The Keening Blade
Chapter 3: One Scoop or Two?
They trudged along under the bluest of skies. Loghain was still reeling with the revelations of the night before.
"You looted Andraste's shrine," he said, stunned. "You looted the tomb of the Prophet?"
The girl huffed indignantly. "I didn't loot it. It sounds so terrible when you say 'looted the tomb of the Prophet.' I just took some things I found there. Like this." She pulled a demon-headed necklace in heavy gold from under her shirt. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
"Was that in a locked chest?"
"Of course. But between us, Leliana and I can pick any lock. Have an apple." She plucked two of them from a bag at the qunari's side, and tossed one to Loghain.
Was she mentally and morally damaged to that extent? Contemplating the matter, Loghain bit into his apple, and then asked, '"It did not occur to you that the chest was locked to keep that item at the shrine?"
"No. If it was supposed to stay there, they should have made it harder for me to get. After all, Andraste favors the clever. It was obvious from the bridge puzzle."
Perhaps so. It was an alarming idea. Andraste had been young, beautiful, charismatic, and Fereldan. She had turned all Thedas upside down, destroyed the power of the Tevinter empire, and founded a religion that dominated their world to this day. Maybe she really did like Maude Cousland.
The girl cocked her head, thinking. "Besides, Andraste didn't care. Nobody said anything about smiting me. If Andraste wanted the necklace, she'd have it. The Maker will give her anything she wants. If she wants jewels, He can give her every jewel in Thedas. She's His Bride, after all."
She licked her fingers, considering, and added, "In fact, she probably wanted me to have this nice necklace. The Maker knows everything, right? So He knew I was coming, and He must have told her, and maybe she left it there knowing that I could use it." She finished her apple, and tossed the core into the underbrush.
"What possible use have you for a gold demon-headed necklace?"
"It's pretty. If I survive the Blight, I may be called upon to attend an event that requires serious jewelry."
She tugged on his arm, pulling him close, a mischievous light in her eye.
"And the necklace isn't the neatest thing I got there," she whispered. "Let me show you something really amazing." She cast a look about her and then produced a small belt pouch. She opened it, and showed the contents to Loghain. "Look!"
"Dust? No...it's...bloody flaming Andraste!" he nearly shouted.
"Exactly," she beamed. "The Guardian said I could take a pinch of the ashes, but I have these small hands, you see. If I had great big hands like yours, I'd get a lot more, so to make it fair I didn't just take a pinch. More like a—scoop, I suppose."
He stared at her, as close to horror as he had come in many a year.
She shrugged. "Maybe more like two scoops. Don't look at me like that. I needed a pinch of her ashes to cure Arl Eamon, and so I put that pinch in another pouch. I kept this, because You Never Know."
He was still staring.
Big brown eyes earnest, she said, "So if I ever look seriously near death, you should give me some of this. And I'll do the same for you."
There seemed little he could say about that. They marched side by side, listening to the hum of conversation behind them. Ahead, Zevran was walking point. The roads signs directed them through the deceased Rendon Howe's arling of Amaranthine. Annoyed at the thought of Howe, Loghain expressed his displeasure about their current itinerary.
"Remind me again why you insisted we take the North Road to go to Redcliffe," he growled.
"Because it's faster," Maude assured him brightly. "Really. I've gone back and forth both ways. The West Road is a mess. This is faster, as long as we can get a boat at the Lake Calenhad docks to take us to Redcliffe. Coming this way can take up to four days off the journey."
"If we can get a boat, and if the wind is in our favor," Loghain muttered. "Bloody optimist."
"I heard that!" Unfazed, she added, in a low voice, "and there are other reasons. I have this map…"
His attention was caught at once. She pulled a frayed and folded piece of linen from under her armor, and opened it carefully.
"I met a trader on the road. Levi Dryden was his name. He wanted me to check out some old family history for him. He said that Duncan had promised to look into it, since it involved the Wardens." She made a face. "Anyway, Duncan was busy, and then he was dead, so this fellow tracked me down."
"Let me see," Loghain said, reaching for the map. She sighed, but handed it over, and Loghain studied it, frowning. It took some time for the lines and squiggles to make any sense to him. Yes—that was the North Road, and the place where the Coast Road turned south to join it. This was a map of part of the arling of Amaranthine…
"Soldier's Peak?" he read, puzzled. "I don't think I know…" Wait. He did. Some story that Cailan had blathered on about. The old Warden fortress near the coast, up in the mountains between Highever and Amaranthine. A hundred Wardens had held it for a year against the entire royal army. "The Wardens were evicted when the order was banished from Ferelden back in the time King Arland. Wasn't the fortress destroyed?"
"Levi said not. It was very well defended, and see—you have to go through tunnels—originally just caves—to get to it. Levi explored them and marked out the trail. Other side," she gestured. Loghain turned the map over, and studied the faded ink. "He made it through and saw the fortress. He said it looked intact, but that it gave him the creeps. He didn't even step through the gate. Ran back and wanted Duncan to go there. Of course," she added scornfully. "It didn't take much to give poor old Levi the creeps. I think I gave Levi the creeps. He hung about for a day or two, saying he'd go up there with me, but he got very nervous at some of the things that happened—we ran into some spiders, and then darkspawn, and then—well, anyhow, he had enough and to spare. He gave me the map, and then-look down there—gave me an address in Kirkwall where I could write him if I ever found out anything. He told me he wished me all success in my dealings with the Blight, but that he and his family were off to the Free Marches. And I had other things to do at the time, so I put it off."
"Dryden?" Loghain tried to remember. Cailan, going on and on and on…
He remembered. "Sophia Dryden was the Warden Commander. The Arlessa of Denerim who was forced to join the Wardens and lost her title. This sniveling merchant was her descendant?"
"So he said. I don't think he really had any hopes of reclaiming the arling of Denerim, of course. He said he just wanted to clear her name of the charge of treason. Why, I don't know, unless he really did think he'd get some sort of compensation out of it. Anyway, I want to go there and see if the fortress still stands. Someday we may want a roof over our heads. With Alistair being king and all, I don't think we'll be welcome in the Palace compound on a permanent basis. It would neat to have a castle of our own. We'll have time to pop in and have a look and then bustle off to the Lake and get a boat, and then we'll still get to Redcliffe before we would have if we went by the West Road."
"Another thing—" Loghain hissed at her. "Why the bloody hell are we going to Redcliffe?"
She regarded him warily. "Because that's where the armies are mustering?" she ventured.
He took a deep breath, and looked up at the indifferent heavens. "Why are the armies mustering in Redcliffe?" The dog trotted up by him, and gave him a sympathetic whine. He rubbed the beast's ears absently. "We are mustering at Redcliffe because that's Eamon's little realm and he wants to glory in his own importance! Redcliffe would never be the darkspawns' prime target. They're going to move up the Imperial Highway and then advance on the West Road to Denerim. Nothing else makes any sense at all. The darkspawn attack cities. Even I know enough history to know that. We should be mustering at the falls of the Drakon River north of South Reach."
The girl looked very sheepish. "You may be right," she admitted.
"Of course I'm right. I knew it! The moment I'm not in charge, everything bloody falls apart and the bloody army marches in the bloody wrong direction!" He kicked a defenseless rock. "Bloody useless Eamon."
The girl patted his arm. "He's a fucking dick," she consoled him. "I'm no general, I know that. Over the past year or so I've become a pretty good captain, and even a bit of a sergeant, which is often more important—" she laughed at Loghain's sour grunt of agreement. "But I admit I'm no general, and when Anora made that big show of handing over the army to me—I knew it was a show and nothing more. I'm a figurehead. I get it. So the army fell to Eamon by default, because Alistair certainly wasn't going to take charge."
Loghain struggled not to hit out at something—anything—and especially the girl. "This isn't just some court sinecure we're talking about! Eamon has never commanded an army in battle—ever! He was in the Free Marches during the whole bloody rebellion! He doesn't bloody know what he's doing, but thinks he does because he's the inbred spawn of generations of Ferelden nobility!"
"Hey!" The girl gave him a shove. "Inbred spawn right here! Show some respect!"
He elbowed her back. Their armor clanged at the contact. Loghain was transported to another time and another march, and the memory of Rowan teasing him…
He scowled, rejecting the comparison. Rowan had been a hero. Rowan had been a patriot. Rowan had been sane.
The marsh witch was watching them, a curious, speculative look in her yellow eyes. He shot her a glare, and she shot back a small, smug smile. At least she was smiling. Wynne was looking ominous. Loghain wondered if she would rather fry him with lightning or roast him with fire. Lucky for him she was a healer, not a fighter.
"Anyway," Maude said, pointing at the map. "The North Road Inn is just there where the roads branch. We can stop there for a meal, and then head up to the Peak." She lowered her voice again. "Maybe we shouldn't take everybody. There might be secret Warden stuff there."
He frowned. "Just the two of us, then?"
"The three of us!" the girl corrected him indignantly. "Ranger counts as a Warden!"
The dog barked instant agreement.
"-And maybe Morrigan, too, because a mage is always useful, and Morrigan knows all sorts of secret stuff already and would never tell anybody because she doesn't like to share information."
"All right, the four of us," Loghain indulged her. A mysterious map-tunnels-ancient Ferelden history-"secret Warden stuff." Of course the girl couldn't resist. It was a good thing she would have him along when her fantasies collided with reality. He hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed.
Loghain had no idea how many times in his life he had stopped at the North Road Inn. The innkeeper knew him, of course, after a puzzled moment during which the unfortunate man tried to fit the familiar face into the new context of heavily armed ruffians, assassins, mages, an enormous wardog, and a pretty young noblewoman. Then there was recognition, absolute terror, and an attempt at a cringing welcome.
"No titles, no ceremony," Loghain interrupted him brusquely. "We want your private room."
"Of course, of course, my lord-I mean-of course. This way..."
"Oooh!" The girl beside him exclaimed. "I like the private room, too. It has those windows with green bottle glass!"
The innkeeper looked again, and evidently recognized her, too. The professional smile was anguished. He looked back forth between her and Loghain. Clearly, seeing them together under his roof might be described as "worst fears realized."
They clomped into the cozy paneled room, stripping off gauntlets and helmets, dropping weapons and equipment with sighs, grunts, and metallic clatter. A frightened young woman whom Loghain believed to be the innkeeper's daughter hurried in with a pitcher of ale and a tray of tankards. A tomcat lazing by the fire was instantly alert, and saw Ranger trotting toward him, teeth bared in his usual terrifying doggy grin. He fled in a blur of ginger.
"Something to eat, sers?" asked the landlord, nervously jovial. "We've got mutton pies, mutton pasties, mutton chops, mutton hash, mutton stew, mutton soup, mutton sausages, mutton and smoked cheese sandwiches, mutton kidneys in broth, and roast mutton."
"I detest mutton," Morrigan sneered. The landlord trembled.
Loghain rolled his eyes. So it begins…
"You could have the mutton and cheese sandwiches," suggested Maude. "They probably don't have much mutton in them."
"I don't want any mutton," declared Morrigan, her brow growing stormy.
"I agree," said Leliana. "So heavy and unhealthy. I would like a salad of young greens and asparagus with aged vinegar—no oil—and two whole-grain biscuits." She took out her daggers, juggling them for the edification of Oghren and Zevran.
The innkeeper's wife emerged from the kitchen and stood in the doorway, staring at Leliana in disbelief.
"Give the lady what she wants," the innkeeper ordered the hapless woman.
"Well!" Morrigan considered. "I want a salad, too, but I want it with cubes of smoked cheese and a dressing of aged vinegar and oil. And I want white flour biscuits with butter," she added, tossing her head defiantly.
Loghain decided that the next time they ate in a tavern, he would order for everyone ahead of time. He looked around for the elf assassin. Gone, presumably to molest the innkeeper's daughter.
"I don't want to make trouble," Wynne said in a gentle, soothing voice. "All I want are two fresh, unfertilized brown eggs, soft-boiled for the length of time it takes to say the first three verses of the Havard Canticle, and four arrowroot rusks. And a fresh pot of honeygrass tea. Highever honeygrass, not White River, which is very inferior."
"Hear, hear!" Maude agreed loyally. "Everything's inferior to Highever!"
"Food is irrelevant in the greater scheme of things," declared Sten, "but bring three mutton chops and a matched pair of kidneys to support me whilst I meditate upon the Qun."
Loghain told the innkeeper, "If you already have the pasties ready, I could take two of them."
"I could take three," Oghren said, foam from the ale turning his moustache white. "Maybe some sausages, too."
Maude shook her head. "Get a plate of the stew," she whispered to the dwarf. "Father always said never to order sausages in a place where you don't have the power to execute the cook."
Loghain wondered if he could pretend he had never met any of these awful people before, and they were sitting at the same table in a private room by some fantastic coincidence.
Oghren beamed agreeably. "Three pasties and a plate of stew. Aye, that sounds fine," he rumbled.
"I'll have some of the stew, too." Maude smiled at the innkeeper winningly. "And a large bowl of the stew for my mabari, as well." She rapped Loghain on his metal shoulder. "Oh!" She pointed through the doorway to the common room. "Look at the darling little mutton pies! I want some of those," she told him, "and so do you."
"Bring the whole platter," Loghain told the innkeeper. They did look rather good.
"You need to eat more," the girl said. "It takes lots of fuel to stoke our extra-special Grey Warden powers."
"Is that what Duncan told you? I just thought Grey Wardens were greedy pigs."
"Well, some are," she agreed. "But we really do need lots of food. And I am not a pig," she declared. "You don't see me, face down in the trough, do you? Some of us handle our natural Grey Warden needs better than others." She asked the innkeeper, "You used to have a wonderful shepherd's pie. Didn't your cook make any today?"
The innkeeper gazed carefully at the ceiling. "Had to take shepherd's pie off the menu, Warden. Some young lady came through a while back and made some sort of joke about shepherd's pie made with real shepherds. Put some folks off, that did."
"Oh!" The girl said, repressing a grin. She and Leliana exchanged mischievous looks. "Sorry. It was really wonderful. You might call it something else. Like-"
"Warden's Pie!" Leliana suggested. "Made with real Wardens!"
Uproarious laughter. Loghain dismissed the innkeeper with a jerk of his head. The grateful man vanished.
Plans were made over the heavily-laden table. They would get rooms here. The exploring party would depart after the meal and probably be gone at least overnight. Meanwhile, the others were to rest (and bathe, the dwarf was instructed), because they would have to travel hard and fast to make up the time. Loghain overheard the girl talking Wynne around, explaining how her presence here was absolutely essential to keeping the rest of the party out of trouble. Then Leliana was appeased by the girl's concerns over a slight cough she had heard, and how Leliana must protect her health and her voice.
Loghain found the innkeeper, gave him some gold to pay for his trouble, and then asked what he knew about Soldier's Peak. He was rewarded with a blank look in response.
"Soldier's Peak, my lord?" The man was sweating, desperate to come up with some sort of satisfactory answer.
"Maybe his lordship means the Lost Peak?" the man's wife whispered. She was not quite looking at Loghain, but snatching short little glances at about the level of his hands. "Where the old-time Wardens made their stand."'
"That's it exactly," Loghain told the blushing woman. "What do you know?"
"Not much, my lord," she stammered. "Nought but ghosts and demons up there, they say. No one goes there."
Maude appeared, finishing her tankard. "Well," she said blithely, "If no one goes there, how do they know there are ghosts and demons? Anyway, we're going there." She reached for her money pouch.
"I've already paid the man," Loghain told her shortly. "Let's go."
"Really? You paid?" The girl looked at him in wonder. "You didn't have to do that. I always pay for everything."
"I paid this time. Consider it a gift."
"You bought me lunch?" The girl seemed thrilled. "That's so nice of you! Nobody ever gives me anything, except for Alistair giving me a rose once, but that wasn't his anyway, and it didn't cost him anything. Thank you so much!"
"Yes...well...let's get on with it."
"I'll get Morrigan," she strode back into the private room calling, "Ranger! Leave that cat alone-oh, for Maker's sake!"
The innkeeper's wife stifled a sob in her apron. Loghain grimaced, and turned away. He nearly ran into Morrigan, who was busily putting her gear together.
"There may be snow up in the mountains," he told the witch. "Do you have a cloak?"
She appeared faintly surprised. "I have. You need not fear me catching cold."
He ignored her, and looked for the Warden. She was talking nonsense to her dog, as usual. Under her merry voice, he could hear the innkeeper and his wife arguing in fierce whispers in the common room.
"--Caught him up with her folderol and her soft ways, I'll warrant. Like a spider in her web, luring him up to the Lost Peak!"
"None of our business, woman. Let your betters mind themselves."
"And what's become of the young man she had with her last time she come through? Vanished, I'll be bound! She were finished with him, and he were taken off, not to be heard of ever again."
"That's enough!"
"We ought to warn him, that's what we ought to do!"
"Get back to the-"
Loghain stepped back into the common room and stared them down, a grim smile touching his lips.
"-kitchen?" the innkeeper finished, sagging at the knees.
If the girl had no other virtue, Loghain would have respected her for her ability to read a map. Thousands couldn't, he had found. With the witch to the light the way, the girl to read the map, and Loghain to watch for danger, they found the entrance to the system of twisting tunnels under the Coast Range, and moved quickly though them.
Gradually, the trail ahead grew lighter, and they emerged into bright and chilly sunlight, on a wide snowy path that led upward on a steep grade. Granite slopes funneled them around a corner, and within a few steps, the fortress of Soldier's Peak was revealed.
They stopped. Loghain was silent. The girl was in shock.
"Look at the size of it!" she breathed. Then she flashed Loghain a radiant smile. "We own the most gorgeous castle in all Ferelden!"
Morrigan shrugged. "'Tis large enough, certainly, to house the current Wardens."
It was an astonishing structure, no doubt about it. The ancient builders had made good use of the native stone, and towers and battlements soared high above the neighboring mountaintops. And it was in good condition, at least on the outside. The narrow tunnel entry made it formidably defensible. Before them was a curtain wall and a portcullis, which led into a broad courtyard. Loghain admitted to himself that it was indeed impressive. He had not expected anything at all like this.
"It was built by Commander Asturian in the Glory Age, three hundred years before King Calenhad united Ferelden," the girl told him. "All the northern teyrns contributed to it, because Asturian arrived just after the end of the Second Blight, when the Archdemon Zazikel was killed, and it was fresh in their minds. Well, done, Asturian!" she enthused. "I think it has a lot of potential, don't you? Once we clear out the remains, anyway."
Note-Thanks to my reviewers: Piceron, sleepyowlet, Nithu, Marching Madly Onward, Sarah1281, Eva Galana, Carnie Heart, mille libri, Jewel Song, Amhran Comhrac, Alpha Cucumber, gaj620, Beriathwen, Guile, By Lantern Light, Sati James, Almaceti, Phoenix Fire Lady, Jenna53, Linette23, Aoihand, OfCakeandIceCream, Reyavie, IVIaedhros, and mutive. What wonderful insights you have!
Please review! It's more than half the fun for me.
I must give credit to Zyanic's zany story The Wrong Witch, for the idea of Cousland snatching up more than a mere pinch of the Ashes. My Maude, however is not her psycho!Elissa. I recommend the story, and I especially direct you to Chapter 26, in which psycho!Elissa says everything I ever wanted to say to Cauthrien, Howe, and Loghain on returning to Denerim.
Yes-I am a great fan of the screwball comedies of the 30's and 40's. Maude owes a great deal to Katharine Hepburn in Bringing Up Baby, Barbara Stanwyck in The Lady Eve, Irene Dunne in The Awful Truth, Claudette Colbert in It Happened One Night, and most especially, Carole Lombard in My Man Godfrey.
Thank you to dear old Monty Python, as well.