenly. With the certainty in his voice and the narrowed set of his eye, it sounded less like a suggestion and more like a demand.

"What?" Isolde blinked, taken aback. She seemed displeased that she had an audience. The guard at her side felt increasingly less like a safety measure for her, and more like an escort brought for the bann. "I... Who is this man, Teagan?"

Alistair stepped forward with a sigh. "You remember me, Lady Isolde, don't you?"

That got her nose to rankle. "Alistair? Of all the... why are you here?"

Great. Alistair was going to be the one to smooth things over? Donal had to keep his wits about him and stop viewing the whole thing as a comedy of errors. Were the Grey Wardens always accepted with such disdain? All they needed now was for Nema to storm up with her lovely demeanor and start trying to bully her way into things.

"They are Grey Wardens, Isolde." Teagan placed a hand upon her shoulder. It appeared to sooth her, for the moment. "I owe them my life."

The woman was shaken. She ran trembling fingers across her face. "Pardon me," Isolde said. She took a deep breath. "I would exchange pleasantries, but considering the circumstances..."

"Please, Lady Isolde." Alistair was oddly familiar with the woman. He spoke both calmly and freely, but given the way Alistair's eyes would trail down and not look her in the eye, Donal got the distinct impression that they were not friends. "We had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some answers."

"I know you need more of an explanation." Isolde turned abruptly away from Alistair and faced Teagan, again. "But I don't know what is safe to tell."

The bann's features softened and the lady's guard shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle," Isolde continued. "The dead waken and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues."

"Told you it was a mage," Donal muttered at Rastaban. Had he bet any coin on it? He should have.

Isolde was clutching at Teagan's chest, now. "I think Connor is going mad," she said. "We have survived, but he won't flee the castle. He has seen so much death!"

Connor Guerrin, the young son of Eamon and Isolde. Donal frowned. The kid couldn't have seen more than ten seasons or so, one would think that if he was too traumatized to move, his mother along with her guard could just physically carry him from the castle. Or were ten year old nobility so spoiled that they could tantrum and disrespect their mothers even in desperate situations such as these?

"You must help him, Teagan!" Isolde's voice arched and cracked. "You are his uncle. You could reason with him. I do not know what else to do!"

"What about Eamon?" Alistair asked. "Is he still alive?"

That got Isolde to look back at them. "He is," she said. She was haggard with her red rimmed eyes that sank into a too pale face. Gold hair fell loose from a bun that should have been smoothed back. "He is being kept alive so far, thank the Maker."

"Kept alive?" Teagan frowned. "Kept alive by what?"

Isolde shook her head. "Something the mage unleashed. So far it allows Eamon, Connor and myself to live.

"The others were not so fortunate. It's killed so many and turned their bodies into walking nightmares! Once it was done with the castle, it struck the village!"

Great. Donal rubbed the bridge of his nose. They locked up the mage responsible, but let the demon he unleashed roam free. Nothing could ever be simple. A Blight would be too easy to overcome on its own, the people needed dirty politics and Fade demons thrown into the mix, as well. With Morrigan insisting on matricide now along with everything else, it was a small wonder that they had accomplished anything.

Isolde got her way and Teagan left with her. Before he left, Teagan gripped Alistair's hand warmly and whispered his goodbyes to the other man. As Teagan and Isolde grew smaller and vanished up the bridge toward the castle, Alistair stared at his outstretched palm. The signet ring he held was expertly crafted, but time had tarnished the metal.

If Donal could figure out what demon was at work, that would help his planning. Certainly not a sloth demon, but pride and desire were both known for their garish, outward displays.

"Right." Alistair closed his fist around the signet ring and marched toward the mill. "I'm going."

"Now, wait just a minute." Donal waved a hand to stop him. "This is a covert affair and we can't take everybody. A demon's loose, so magic at our disposal will help. As much as I hate to admit it, we could probably use Nema on this one."

"I'm going," Alistair insisted. "I owe Eamon that much."

"We need people to stay back and reinforce the village, too," Adele said. The wind atop the hill seemed to carry her airy, little voice.

"Yeah." Donal pointed at her. "That too."

"Mages and thieves," Rastaban said. "You need people that can sneak and skulk in the shadows to ensure your mages are successful."

"I'm still going," Alistair said.

Donal nodded with a sigh. "And Alistair. Mages, thieves and Alistair. His Templar training may come in handy."

"Thanks, Donal," Alistair said.

That made Donal laugh. "Don't thank me, yet. There's plenty of time to regret that decision once we get in there."