Amell left the inn caught up in her inner turmoil, but she somehow found her way to the edge of the village, within sight of the wagons.
She had no real desire to see anyone from the caravan, so she turned and walked along the outer fringe of the village, across the fields. She eventually passed grazing grounds, where she glimpsed cows and goats (watched over by rambunctious children only in the loosest sense of the word, because they seemed more concerned with their games than their parents' farm animals). When she passed a goat, it stopped its sedate grazing to bleat at her aggressively and leap away as if demons were on its tail.
Amell found this equal parts worrisome and comical.
She sighed and rubbed her forehead, but continued walking. She still felt wretched from the lyrium overdose.
There would be consequences, she knew. At the Tower, mages were provided with lyrium in modest quantities, for experiments and personal consumption, but overdose was rare. However, apprentices were taught from a young age the effects of lyrium. Too much at once, and the mage would be reduced to a dangerous, unstable individual, who would quickly become an Abomination. She wondered how much of this was true and how much was Chantry propaganda.
She stopped when she came across a road and realized it was the one they'd come by. She'd circled the village.
Struck by a sudden urge, she looked around, making sure there was nobody in sight. The village was a fair distance away and the road was completely empty now, stretching in the distance like a dusty ribbon and disappearing over the horizon. It was unlikely anyone would pop up without her seeing them first.
She flexed her fingers experimentally and considered which spell to use. Not lightning or fire, certainly; no use being too flashy, it would draw attention. No use trying an earth spell, either. The terrain was too flat and even a displaced pebble would draw attention.
Ice, then. She breathed in and, as she exhaled, she felt the crisp white sensation of cold being pulled out of the air and concentrated.
Then she felt like her mind was unraveling and her vision went completely black for a few seconds, like the worst case of mana depletion she'd ever felt, only tenfold. She swayed in place, then crouched to the ground (if she was going to fall, it might as well have been from a smaller distance). She breathed slowly and recovered somewhat, looking up to see the effects of her spell.
The ground, covered by short yellowed grass before, was now frozen completely solid, as was the road, as far as Amell could see. The wind-swept plains were completely still and the grass was no more than a mass of prickles.
Amell knew for certain it turned out nothing like she intended. A small patch, maybe, yes. But never before had she lost control of the amount of mana she poured into a spell as she did now.
This was bad.
And incriminating, she realized, and scurried away as fast as she could, rounding the village once more and entering it proper from another side.
With some luck, nobody would notice anything until the ice melted completely. It was almost dark, anyway, and it was unlikely people would have any reason to go and look at that particular patch of land, but she still felt guilty as she walked into what passed as the town square.
"Corinne!"
She nearly jumped out of her skin upon hearing her name called out. She managed to hide her flinch, however, by turning around quickly. Sorrel was making her way through the crowd towards her.
"Ah-- yes. Sorrel. Yes. What?" Amell squeaked.
Sorrel blinked.
"Did I startle you?" she asked.
"No. Well... a bit. No. Yes. There are some things going on that..." she gestured vaguely. She gave up trying to explain, however. One of the side effects of mana depletion was the inability to concentrate and in her case, that usually manifested as incoherence. "What is it?"
"Oh, nothing's wrong, really," Sorrel said, while fidgeting. "I wanted to talk to you about something. Are you busy?"
"Not at the moment, no," Amell replied. She was made quite curious by this request and it offered enough of a distraction from her other problems, which seemed to be multiplying lately.
Sorrel grinned and hooked her arm with Amell's, pulling the befuddled mage away with her.
"Let's go for a walk. I can talk better while I'm moving," Sorrel chirped.
"Err, alright."
Amell could not have refused Sorrel much after their last talk. It was not merely out of kinship. Sorrel was Apostate and that notion still had some sway in Amell's mind. After all, Morrigan had been--
No, she had enough on her mind without dredging up that.
But with Sorrel, it was a sort of acknowledgment of her pain. Amell would never be able to look at her again without being reminded of the horrors of the world and of all the things she wanted to set right. For a while, she was sure she would not be able to refuse the woman much.
They probably made three rounds of the square before Sorrel started talking again.
"So where in Nevarra are you going?" she asked.
"No place, really. We're just... passing through," Amell replied, her voice low at the end as worries started clouding her mind again.
"Hmm. We're going to Mintara. Do you know it?"
"No, can't say I've ever been there."
"Well, it's where the Imperial Highway crosses the Minanter River. There's a great bridge there, a marvel of architecture, I'm told. It was built by the Tevinter Imperium over a thousand years ago and it still stands, proud as ever."
"Is this where Revered Mother Allina called you to?" Amell asked.
Sorrel's expression darkened. She did not look upset by the question, but more worried than anything. Amell sympathized.
"The Revered Mother was moved from her posting at the Nevarran Circle Tower and sent to Mintara, where she caught a local noblewoman's eye. Apparently, she is quite the advisor, in spiritual and material matters alike. But now..."
"There's trouble?"
Sorrel sighed.
"The Revered Mother thinks someone in the household is a... maleficar," she added quietly, as if the word itself could invoke misfortune. "She needs the help of a mage, but doesn't dare mention this to anyone, lest the maleficar finds out she has discovered him."
"So she wrote to you? All the way in Cumberland?" Amell asked skeptically.
"I know, I know," Sorrel shook her head, wisps of dark hair fluttering about her face. "But I was her last resort. She even said in her letter that she did not expect me to come. She asked if I could at least send a friend, though."
Amell's eyebrows rose at this.
"So you want me to go?"
"Why not?" Sorrel shrugged. "It's in your way, isn't it? And you said it yourself, it could be a trap. If it is-- and I rather doubt it-- I won't endanger Dyson. Or myself."
"But--" Amell stopped herself, considering.
It was on their way. And if there was a maleficar running amok in Mintara, she couldn't very well just let things lie like that.
"Fine, I guess--"
"Great!" Sorrel twittered happily, interrupting Amell. "Sorry," she shrugged, sheepish. "I'll tell you everything Revered Mother Allina wrote me. I'm sure you can help her better than I ever could."
Amell nodded wearily as Sorrel started explaining everything in detail.
It was dark when she finally made her way back to the inn. She trudged up the stairs with more difficulty than normal and she was at the door when she noticed a shift in shadows.
She turned to see Sten waiting for her in the hallway. It was too dark to see his face, but there was something unmistakeable about his posture and his height. She waited tensely for him to do something.
"You asked what I would have done if I'd known beforehand that I would lose Asala," he said.
She remembered with a twinge that she had. A rather desperate thing to say, but she'd been desperate at the time. Now she was only resigned, too tired to argue, but she still felt a flicker of hope.
"The answer is, I would have held on tighter."
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Author's note: my shoulders are killing me and my neck is stiff. I didn't proofread this chapter at all. I really hate keyboards right now.