Promises: Chapter Nineteen
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all assorted characters/places/etc belong to Bioware, not me.
Fenris and Hawke followed the slavers for the rest of the day, stopping only when they saw the glare of several large camp fires a short distance before them. They actually backtracked a little from there and spent the night in a small cave Hawke had spotted earlier during the day. Fenris' first instinct was not to light a fire as he didn't want to take the chance by being discovered by the slavers. However, there were some tasks he wanted to perform tonight that needed a bit of light. Fenris helped Hawke to light a small and well-contained fire near the mouth of the cave, one that couldn't be seen from afar.
By mutual accord, they bypassed cooking that night for neither Fenris nor Hawke had much of an appetite. A cold dinner of stale bread, a bit of cheese, and some jerky was more than enough to satisfy their hunger. After they packed their leftovers up and then laid out the bedrolls, Fenris retreated to the back of the cave so he could shuck his armor. Once out of it, he carefully picked it up and walked back to sit down near the fire so he could first clean and then repair it. They would be facing a major battle against a master slaver and his gang in short order, and so Fenris wanted his armor to be in the best condition possible.
Out of the corner of his eye, Fenris saw that Hawke was opening her mouth to make some remark undoubtedly about his current lack of spikes. He acted quickly to derail that line of conversation before it could begin. "Why don't you take out your knife and practice with it while I'm busy fixing my armor?" he suggested mildly. "I can watch you from here and direct you as needed."
Hawke pulled a face but didn't offer up any arguments. "All right," she agreed with a shrug of her shoulders. She took up a spot across the fire from Fenris so he could observe her easily. She drew her knife, and he noted with approval that Hawke now kept it on her belt rather than tucked away in her pack where it would do no good. While Fenris had to put down his armor to demonstrate a few moves to Hawke, overall he was pleased to see that his mageling remembered much of what he had taught her days before. While the blade would always be a weapon of last resort for her, he was glad that she at least had that option available to her. In the heat of battle, it could perhaps buy the seconds needed for him to fight his way to her should any of their enemies ever flank them.
It was fairly dark when Fenris completed his task, but he didn't feel up to sleeping quite yet and so he volunteered to take first watch. "Fine, but you had better wake me up when it's my turn. I won't be happy if you try to take a double shift," she finished with a determined lift to her chin.
"No worries, I am not that foolish," he said. "We'll both need to be well rested for the fight ahead."
"Oh. So you think that tomorrow…." Hawke trailed off but Fenris understood the gist of her question.
"I think it's likely that the slavers will reach Brax's hideout tomorrow. He's been holding on to a fair amount of captives for some time, captives that he would have already sent on to Minrathous if he didn't have hopes of including me along as well," he explained.
Hawke pulled a face, scrunching up her nose. "That's awfully arrogant of him to assume that he'll catch you."
Fenris shrugged his shoulders. "He was able to capture fledgling Crows. His arrogance is understandable. It will also be his downfall."
"I hope so, seeing that we're the ones trying to take him down and all." Hawke sat down on her bedroll. She pulled her legs up, hugging them with her arms while resting her chin against her knees. "So if it is Brax tomorrow, I'm supposed to launch a fireball at him, right?"
"Yes. We've been over this before," Fenris said. They had gone over their plans in detail before turning the assassin in, and Zevran had made it clear that he was confident he could get out of any bindings holding him so long as he had a suitable distraction. None of them could think of a better diversion than Hawke flinging a fireball in the heart of the slavers. "I give the word, you throw the fireball, and then the assassin will cut loose from his bindings and join us so we can present a united front." Fenris considered his words. "That's if Zevran follows the plan to the letter, which is—"
"Doubtful at best," Hawke finished for him. "But I was wondering—are you certain you can recognize this Brax? I mean, have you ever met him before?"
"Most likely, yes," Fenris answered. He had seen many slavers, all stopping to grovel before Danarius as they presented their captives. Given that there were plenty of Antivan slaves in Danarius' household, Fenris felt certain that he had laid eyes on Brax before. "In my capacity as a magister's bodyguard, I often saw master slavers," he told Hawke. "Besides," he added, "even if I don't remember this Brax's face, I'll be able to tell who he is by his demeanor and how the other slavers act in his presence."
"I see," said Hawke. "I guess that makes sense. It's kind of easy to tell whose in charge based on who is shouting and giving orders and all. But after Zev gets back to us, do you think that perhaps the slavers will run away?"
"Not a chance. They want the award Danarius has put on my head too dearly. What's more, this is another area where their arrogance will play into our plans. Once our challenge is issued, there is no way they'll back down especially when they can't see any way that they can lose."
Hawke looked up at him, her eyes bright with emotion. "This fight…it's going to be a close thing, isn't it?"
Fenris smiled grimly. His mageling had seen straight to the heart of the matter. They were taking a real risk here with only the three of them to go against Brax and his gang of slavers. "Yes, it will be," he told her. Fenris was not about to offer Hawke false comfort by lying to her. She wouldn't appreciate it, and what was more, she needed to be prepared for the worst to happen in order for them to have the best chance at winning.
"Just as well Zev spent the coin to get me those two lyrium potions, isn't it?" she said, cocking her head to one side and offering up a crooked grin. "It might come in handy tomorrow."
"I expect they will. I also expect that we'll be outnumbered so we'll have need of your wide area spells," he told her.
"I know. Magic is useful when you have bunches of enemies to take down," she said.
"Our enemies know that as well so they will make a play for you after you start casting."
"It's happened before. That's why I have you to hide behind. I know we're facing long odds and all, but I can't help but think that the two of us together...we're pretty much unstoppable." Hawke beamed up at him.
"Let us hope so," Fenris said in reply. He wasn't about to suppress his mageling's optimism. She would need it to rest easy for the night. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the worries that had settled into the dark crannies of his mind, those whispers of doubt that had him fearing that perhaps they would fail and not only would he be returned to Danarius but he would have to watch as that monster bled the mageling dry.
"Don't worry, Fenris," his mageling called out to him, rousing him from his dark thoughts. "I won't let them take you. I promise."
Somehow—despite all his fears, despite his history with mages—when Hawke looked at him like that with her eyes bright and fierce, with her chin set with determination he couldn't help but believe that they would win. Hawke was the most stubborn person he had ever run across, and there was just no way she would let them lose. His mageling was right. With him to guard her, she was pretty much an unstoppable force.
The sun was already rising when Hawke woke him up the next morning. He blinked rapidly to clear away the sleep from his eyes. "What time is it?" he asked her in a rather grumpy tone.
"Too early for you to be up is what I'm guessing." He gave her a look, but his mageling was utterly incorrigible and winked in return. "The slavers haven't left yet if that's what you're worried about. I went out earlier and checked and they were still milling about aimlessly."
That woke Fenris up completely. "You what?" he said. "You're not supposed to scout ahead on your own," he told her sharply.
Hawke rolled her eyes. "Sometimes you worry too much. It was fine. I was careful, like I always am. Besides while we were waiting for the mercs to show up, Zev gave me a few tips on how to stay out of view. Evidently," she lifted up her chin and smirked at him, "he was less than impressed at your efforts in the trees."
"Why am I not surprised?" Fenris asked. He had noticed the assassin speaking to Hawke several times while he watched them from the trees, and he had wondered what that was all about. He had been grateful at the time, thinking that the other elf was trying to soothe Hawke's nerves, but he really should have known better.
They set off after yet another cold meal. Hawke had been right in her assessment; the slavers were taking their time when it came to leaving. When Fenris and Hawke arrived, the slavers were still in the midst of breaking camp. Zevran was off to one side, securely bound but not blindfolded. The assassin threw a saucy wink their way, causing Fenris to swear under his breath while seeking out a better hiding place for him and Hawke.
When the slave hunters finally left, Fenris again took care to remain just the right distance behind them—not too close and not too far. He periodically adjusted his pace based on his assessment of how fresh the slavers' tracks were. This strategy of his came to an abrupt end mid-morning when the forest they had been traveling through gave way to a series of spare hillsides that had nary a blade of grass to hide behind.
Fenris reached out a hand to pull Hawke behind one of the remaining trees. They could no longer remain directly behind the slavers for they could easily be spotted, especially if the slavers were at the top of a hill while the pair of them followed on the road below. Thankfully there was still some cover. Fenris knew that they would have to stay off the beaten path, so to speak, and instead wind their way through rough terrain and rock gardens that lined the road.
The change in scenery also made Fenris more certain than ever that they were close to their quarry. "Be on your guard," he told Hawke in a low voice before taking the lead once more.
His instincts turned out to be true. Less than an hour after they had started their trek through the hills, he heard shouting in the distance. Someone was yelling at the top of their lungs, spewing curses in several languages. His ears perked up as he strained to catch the languages being used. Whoever was cursing stuck mainly to common but branched out to Orlesian, Antivan, and there it was—Arcanum.
A satisfied smile stretched across Fenris' lips. Arcanum was the language of the magisters and the Imperial Senate. Only a master slaver, one who had dealings directly with magisters, would know Arcanum. Regular slavers would only speak Tevinter, the language of the ordinary citizen of the Imperium.
"Hawke," said Fenris, "when we reach the top of the path here, aim a fireball directly at the man we can hear cursing."
Hawke raised an eyebrow at his instructions, and he could tell from the look on her face that she wondered how he could tell that the unseen man was Brax. However such questions remained unvoiced, and Hawke nodded her head. "Will do," she said. Her voice was clear as a bell, and if she felt any fear, she gave no signs of it.
They reached the crest of the hill. Peering down, Fenris could see a dark-haired man, slightly taller than average, waving his arms and swearing fluently as he paced before Zevran. Fenris could only imagine that the master slaver was taking his underlings to task for bringing him the wrong elf.
Then Fenris could feel Hawke gathering her magic to her. She cupped her hands together and called forth a dense ball of flames. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it spinning into the group below them, the fireball landing squarely in that small patch of land between Zevran and Brax. In a blink of an eye, the assassin was free from his bindings—and a second later, Zevran sent one of his hidden daggers flying, straight at the lone mage amongst the slavers. His aim was true, and the slaver mage fell to the ground, the dagger protruding from one eye.
But that was all the time that their surprise attack brought them. Brax's eyes lit up with unholy glee as he caught sight of Fenris, and he shouted orders at his men to attack even as he drew a large sword from his back. A flurry of arrows darted towards the assassin, which he dodged before disappearing whilst turning a backflip.
Fenris drew his sword, his markings flaring to life. He set his stance wide as he prepared to meet the initial rush of slavers. Brax lingered behind. Fenris knew that the master slaver was planning to make his attack only after Fenris was weakened by his underlings. Fenris' lips curled into a snarl; if the master slaver thought that Fenris would be felled by such sloppy tactics, well then he had another thing coming.
The slavers' strike group charged at Fenris, shouting war cries as they went, when suddenly the temperature dropped precariously. Snow and ice swirled through the air, surprising even Fenris as Hawke had never called forth a blizzard before. Terror and fear were writ large across the faces of the four slavers leading the charge as Hawke's spell froze them in place. Gripping his sword tightly, Fenris struck at the slavers, shattering them into pieces. Hawke's blizzard provided him cover, and he stalked the battlefield viciously, taking out one slaver after another. As he continued to wreak death and destruction, out of the corner of his eye, he could see lighting shooting through the storm to help the assassin, whose daggers dripped with poison as he took out Brax's cadre of archers one by one.
Then a heavy strike landed squarely on his blade. Fenris looked up to see that Brax had entered the fray, choosing to go up against the warrior elf himself as the blizzard came to an end. Close on Brax's heels was another set of slavers, their eyes set firmly on Hawke as their target. Fenris spared a glance backwards at Hawke, to make sure she was safe, and that was his undoing.
Brax took advantage of that momentary lapse of concentration and struck again, sending Fenris stumbling backwards. "Give it up, elf," the master slaver told him with a smug look of superiority, "You cannot win. Surrender now and I'll spare your companions," he added before launching a blow at Fenris that sent the elven warrior reeling again as he desperately sought to regain his balance.
A sphere of ice whipped past him and struck Brax squarely on his chest, slowing the master slaver's movements enough for Fenris to parry the next strike. A second later, Brax's underlings were surrounded by specks of fire that burst into great tongues of flames, setting a good number of them on fire.
Those lucky enough to be spared that fate, however, found themselves surrounded by a storm of the more traditional sort. Winds howled in rage and chains of lighting flickered through the sky as Hawke unleashed yet another powerful elemental spell in her arsenal upon their enemies. She was breathing hard now as she downed her second lyrium potion, having taken the first one some time before, and she would need a few minutes before she could cast again. However the slavers still on their feet after her spells became easy pickings for Zevran, who had finished killing the archers and was now coming back to help his companions.
Fenris still had his hands full with Brax despite Hawke's ice spell slowing the master slaver down. He parried strike after strike, looking for his chance to counterattack, as Brax continued to taunt him.
"Why do you still fight, elf?" Brax asked him. "For your freedom? You're not free. You're still serving a magister even though she may not be called such in these lands."
Fenris growled and struck at the man's head. Hawke was not a magister. She was nothing like the blood mages who ruled Tevinter, and he would not listen to her be slandered by one of their foul servants.
Brax smirked briefly, pleased at finding a weak point in Fenris' armor, and continued along in the same vein. "You should return to your master, elf. Sure, the magister you serve now may be prettier but she can't take care of you, not the same way Master Danarius can. When was the last time you had a warm meal or slept with a roof over your head. Face it—you had it better in Tevinter, you just didn't know it. It's time to end this farce of an escape and go home where you belong."
Fenris was not about to give the slaver the satisfaction of reply. Instead he sent a flurry of strikes at Brax, each of which were matched by the slaver's sword. The master slaver grunted as their blades met and then pushed Fenris back, but not before Fenris heard a dull echo ringing from Brax's sword, a telltale sign that the weapon had a weak spot, a point of stress that Fenris could take advantage of.
He started another series of strikes, this one designed to hit that critical point on his opponent's sword. Each time his sword struck Brax's, Fenris could hear that telltale ringing getting louder and louder. Finally a vicious blow from Fenris' sword broke Brax's weapon cleanly in half. Brax's mouth dropped open as he struggled to process how his sword came to be broken.
Fenris wasn't about to give the master slaver time to figure that out however.
"You talk too much," he said shortly, glaring at the man. Then the elf sent an overhead strike at Brax, separating the master slaver's head from the rest of him. Utterly demoralized, Brax's underlings didn't put up much of a fight after that, and the companions made short work of the remaining slavers, suffering none of them to live.
Author's note: My thanks to all my amazing reviews. You guys are the best. The next chapter wraps up this first story arc, and hopefully I'll have it up in a couple of days.