The Keening Blade
"'Everything straight lies,' murmured the dwarf disdainfully. 'All truth is crooked, time itself is a circle.'"—Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Chapter 17: The Eternal Return
There was a great difference between have some gold, and having all the coin you could possibly want. At the moment, the Fereldan Wardens felt they were richer than the Maker himself.
The Orlesians were informed that the fortress was sound, and with some work would be livable. Loghain briefly showed Kristoff the plans, while Maude, who was so much better at getting on with the Orlesians, distracted Kristoff with talk the man's beautiful, faraway wife. Kristoff was engrossed in his patrols, and appeared to prefer living in Denerim anyway.
"Aura would like this city, I think," he told Maude, his eyes full of longing. "I do not think she is quite ready to rusticate in an isolated fortress."
All earnest concern, Maude nodded her agreement. "I think it's so important that the Wardens maintain a presence in the capital. We need the people to see us. I hope you write to Aura soon. She sounds charming. Very well then, the Warden Compound for maintaining relations with the Crown and people: Soldier's Peak for secrets and training-and of course a sound economic base. I'm quite looking forward to living there, but naturally that's because I'll be closer to my brother…"
Loghain smirked, pleased that Maude was sweet-talking the Orlesians into staying away from the Peak. The idea of Orlesians taking up residence in such a powerful fortress was deeply disturbing to him. Who knew what they would get up to, left to themselves? Better for them to remain in Denerim, with all eyes upon them…
They had said nothing to the Orlesians about the gold they had found. Morrigan had been told about the Wardens' Treasure, of course, almost as soon as it had been counted. While she had not danced with glee as Maude had, her yellow eyes had widened, and then had become thoughtful, almost calculating.
Anders was not told the exact sum, but was told to think seriously about how he would like to furnish his quarters at Soldier's Peak, and that, yes, he would have a room of his own there.
Meanwhile, Maude made her plans, and Loghain exerted whatever influence he had on her to rein her in.
Not that her ideas were outrageous, or in bad taste, though a black and white marble floor in the Great Hall would be fantastically expensive, and perhaps not set quite the martial tone they were aiming at. She had lists of furniture and supplies to hunt down, and was free to do as she liked with their own bedchamber, as long as the bed was sufficiently big and comfortable and he had a place for his armor and weapons.
And then she asked him questions he thought no woman would ever ask him again. It was sweet and disturbing and annoying: he had thought he was done with conversations of this sort.
"But what color would you like best?" she asked again. "What do you want to see when you open your eyes in the morning, and what do you want to see when you go to bed at night?"
"That green is fine. You told me that green is your favorite color."
"I do think this is a lovely shade of green, and I'm so pleased that you remember my favorite color. Red is nice too. This brocade is wonderful. Feel it: no, really. Oh, come on, Loghain!"
"The place would look like an Orlesian brothel!"
"You don't know what an Orlesian brothel looks like, and neither do I. It would be splendid, but comfortable, too. We don't have to care what anybody else thinks. We should have everything just as we like. And if we do find it…stimulating…well, that's all to the good, don't you think?"
Half of the carpenters and cabinet-makers in Denerim had commissions from them: paneling and carved pillars and archways for the Great Hall; beds and chairs and tables and wardrobes and bookcases; new doors and new shutters; new floors that would replace the rotten and splintered wrecks that lay in wait to break ankles.
Glaziers were at work, and the dwarven masons who had stayed behind when the dwarven army had returned to Orzammar were creating new staircases and balustrades, based on Loghain's meticulous measurements. Rough stone pavement would be smoothed and improved. Walls would be replastered and whitewashed, and some would be paneled in sturdy sylvanwood. Maude had drawn up a plan to divide the second floor into six bedchambers, thinking that the space was wasted. The library would be enclosed, with a locking door and locking bookshelves for anything the Wardens wished to keep secret.
"And Andraste is going downstairs," she told him when they were alone. "That big chapel on the third floor is just ridiculous. We can put the statue by the first floor staircase, with candlestands for the faithful on either side. The workmen can dismantle that dais she's on and we'll have our council chamber there."
Loghain focused on the Peak's outside. Stables would rise from rubble, portcullises would be rebuilt, the walls repaired, the defenses sharpened.
Soldier's Peak was the greatest fortress in Ferelden. Loghain was determined that everyone permitted to see it would acknowledge it. By the time he was ready to ride out of Denerim on his journey back to Ostagar, he was as pleased as was rationally possible with the plans underway.
Loghain had sought out Anora, of course, the day after their arrival in Denerim. She looked very well, and seemed to think he looked well, too. She was wearing a very pretty new dress of soft blue velvet, and seemed physically and emotionally content to a degree that eased his heart. He informed her of their newest recruit. She invited the Wardens to dine at the royal table that very night.
Anders was kindly greeted by Alistair, and rather to Loghain's disappointment, the explosion of wonder and surprise did not take place. Alistair seemed to see no resemblance between himself and the tall blond mage at all. Anora looked at Anders very searchingly, and gave her father a nod of acknowledgment. Anders, in fact, looked more like Cailan than Alistair did.
Wynne was there of course, and greeted Anders with reserved warmth, tinged with condescension.
"I am so proud—so infinitely proud—to see you doing something worthy of your abilities, Anders," the older woman declared. "You were among the most talented of all my students, but so wayward and stubborn. How much time did you waste, I wonder, in those futile escape attempts?"
"Not a jot, Wynne," he shot back with defiant geniality. "Not a tittle! I wouldn't have missed a single one of those adventures, even the one which involved being dragged by a rope through half the Bannorn. I learned something new every time, and as evidence, I present myself, Warden Anders, a man who knows the back roads of Ferelden like no other mage, and is forever free of the Circle!"
Wynne passed that off as bravado, of course, and she and Anders talked long and quietly—evidently about some arcane issue of Healing, for their heads were together quite a bit during dinner. Loghain expected Morrigan, on Anders' other side, to be annoyed by his lack of attention to her, but it was obvious that she was discreetly eavesdropping, and found the subject of some interest. Loghain glanced down the table to gauge other responses to Anders' appearance.
The Orlesians had noticed something, and were whispering among themselves, but they certainly approved of Anders. Healers were valuable, and difficult to recruit.
Anders approved of the Warden Compound. Specifically, he approved of having a room of his own for the first time in his life. A proper room with a door.
"I like my window seat best of all," was his affable declaration over breakfast one morning. "The 'seat' part is comfortable, of course, but the 'window' part is unique in my experience. I haven't had much experience with windows I could actually look through. Quite nice, really."
"'Tis unfortunate, then," said Morrigan, "that your tent will have none."
Anders sighed, poking at his porridge. "Are you sure that you want to go south?" he asked Loghain a bit plaintively. "Are you sure you want to go live in tents and bathe in cold rivers? Could we take the cook with us when we go?"
"We could not," Loghain replied repressively. "She has bunions. And yes, we must go south and have a look at the point of origin of the Blight. As we wish to return with our report, a Healer seems to be a essential to our mission."
"It's going to be fun," Maude said, spooning her own porridge into a strange castle-shape, complete with flying buttresses. It bore an uncanny likeness to Soldier's Peak. "You have your very own horse—and he's very sweet and biddable. You know you like him."
Anders reluctantly conceded that he did. "I can cast Haste," he admitted. "We can be there and back and again much faster that way."
In Loghain's opinion, Maude had been pampering the mage shamelessly: teaching him to ride their fourth horse, a smooth-gaited gelding; providing him with new robes, new boots, a new staff. Now he had his own wand as a back-up weapon, cleverly hidden in his new steel bracers.
"I wish I'd mastered a useful shape," Anders complained. "I've been watching that raven that comes by for breadcrumbs pretty carefully, but I need more time…"
"You're a perfectly adorable cat," Maude consoled him. "And a splendid ratter."
Anders shuddered. "Don't remind me. I was in some sort of cat-induced frenzy."
Loghain snorted into his cider. Morrigan's suppressed chuckles exploded into merry laughter. Maude bit back her own laugh, dimpling.
"I'm sure it was a very nourishing rat. It looked so very fat and healthy. Don't be upset. We ate much worse things in the Deep Roads, didn't we, Morrigan? A nice clean rat would have been a treat."
"Very true," the witch agreed. "If we could eat deepstalker—hideous creatures with worm-like heads—you, in cat form, can eat a rat. I myself have eaten rats and found them quite digestible. I told you: you can only change into a creature you have observed minutely, and the only creature you seem to have thus observed is this Mister Wiggums being. Small and unimpressive to the human eye, perhaps: but mighty in his rat-killing proclivities. Perhaps on our journey south you will become very familiar with your horse."
"What a good idea! Another horse would be so very convenient!" Maude agreed. "I sure you'd be just as handsome as Little Blackie! And you could carry all the extra loot!"
"I am not shape-shifting into a gelding!" Anders' voice rose. The girls laughed harder.
"Loghain, make them stop!"
More than a hint of autumn was in the air as they rode out through the newly-reconstructed Great Gate. Loghain was resigned to the shouts and acclaim on the way through Denerim, and left it to Maude to smile and wave and charm the citizenry. It was handy to have someone who could do that for him. Morrigan certainly did not bother. She had no regard whatever for people she did not know, and not much for those she did. Her impassive yellow gaze took in the scene, and then turned inward, reflecting, Loghain supposed, on the adventure before them.
The darkspawn had left traces on the West Road. One saw the curious totems, here and there. Most of the flayed and spitted bodies had rotted away, the bones sliding with a whispered rattle into the sheltering grass. Not all, alas, despite the busy efforts of hungry wildlife. A few trophies had been taken down by the kind and pitying hands of returning inhabitants: people determined to restore whatever could be restored.
There were even a few darkspawn left on the West Road, or near enough, at least, to sense the passage of Grey Wardens. These were dispatched with alacrity, wherever they were found.
"We really don't want to go so fast that the darkspawn can't catch up to us, Anders," Maude kindly explained, as she busily relieved the putrid corpses of anything of value. "We want to draw them out and then kill then, because that makes things much nicer for the locals."
Anders opened his mouth to protest against touching the darkspawn because of the danger of Blight disease. Then he remembered that they were all immune, and that that was the point of being Grey Wardens after all.
He shut his mouth with a snap. "Oh. Right."
Loghain rolled his eyes at him. "You are, however, not obligated to loot the darkspawn dead. Maude's hobby is a matter of taste."
"Good to know," Anders nodded. "I think I'll pass."
Maude swaggered back to them, tossing something from hand to hand. "Well, all the more for me! This is what you passed on!" The heavy jeweled pendant was flashed before Anders' impressed gaze, and just as quickly was snatched away and deposited in the little bag on Maude's sword belt. "I think it's wicked to leave beautiful things in the possession of disgusting darkspawn. So I never do."
She vaulted back into the saddle, her chestnut mare pawing the ground, on edge from the reek of the darkspawn.
Fighting darkspawn from horseback was an interesting challenge. Horses hated the smell, and their apparent instinct was to gallop away at top speed. With work and attention, however, Loghain and Maude were training the four horses to endure the darkspawn' scent and remain under control.
When mounted, one had a good vantage to shoot from. The horses themselves were lightly armored. With more training, they might be able to close with the monsters without throwing their riders into the middle of a melee. Their pack mule seemed to require no training at all: it was a surprisingly stoic beast, and when it encountered darkspawn, it simply put its ears back and bared enormous yellow teeth.
As they rode, Maude pulled out her travel journal, and noted down the darkspawn they had killed: how many and what kinds; how they were armed; what treasure they carried.
"I kept notes like this all through the Blight. They're back in Denerim. Maybe I'll write a book someday: an unexpurgated version for the Wardens and another one for the uninitiated. Lots of blood and thunder in both, of course. And treasure. People like to read about treasure. And dragons."
"And of course," Morrigan remarked, "'twill be full of the deathless romance of the Dragonslayer and his Young Warden. Do include the naughty bits."
"My lady!" Anders laughed. "I like the way you think! That's brilliant! Yes...include all the naughty bits, Maude, and the Chantry will ban it, which means that every priest and Templar in Thedas will buy a copy!"
Loghain grunted, unamused. Maude flashed him a wicked smile.
The little bands they came across were obviously stragglers from the horde that had swept north to Denerim. Some had lagged behind. Some had wandered too far from the road. Without the song of the Archdemon calling to them they were bewildered and aimless. They would target Grey Wardens, but Maude wondered if they were simply drawn to them by the Taint, and only attacked them once they saw they were not fellow darkspawn.
"This has been going on for over a thousand years, and it's like nobody knows anything. It's ridiculous! And those books at the Warden Compound aren't much help. They're mostly 'Yes, we are the Mighty Wardens. Here is a made-up picture of Brethil. Here is a made-up picture of Garahel.' Puff pieces about Warden heroes, but not a lot of useful information about darkspawn!"
They rode on down the road. In the distance a huge cloud of smoke rose up, grey and hazy. The wind blew the smell of it into their faces; it carried the remains of a blighted autumn and more than a hint of darkspawn.
Loghain spurred ahead of the rest and saw what was going on.
A wheat field, or what was left of it. The unharvested grain sagged in unwholesome heaps, black with Blight. Three men and woman were burning off the field, trying to kill the Blight and salvage the field for next spring.
Maude saw what they were doing, and cocked her head. "Do you suppose that will work? I don't know myself. I suppose it's rather important information, actually."
Morrigan, surprisingly, knew more than any of them. "Flemeth said that if 'tis burned off with a very hot fire as soon as possible, 'tis likely that the soil will yield again. The longer the Blight permeates the soil, the greater the damage."
The farmers had seen them, and were backing away nervously at the sight of four horsemen, a wardog, and a mule with an evil grin.
Maude pulled off her helmet and gave them a smile and a friendly wave. "Good day to you! We're Grey Wardens!"
No arguments from the peasantry, between the winged helmets and griffons on every conceivable surface. A brief discussion: assurances that they were doing the right thing, and that they needed to set fire to anything that showed any sign of Blight, including one man's beloved orchard. A discussion to be repeated over the course of the next few days, as they rode through South Reach.
"Of course," Maude sighed, "many won't do it. You know, if I had known two months ago what I know now, we would have burned everything we passed. Fires all over Ferelden. ..Why didn't Riordan say something?"
"He was distracted?" Morrigan suggested. "Perhaps we all were. Two months is not so bad. If we allowed the Blight to overwinter, the damage would be far greater."
Maude talked to the people coming back to what remained of South Reach. She was the persuasive one, after all. She was the one to told them what to look for, and what they must do about it.
"They didn't want to burn down their Chantry, but in the end they did," she told her fellow Wardens. "They'll still have quite a few people with Blight disease, but the word will spread. I made them burn down the place where we stayed too. It was showing signs…possibly that's how Leliana…well, anyhow…I hope we get to Lothering before any of the refugees return. We should burn the whole village down."
"I agree." Loghain remembered the Blighted ruin. Better that it all burn that condemn the survivors to sift through the wreckage for the rotting, tortured remains.
Now and then they passed a cart. Now and then they passed an overturned cart that had had the misfortune to encounter darkspawn stragglers. It was not surprising that there were not a great many people returning, so far. Both the mages had fire spells at their command, and they used them liberally.
"'Tis rather diverting, actually," Morrigan remarked. "One was always so very careful not to be noticed. How liberating to unleash this. The Lothering Chantry is mine."
"I don't think so," Anders laughed. "I was once captured near Lothering. I can't wait to see it go up in flames."
It did not take long. Lothering was the same ruin they had seen on the march to Denerim. It stank less, now. Carefully, they found a clean area for the horses, and left them hobbled there.
Maude was all over the town, reminiscing. "Dane's Refuge," she said to Loghain, with a ghost of a sentimental sigh. "That was a nice tavern. That's where I first heard I was a traitor to the crown. Some men tried to arrest me, but I didn't let them, and afterward I told the survivor to take a message to you. Did you get it?"
"From Lothering?" Loghain shook his head, studying the patterns on the stones, like a blackened spider's web. "I don't recall it. What was the message?"
She smiled. "That you'd have to do better."
He snorted. "Somehow I can't see a soldier passing that on. He's probably in the Free Marches by now."
"Anora should send some ships to Kirkwall," Maude said, her train of thought veering wildly off course. "And invite the refugees to come home now the Blight is over. They might not be able to afford the return trip, and we don't want to lose so much of our population." She clambered over a collapsed fence. "See that? See that cage? That's where I met Sten! The Revered Mother had locked him up to die of thirst and starvation, or to be killed by the darkspawn. I didn't think that was at all nice, so I got him out and took him along."
There was nothing to stay for, other than to put a torch to the entire place. A pillar of smoke rose up behind them, like a monument to the dead. They turned south on the Imperial Highway. Between Lothering and Ostagar they saw almost nothing alive. To find healthy trees and plants they had to leave the Highway, and move down the small creek beds that wound toward the Korcari Wilds. Morrigan took wing and flew miles to find healthy forest, far from the track of the horde. Where the darkspawn had passed, there was only death and disease. The horses were unhappy, but not frantic, if they were careful not to stay in Blight-infested places too long.
Morrigan not only magically cleaned their water, but also insisted on boiling it. Anders was uncommonly solemn. No one sensed anything. They agreed to find Morrigan's former home first, before heading east to Ostagar.
"I confess I'm very curious to see where such a vision comes from," Anders told Morrigan.
"'Tis a hut," Morrigan said flatly. "A decrepit hut on the verge of a swamp. 'Tis grubby and damp and unwholesome. I shall search it for the books I want, and then I hope never to lay eyes on the place again!"
They were careful to travel only when there was sufficient light for the horses to pick their way through the marshes. Loghain had once visited Flemeth's house, long ago, but had no memory whatever of the country they passed.
"You know, Morrigan," Maude began, her head cocked in thought. "This hadn't occurred to me before, but you might find the place rather…distressing. Aside from the fact that you grew up there, of course. Flemeth…well…her remains are there…or at least her dragon-shape remains. Up on that that high ground near the cottage. I just thought I should warn you."
"'Tis a hut, a miserable hut. Calling it a 'cottage' is gross flattery. I care not for a pile of dragon bones: I have seen enough of them. I shall take what is mine, and be gone."
Ranger trotted ahead of them, nose to the ground. Loghain trusted the dog to keep them away from quicksand, but would be as glad as Morrigan when they put the place behind them.
A gap in the hills, water on the horizon, and then the stump of a bare, ruined tower rising up abruptly from the landscape. Leaning against it was a tumbledown collection of boards: the lair of the dreaded Witch of the Wilds. Maude stood in her stirrups, and then came to a stop.
"Oh, dear," she whispered to Loghain. "That's not good. That's not good at all."
Morrigan scanned the scene, and then gave Maude an angry glance. "You swore to me you killed her!"
The high ground by the hut was bare of all but straggling weeds. Even large scavengers could not have cleared all the bones of a High Dragon from the spot.
"I did!" Maude protested. "Sten was burned really badly! You saw him yourself. The dragon was certainly dead, because we poked it quite a bit, being rather out of sorts due to all the trouble it put us through. And I found the key to the hut and got into the chest and brought back your robes and the grimoire and everything! The dragon was dead. I've killed lots of dragons, and I know!"
Loghain blew out a breath. "The old woman had her tricks, certainly. Do you want to go on, or do you want to leave right now!"
"I shall go on," Morrigan hissed furiously. "If she is there, I shall kill her myself!"
"That's the spirit!" Maude seconded loyally. "Still—you stay with the horses, and I'll go into the hut and check it out first."
"I'll check out the hut," Loghain insisted.
They both did. Loghain kicked the door in, and Maude darted past him, swift and deadly. It was quite empty, but empty huts generally do not have cheerful fires crackling on the hearth. The floor was littered with books and papers.
"Not good," Maude murmured. "Definitely not good."
Loghain stepped out. "Morrigan! We see nothing here, but someone has been here long enough to light a fire and make a search. Collect your things and we'll leave within the hour. Maude, help her, and don't dawdle!"
Morrigan slid down and hurried inside. The two women left the door open and began going through the contents of the house at a great rate. Loghain climbed the slope to examine the site. Something gleamed white in the dry and sere vegetation. He stooped to collect it, and then studied it carefully.
"Something interesting?" called Anders.
Loghain held it up. "A tooth."
"Maker's Blood!" Anders stared in horror. "It's like a dagger!"
"Thicker, really."
More examination yielded a dozen scales, another tooth, and part of a broken claw. Something had happened here. Loghain walked down and showed his finds to the two women.
"See!" Maude said, relieved. "We really did have quite a battle, Morrigan!"
"I believe you," the witch admitted. "I also believe that Flemeth tricked you somehow."
"Then I'll kill her again," Maude said fiercely. "I don't allow people to trick me. You know the old saying, 'Fool me once, prepare to die!'"
"Actually, Maude," Anders interjected, "I believe the correct saying is—"
Morrigan raised her brows at him in warning.
"…oh…right…"
The books and other oddities were packed, settled onto the mule, and they were off again. Maude insisted on keeping the tooth and other dragon remains, because they were valuable. Morrigan agreed, because bits of Flemeth could be valuable for sound magical reasons: most notably, of course, for defense against Flemeth herself.
"Let's not come here again," Maude suggested. "Even I think it's creepy. At least Morrigan got her books."
"Those must be some books," Anders hinted to Morrigan. "Mind if I have a look?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps I shall permit such a liberty, when it pleases me."
"So that's the Tower of Ishal," Anders considered. The landmark was grey and misty, even in broad midday: a distant ghostly spire. "The old Tevinters certainly loved their towers. Actually the modern ones still do. I've heard that in Minrathous—"
"Not now," Loghain growled.
Morrigan caught Anders' eye, and gave her head a little shake. The mage grimaced and desisted.
Maude slowed her horse, pointing ahead. "I hadn't hoped to see that place again, but there it is! Loghain, I want to go all the way to the top and show you that ogre, or whatever bits of it are left! Then you'll know I wasn't just taking a nap the night of the battle."
"If we must." He had expected as much, and was resigned to it.
"I don't sense anything at all," Maude said, frowning. "Nothing. Maybe they're all gone."
That was just too optimistic for Loghain's tastes. "They can't all be gone."
"I didn't mean all gone, as in 'all darkspawn gone for good!'" Maude rolled her eyes. "Though that would be nice. I'm just saying I'm not sensing anything yet." She called out to Ranger. "Am I right?"
The dog yipped agreement back at her.
"See!" She turned in her saddle to Anders. "So here is glorious Ostagar. There's an old Grey Warden outpost not far from here, but it's only a ruin. That's where I met Morrigan, about a hundred years ago!"
"And you're both so well preserved!" Anders laughed.
"It was hardly a hundred years ago," Morrigan pointed out. "And I asked you if you were a scavenger. You claimed you were not."
"Well, I wasn't scavenging there!" Maude shot back. "That was Grey Warden property and I had every right to be there! I did, however, do a bit of scavenging on the way, of course…"
"Stop," Loghain ordered. "I don't want to ride the horses into Ostagar. We'll find a place to hide them, and walk in. We'll be less conspicuous that way."
"I like the whole 'less conspicuous' concept," Anders agreed.
They swung wide and approached the ruins from the southwest. With Morrigan flying ahead, they found a glen, sheltered among some hills, where the darkspawn had not penetrated—or not penetrated long enough to despoil. A spring bubbled from the rock, trickling bright and chilly toward the marshes. They tethered the horses there, where the beasts could reach the water and graze in peace.
"We'll take as little with us as possible: just the one bag, Maude, if you please," Loghain said sternly. We're here for reconnaissance, not for treasure-hunting."
"But we may find treasure," Maude murmured. "We should all take a bag, just in case. You did."
It was true, of course. "I'm not looking for treasure," Loghain replied tersely.
There was something he was looking for, if it was still to be found. Darkspawn had little skill with locks. They might bash a chest open, if the fancy struck their feeble minds, but they did not pick locks. He had never seen an example of them taking the trouble to open a massive chest. There was one chest in Ostagar he wanted to find, and there was a strong possibility it was still exactly where Cailan had had it bestowed, so long ago…
They followed the stream, and then turned north, climbing the foothills that rose toward Ostagar like vast steps. As they moved up past the trees, Ostagar revealed itself.
"I never thought I'd see this place," Anders breathed. "It's enormous! I'd heard of the Tower of Ishal, but it's so much more."
"True." Morrigan nodded. "Ostagar is ancient. It was fortress and watchtower and temple complex all in one, divided in half by Ostagar Valley. A vast stone bridge connects the two parts. I came here often as a child, before the darkspawn spoiled it all."
Maude shook her head. "Ostagar is ancient. It will outlive the Blight and the Taint. Someday it will be rebuilt. Ferelden could use a sound fortress in the south."
"True," Loghain agreed. "I had some ideas when I was last here…"
Maude stopped suddenly, eyes wide and watchful.
"There now," she whispered. "Feel that?"
Something was sawing on his ragged nerve endings.
Anders took a quick breath. "Is that—"
"Indeed it is," confirmed Morrigan, her voice low. "And there they are!"
Not many, and not very powerful, but ugly as ever. The Wardens dispatched them without hesitation, and moved on, finding themselves stepping into a forest of pillars and fallen stone.
It was easy to integrate Anders into their battle tactics. He was to stay behind, to remain watchful for injuries, and to intervene with long-distance spells as needed. He had enough of those and to spare, Loghain discovered. He could indeed shoot lightning, and very accurately.
They passed a large, overturned table, decaying under the elements. With a start Loghain remembered that this was the very table where he and Cailan had quarreled over strategy; where Duncan had mentioned the possibility of the Archdemon appearing—ridiculous scare-mongering, Loghain had thought at the time; where the girl had looked on, dark eyes wide and bewildered and lost.
He glanced at Maude. He had never seen that expression since—except when she assumed it for nefarious purposes. Whatever had befallen her had filled her brimful with a terrible certainty. Fergus had noted that she had changed. What would her own parents think of her now?
"Emissary," she whispered, pointing. "Don't bark, Ranger. We'll step out and get them—now!"
A powerful darkspawn and its minions shortly lay before them. The big darkspawn wore Cailan's helmet. It was an image so disturbing that Loghain was forced to look away briefly. Maude immediately took possession of said helmet, of course, tugging it away from the gruesome, scabby head.
"It that what you're here for?" Loghain asked harshly. "To collect every piece of gold-painted tin you can find?"
"Don't exaggerate!" she rebuked him. "It's not tin, and you know it! It's lovely armor, and the darkspawn don't get to keep lovely things. It's against my principles. They must have divided up the set as trophies. No... wait...I need to go there…"
They went up some stairs and then beyond into the ruins of a temple, its roof long gone, and the stained marble floor open to the sky.
"I became a Warden here," Maude said, looking out over the valley of Ostagar. She peered about, pushing straggling vegetation away with her boot. There were broken vials, a discarded backpack, a gleam of metal.
Maude swooped down, and rose with a silver chalice in her hands.
"He left it here! I can't believe it!"
"That's a Joining chalice?" Anders asked, looking it over. "Ew, it wasn't washed afterward, was it?"
Maude thrust it into her bag. "I'm keeping this! It's historical…and silver!"
Then she had to regale Anders and Morrigan with the tale of her Joining, and show them the exact spot where one recruit died of darkspawn poisoning and the other was murdered by Duncan.
Anders interrupted her to ask, "So that means, I take it, that had I experienced cold feet at my Joining I would have had my throat cut?"
"It would have been over before you knew it," Maude assured him earnestly. "You wouldn't have felt a thing!"
"That's…nice to know…I think."
Morrigan laughed at him.
The old upper camp was a haunt of darkspawn, but the Wardens encountered no more than twenty, and the attacks were not coordinated, and posed no serious threat. That changed when they met another of those strange and powerful darkspawn, not unlike the being they encountered on their march to Denerim. It, too, required quite a bit of killing, and it, too, possessed part of Cailan's armor.
The place stank of darkspawn waste and Taint, but was not as fouled as Loghain had expected. Once the battle was over, either the darkspawn had simply moved on, for the most part, or had retreated underground to gather for the next onslaught.
It was possible to remember where his own tent had been pitched, though no traces of it remained. From there, it was easy enough to determine where Cailan's had stood. And there his goal stood, the bronze hinges green with verdigris, the shining wood dull with weather…
"Ha!"
"What 'ha?'" Maude wondered, following him. "Ooo! A chest!"
"The Royal Arms Chest!" Loghain said triumphantly. "Cailan kept his private correspondence and his favorite trinkets there. Quick, Maude, open it!"
She gazed at him, not quite laughing. "You want me to pick a lock? You want me to break into Cailan's Holy of Holies?"
"Yes, I do want that!" he said impatiently, and glowered at the mages snickering in the background.
With a flourish, Maude produced her lockpicks and made a show of flexing her fingers. Loghain tapped his foot impatiently, but really it did not take long at all. He set down his own weapon, and withdrew the enchanted dragonbone sword lying within, overwhelmed with memory.
"A pretty trinket indeed, fit for a king!" admired Morrigan.
"His sword?" asked Anders, puzzled. "But why…?
Maude told him softly, "That's King Maric's sword." She put her hand gently on Loghain shoulder.
He was hardly aware of her as gripped the hilt until his knuckles complained. He sneered, "Cailan brought his daddy's sword along. Said he was saving it for the Archdemon!"
"Did he really?" asked Maude, with quick interest. "That means he had no idea how to actually kill the Archdemon. I think Duncan was wrong not to tell him. How could anyone make proper plans without that information? Riordan told me that sometimes the Wardens do confide their secrets in trustworthy people, when it's necessary. With only two dozen Wardens at his disposal, he certainly should have told you and the King."
"Yes," Loghain said dully. "He should have." He did not want to waste time imagining what would have happened had he actually had in his possession sufficient information to formulate a effective strategy against the darkspawn. He had spent over a year reliving the Battle of Ostagar and second-guessing himself: wondering what would have happened if he had charged—even if too late to save the King; wondering if he should have simply knocked Cailan in the head, claimed the King was ill, and taken command himself; wondering if he could have persuaded Cailan to dig in and fight the battle defensively; wondering if Uldred's idea for the signal would have worked; wondering why he allowed the Revered Mother to be present at a council of war.
What he did not wonder about was why he had chosen the Grey Wardens as scapegoats for the defeat. He had been bitterly angry at Cailan and his favorites in the aftermath of Ostagar. An explanation was needed: something simple that could be spread quickly and easily. He could not blame Cailan publicly, though the King's stubborn idiocy was the main cause of the disaster, but he could vent his wrath on Duncan and Grey Wardens, who had filled Cailan's head with absurd notions of their invincibility. For a King to rush out, sword in hand, against a superior force of thousands of monsters was simply insane. Cailan, however, had truly believed that nothing could happen to him while Duncan was at his side.
Grey Wardens were exceptional warriors. At Ostagar they had been used stupidly. Had Loghain known what he needed to know, he would understood that it was the Army's duty to keep the darkspawn at bay until the Archdemon showed itself and could be confronted by the Wardens. Their strategy at Ostagar had been hopelessly backward—almost perverse.
Maude was looking concerned. He was brooding again, and must stop. Only this moment mattered. He had returned to this place, and had found something of value, at least. And then there was the casket that contained Cailan's private correspondence. Maude needed to unlock that as well…
Morrigan carefully pressed her fingertips to her ears. "Loghain! You need not tell the world!"
Anders had backed away. "Does he get like this often?"
"Loghain! Loghain!" Maude cooed disarmingly. "Yes, it's an absolute scandal, but he's dead! His plots died with him!"
"That cheating bastard! Do you see this?" Loghain roared, waving the offending letters before Maude's startled nose. "Do you see the familiar tone with which the Empress writes to him, as if my daughter were not already his wife?"
"Yes, yes, I see," she soothed him. "With Eamon's letters taken into consideration—"
"Eamon's letters are an outrage!"
"—I complete agree! It does seem that there was something very sinister underway. It's hard to believe that Cailan would be stupid enough to marry Empress Celene, but-"
"He could strut about and call himself 'Emperor,' after having sold us all to the Orlesians!"
"Even if he had wanted to, I can't see him getting away with it," Maude said, her voice vibrating with empathy. "He would have had to divorce Anora, and you wouldn't have put up with that—and many others wouldn't have either! And then—"
"That's what those legions of chevaliers were for!" he fumed, his fury calming a little. Cailan was dead, and none of this would ever come to pass…
"I think you're absolutely right," Maude murmured persuasively, removing her gauntlet so she could touch his cheek. "A horrid, wicked plot right under our noses! But it didn't happen! I suppose leaving Ferelden to the Blight was Celene's Plan B. That didn't happen either. We win! We must celebrate our victory back in camp tonight!"
"Yes…victory…" He was growing calmer, his heart overflowing with pleased contempt at foiling Cailan's treachery. He had won. Ferelden was safe and independent, despite the malice of its countless enemies and the criminal imbecility of its former king. He glanced over to the mages. Morrigan was nudging Anders discreetly. Anders covered his mouth with his hand. They, too, must be moved and horrified at the scope of the conspiracy against their homeland. Ranger pressed comfortingly against his legs.
"We have to go fight the darkspawn now," Maude urged him sweetly. "We'll leave Maric's sword with Cailan's armor and come back and fetch it all later, if we can. Why don't we put those letters in my bag…?"
"I'll keep them," he grunted, feeling more himself. That stupid boy! Maude was right: Cailan could never have pulled it off, not even with Eamon behind him. Even if Bryce Cousland was in with the Orlesians—which Howe had believed, but Loghain had the sense never to suggest to Maude—the majority of the Landsmeet would have stood with Loghain. There would have been civil war, of course, but the possibility of Ferelden quietly uniting with Orlais had been slim at best. Now, there was no possibility at all. His daughter was still the queen of Ferelden. The Blight had been defeated. True, Eamon Guerrin was chancellor, but something might be done about that. Life was not so bad, if one looked at it the proper way…
He met the next darkspawn they encountered with grim satisfaction and his very best swordsmanship.
"Valley or bridge?" he asked afterward.
"Oh, the bridge, definitely," Maude insisted. "We need to go to the Tower of Ishal so you can see my ogre."
"Maude, I believe your story about the ogre."
"I don't want you to believe it! I want you to know it's true!"
The bridge that spanned the gorge and connected the two halves of the old outpost was a marvel of engineering. It was also where they found Cailan, or what was left of him.
It was certainly Cailan, though a year and a half had done him no favors. He had been put on grotesque display by the darkspawn: draped over the huge statue that stood watch in the middle of the bridge.
Ranger whined pitifully. Anders examined the body with professional interest.
"Preservation spells. Crude, but they're there. He should have been bones by now, out in the weather. Yes, definitely the same spells that are used on the dead when they need to look nice when they're lying in state. I didn't know the darkspawn could command that level of magic. Necromancy is pretty complicated."
"We should take him down," Maude murmured, behind Loghain.
Cailan's guileless blue eyes were gone, of course. Gone to the darkspawn, gone to the ravens, gone to remorseless time. There was still something of the small boy Loghain had helped raise—so very badly, as it turned out. Nonetheless, this silly young man had once been dear to him, and Anora had loved him…
"He may have been a fool," Loghain grated out, "but he doesn't deserve to be strung up like this. We can't do anything about it now. Let's see if we can clear out enough of the darkspawn to take him down before we go."
"Definitely something with necromantic powers," Anders said, looking at the reanimated human corpses that had attacked them.
"They are not unlike the walking dead that attacked us at Redcliffe—or at Soldier's Peak, for that matter," considered Morrigan. "Strong, but stupid."
"Er—you have walking dead at Soldier's Peak?" asked Anders.
"Not anymore," Maude assured him. "We'll dispose of these, too. In fact, let's be sure to incinerate everything we killed or anything that looks cohesive enough to attack us. I think that would be a very good idea."
It was a good idea, and they did so as they moved across the bridge and into a very unpleasant fight that involved traps, ballistae, and yet another powerful darkspawn. Maude received a nasty stab wound in the back of her leg and they had to rest for some time until the healing was complete.
Loghain hated it when Maude was wounded. She was always perfectly brave about it, but it would just be easier on his nerves if he could take the wound himself.
They had found yet more of Cailan's armor. It was entirely possible that they would have the full set by the time they had explored the remains of Ostagar. What, then, would they do with it?
"Now for Ishal—and my ogre!" Maude said, eyes shining. "Yes, yes, I'm fine! I don't hurt a bit!"
A heavy door swung open and the darkspawn were leaping out at them, gibbering. There were nearly three dozen darkspawn on the ground floor, and a pit leading down into some lower chambers.
Loghain remembered that some lower chambers had been found just before the battle, and that he had ordered the Tower closed and the chambers to be thoroughly examined. Some idiot had not done his job. Perhaps that idiot was the one he should be blaming for the debacle.
"The Tower was completely infiltrated by the time you arrived, you said?' he asked Maude.
"Yes—completely. So completely that I think the darkspawn must have attacked there first. Only a handful of soldiers had held out in the outer grounds. We found no one alive inside but darkspawn—oh, wait—that's a fib. We found three mabari in cages. I set them on the darkspawn and they were a big help."
Ranger agreed. They were inferior dogs, but not incapable of doing their duty.
Loghain stared at the opening at their feet. The pit was tempting. Were there more darkspawn down there? He could sense something, but it was vague…
"They've crawled back in their hole. Let's take the fight to them!"
"Upstairs first," Maude insisted, tugging on his arm. "You have to see my ogre. Besides," she coaxed. "if they got into the lower chambers, it must be because they tunneled in, and the tunnel could take us all sorts of places. Let's go upstairs first and get that done. At least we'll make sure no one can sneak up on us from the upper floors!"
Loghain let her have her way, though his flesh crawled at the idea of being trapped at the top of the Tower, with a horde of darkspawn pounding up the stairs. It could certainly happen. It had happened to Maude, after all.
But they found nothing but bones. Darkspawn, of course, preferred the dark. Left to themselves, they had no apparent desire to climb high towers and live in windowed, sunny chambers. Maude found some bits of treasure, and she was able to show off the heavy skeleton of her very first ogre with considerable pride; but they met no resistance.
She also showed them where she had really and truly lit the signal fire, just as she was supposed to; and then ran to the west side of the tower, where the wall had been smashed in.
"That must be where Flemeth made her entrance," Maude said to Morrigan. "I always wondered how she could get through these little windows in the shape of a giant bird."
"A giant bird," Anders murmured dreamily. He saw Loghain staring and laughed. "I think a giant bird would be brilliant! There must be giant birds, after all, if a shape-shifter has to observe something in order to be it. So there must be giant birds. Or was she a griffon?"
"That makes sense!" Maude exclaimed, very pleased with Anders. "Flemeth was old enough to remember griffons! Maybe she really did turn into one and snatch Alistair and me away. So I did get to fly with a griffon—but I don't remember it," she concluded, a bit sadly. "Maybe if you look at really good illustrations you could manage a griffon, Anders."
Morrigan huffed indignantly. "'Tis quite impossible! Shape-shifting from illustrations..."
The tunnels were full of giant spiders. Loghain disliked spiders, and had, from the first time he had traveled the Deep Roads as a young man. Katriel, that treacherous elf bitch who seduced Maric, had been badly bitten in a fight, and Loghain regretted to this day that he had done the decent thing and sucked the poison out. He could now count on one hand the people who would have the benefit of his poison-sucking abilities in future: Anora, of course, and Maude; Morrigan, because Maude would be furious if he did not, and Morrigan was a very useful mage with extremely beautiful skin; Anders, because you had to keep your Healer alive; and Cauthrien, if Cauthrien was ever so careless and irresponsible as to allow herself to be bitten by a spider. Which she would not be. The rest could just die.
There were a few darkspawn down there, but not really very many. The interesting thing was that was indeed a tunnel leading out of the lower chambers, and even more interesting was where that tunnel led.
They stepped out into Ostagar Valley, far below the upper camp, and found themselves on the old killing ground. The cold earth crunched underfoot, as they walked on the bones of the royal army.
"That's…interesting…" Maude remarked, seeing the well-preserved corpse of an ogre stretched out before them, its mighty chest transfixed with a sword and a dagger. "Is it…dead? Or unconscious?"
Anders peered at it cautiously. "Oh, it's really most sincerely dead. Preserved. And I think…oh, shit!"
It was rising, opening its eyes, lifting its trunk-like arms in challenge. Morrigan was scrambling to freeze it, and the undead thing resisted it without effort as it broke into a lumbering run.
Maude looked beyond it and screeched, "There it is, the little bastard! Anders, that's the Necromancer isn't it?"
"Maybe…rather busy, right now!"
Loghain had killed enough ogres by now to know that this one was much faster and stronger than it ought to be. Maude was running down the valley at top speed, Ranger at her side, toward a small figure that appeared to be a genlock emissary. Blue mist rose from the darkspawn's hands. Not good. Obviously a more powerful spellcaster than they had met before.
Anders stumbled and went down, rolling away from the gigantic feet. Morrigan shrieked in rage and summoned enough power to slow the ogre, and then sent a bludgeon of magical power at it. Loghain hacked at it with the Keening Blade, which had slain an Archdemon, and had never yet failed him. Maude would have to look after herself.
More walking dead were attacking, as they closed with the ogre: mindless bodies of decent men and women who had died at Ostagar. Loghain shared a moment of Maude's rage at the twisted creature that made use of them.
The ogre tottered, and Loghain smashed against him, knocking the creature off-balance. Its head sagged, and Loghain hacked at the offered neck, tearing it open. To his surprise, there was no spurt of ichor. This thing really was dead, and among them they killed it again.
Maude and the Necromancer were fifty yards away, two little figures engaged in furious combat. Loghain knocked one of the shambling dead aside, and set off at a run. The girl was dodging spells and slashing at the creature when she suddenly stopped, locked in place.
Whatever the creature was doing to her, it must be painful. He could see her face distort in agony, and he bellowed out a challenge to the foul little monster, who hardly looked his way, as it tried to fend off Ranger's lunges.
Fury carried Loghain like wings. He outran the two mages and barreled into the emissary, knocking the creature down. Ranger snarled in triumph, and crushed the thing's face in his massive jaws. The spell was broken, and Maude shook herself, with a rueful laugh.
"Ouch. Nasty thing. Don't eat him, Ranger! He'll give you terrible indigestion!"
The mages were interested in the creature. While it looked much like any other genlock spellcaster, its level of magic had been far superior. "They are not identical," Morrigan said to Anders. "Whatever else we learned during the Battle of Denerim, we learned that there are many variations amongst the darkspawn. Most are not sentient, but 'tis clear that some are-at least to a certain extent. This creature...was not simply a being of mindless malice. It could use complex magics. It could make plans and execute them. It could raise thralls to do its bidding."
Maude relieved it of the last piece of Cailan's armor. "Well, it won't be doing any of those things anymore. Burn it."
They did, and left it behind, heading back to the upper camp. Anders was about to burn the remains of the resurrected ogre, when Maude grabbed his arm.
"Oh!" she whooped, and pulled the hilts of the weapons from the rotting carcass. "I know these blades! These are Duncan's! This is so exciting! Now you can burn it, Anders."
"I thought you didn't care much for Duncan," Loghain growled. Behind them the ogre burned blue, his undead flesh reacting oddly to the mage fire.
Maude briefly admired the pretty color, and then said, "Duncan tried to be as nice as he could to me—given the circumstances—and he's dead, and I'm not very angry with him at the moment, especially now that I've got my hands on these! Aren't they lovely!"
Loghain granted that they were decent weapons—very decent. "The King may want them."
"Well, too bad! These are Warden weapons. A Warden gets to carry them. Anders, you should learn how to use a dagger, at the very least—"
The blond mage shook his head. "I can just imagine what His Majesty would say. Not a good idea. I'm sure we'll find a sword and dagger man good enough for them, but it won't be me."
Loghain was perfectly willing to leave Cailan's body for the wolves, but Maude gently pointed out that their clever and powerful companions could incinerate it without the trouble and effort of building a pyre. Thus, Maric's son was laid out on a little rise, and Maude hastily gathered some autumn flowers and bright leaves to put in his folded hands. They stood back, and within minutes, the lively boy who had become a fatally foolish man was enveloped in flame.
It took some time to do the job properly. Maude whispered praise and thanks to the mages when all that remained was white ash and a few lumps of charred bone. Then she produced a little jar from her pack, dumped out the contents—
"—Honeygrass tea," she explained. "I never know when I'll want some."
-and set about brushing what she could of the ashes into the jar.
"Just what are you going to do with that?" Loghain managed.
"I'll see if Anora wants it. It might give her a bit of closure."
"Such a sentimentalist!" scoffed Morrigan.
Anders disagreed, "I think that's very sweet!"
"Thank you, Anders." Maude gave the mage a nod. "I'm so glad someone understands!"
"Just—don't make any tea, all right?" he asked, all wide-eyed innocence. "I wouldn't want you to forget what's in that jar, and—"
Morrigan's delighted laughter rang through the hills. A thud, and Anders winced, holding his stomach. Loghain thought he was shamming. Maude could hit much harder than that.
"Just for that, you'll help me carry the armor, Anders!"
Loghain slung Maric's sword over his shoulder. He had this much of his old friend, at least. His hand briefly strayed to his breastplate, thinking of the letters hidden inside.
When he returned to Denerim, he would have to decide if anything needed to be done about Eamon. Eamon had plotted against his daughter-more than once, in fact. If the arl were up to his old tricks, Loghain would do what he must to protect Anora. Maude would probably be glad to help. For the moment, however, they had their own lives to live and their own adventures to seek...
And their victory over the Orlesians to celebrate.
Thanks to my kind reviewers: Josie Lange, Shakespira, Nithu, wayfaringpanda, Sarah1281, Amhran Comhrac, Enaid Aderyn, Wedger, Aoi24, Zute, Lehni, callalili, Gene Dark, Prisoner 24601, JackOfBladesX, Fastforwarmotion, Windchime68, Liso66, hyperfuzzy, mutive, Phygmalion, Reyavie, Eva Galana, mille libri, Piceron, and Marching Madly Onward. I appreciate all your critiques and insights!
As I pointed out to some of you, it really doesn't matter if Anders actually is Maric's son or not: what matters is that Loghain thinks he is, and regards him as a fresh start in getting on with his old friend's sons. No one could ever prove it one way or another, and as Anders is a mage, it makes absolutely no difference, politically speaking.
As to Flemeth. In the game Witch Hunt, the site of the battle against Flemeth the Shape-Shifter is bare of dragon bones.