Chapter 40
"Then it screamed. Not a roar or a growl—a scream, all rage and pain. As I drew my blade, all I could think was: 'There's a Templar in there.' Somewhere in that thing was a brother or sister of The Order; every fiber of my soul was crying out to them. But whoever it might have been, whoever's son or daughter, they were lost to us, swallowed by corruption and lies. I helped the only way I could, the only way any of us can. We must end their suffering. And, Maker willing, we must try to remember them as they were."
—from the reports of Knight-Captain Veddir
Malcolm
"Oooh, a flotilla," said Isabela as the small group of ships finished passing through the mouth of the harbor. "Varric, this is the best present you've ever gotten me."
"Those ships are full of Grey Wardens, Rivaini," said Varric.
Isabela grinned. "They're half the gift."
"Have you noticed that we lack a ferry to get to the Gallows, and that those Warden ships aren't heading over here to pick us up first?" asked Aveline. "Because it's no time for jokes, not when we're stuck over here."
"Oh, that. Minor quibble." Isabela dismissed Aveline's observation with a wave, and began a survey of the docks and the available small ships. "I'm a sailor first, Big Girl, and a pirate second. Stealing a ship and sailing it off into the sunset is my kind of work. I just have to find the right ship. Nothing too big, nothing too small, but get the right one and we're at the Gallows before the tide."
Malcolm had really thought she was going somewhere else with that metaphor, and was strangely disappointed that she hadn't.
Aveline ignored any and all double meanings from Isabella in favor of continuing to glare at her. "You're admitting to stealing before you even bother to steal?"
Isabela brightened as she spotted a boat that appeared to meet her specifications. "I didn't realize you had jurisdiction over the high seas. As Queen of the Eastern Seas, that's my jurisdiction. You should see me hold court."
"Kirkwall's harbor isn't the high seas."
"Aveline," Marian said, without taking her eyes from the ferry making its way to the Gallows, "shut it."
Aveline crossed her arms and huffed, but did not continue to discuss the legalities of thievery on the high seas. In an astonishingly mature gesture, Isabela didn't rub it in. She started darting from dock to dock instead, skipping the ships—too big—and inspecting every boat that could prove worthy.
The rest of them began to ready themselves, tending to injuries not fully healed by Wynne's last incredibly powerful spell, and taking stock of various potions, lyrium especially. Wynne spoke in soft tones with Varric about what to do with Anders' body because it couldn't just be left there, with Varric assuring her they wouldn't before trotting off with Sebastian to find Lirene. The same woman who'd tended to Revas had also been a friend of Anders, back in the days when he was Anders, the healer of Darktown. Shale followed them, carrying Anders, claiming that if she left it to the weak creatures of flash, it would take far too long.
Malcolm paid the goings on barely any attention, maintaining just enough to keep up on when they'd be leaving. It wasn't that he didn't care about Anders—he did—but Anders was already dead, and they had living people left to save. To distract himself from working into a rage that would do nobody any good, he concentrated on listening to the water. The slaps and splashes from tiny waves hitting the wooden sides of boats and ships, pilings and docks, were calming, familiar. They even quietly reminded him of the dreams he'd had as a child, of taking to the sea, possibly as a pirate. It was silly, and yet not. Not anymore. It was a serious thing that he could actually choose, offered to him and his family by Isabela. Light as her offers had been spoken, they'd always been entirely serious. If he so chose, she'd take him and his family on as crew.
Not that he would, because he wouldn't abandon his brothers or his home country, but entertaining the possibility helped. A little escapism never hurt anyone, so long as it was a little, and it did enough to keep him clear-headed.
Not that he wouldn't give pretty much anything to be able to channel Fergus' ability to remain outwardly calm in practically every situation ever.
Then he was roused from his thoughts by Fenris, who indicated that Isabela had found a boat. Their group started over en masse, with Shale, Varric, and Sebastian returning halfway through.
"Lirene agreed to help," Sebastian said to Wynne. "She volunteered to wrap him in a shroud, and then she will hold her own vigil until one of us returns."
Wynne nodded, her eyes distant and tired. "Good."
Any other conversation was overtaken by Isabela's indignant tone rising over the sounds of boats bumping into the sides of the docks. "I'll give it back!"
"It's more like to get destroyed," said a small man whom Malcolm assumed to be the boat's current owner.
The boat itself was a decent size, big enough to carry a load of cargo to turn a profit. Or, as Malcolm took a peek inside the boat and saw the nets, to bring back a haul of fish after a day out along the coast.
After eyeing the rest of them, the man grimaced and returned to Isabela. "Splinters won't get me anywhere on the water." He pointed up at Hightown. "And if shit up there gets worse, splinters won't get me out."
Isabela rolled her eyes. "If someone wrecks it, either the Wardens or the Fereldan Crown will pay for it."
He scoffed and tossed another net onto the pile. "Right, and I'm the Queen of Antiva."
"We've got an actual prince of Ferelden right here," Varric said, jerking his head toward Malcolm.
Malcolm sighed. "Someone will pay you, I promise."
Another net checked over and set onto the growing pile indicated exactly how much the man wasn't swayed. "I don't take payments in promises."
At any other time, Malcolm would've agreed with him, but not now. Definitely not now.
Marian grumbled loudly, took the coin purse from her belt, and then tossed it to the boat's owner. "There. That should more than cover a down payment. Now, get off your boat and I'll give you the coin."
He got off the boat, but hadn't yet accepted the purse when Isabela began to herd the rest of them on board the boat while giving them instructions. "This is a scow," she said, "which makes this the best option for us, because we can beach it instead of worrying about space at the docks or time to dock it."
"Do you mean the garbage kind?" asked Merrill, nudging the nets with her foot. "A garbage scow? I've heard of those."
The man spluttered. "My boat is not a garbage scow!"
"Not with what we're paying for it, no," said Marian.
"Fishing boat," Malcolm said to Merrill. "Pretty good one, too."
"Which is why I picked it," said Isabela.
"Lucky me," said the man.
"Still not worth the price you're charging, but you're what we've got." Malcolm stopped as he passed by the man and Marian. "That said, if we don't wreck it, like you're so certain we will, do you want it back?"
"Yes, I do." He'd answered so quickly that Malcolm started to feel guilty about them taking it, even though they were overpaying. Likely, then, it was a family boat, passed through a generation or three of fishermen. He understood the need to hold on to such things.
"I like your hat," Merrill said to the man.
His eyes widened. "You aren't going to take that too, are you?"
"Oh, no, it wouldn't look right on me."
Nathaniel let out a short cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
"What's your name?" Sebastian asked. "We'll need to know for when we return with your boat or coin to replace it."
"Frederick," said the man, sounding as defeated as his drooping shoulders indicated. "If everything hasn't gone to shit, I'll wait for you at the Hanged Man tonight."
Merrill frowned, glancing from Isabela, to Frederick, and then to Marian. "Do we have to take his boat from him? Couldn't we just pay him to bring us over there, like we would a ferry?"
Marian blinked. "That honestly didn't cross my mind. I assume no one would agree to it, even if I'd thought of it."
"I'd be all right with that plan," said Frederick. "Provided, of course, that you agree to cover the cost of my boat if it gets wrecked or sinks or otherwise harmed during this business of yours."
"Fair enough," said Isabela. Then she made a grand gesture toward the boat. "Boat's yours, Captain."
"If you're the pirate you claim to be, you can make yourself useful," Frederick told her. Surprisingly, Isabela agreed without complaint, and between the two of them, had the boat cast off and making its way toward the Gallows rather quickly.
The harbor offered a better view of the chaos in Hightown, where fires still burned, yet showed no signs of having spread beyond where they'd initially started. As long as they could be tended to in a reasonable amount of time, the devastation to the city would be limited to the chantry and the buildings closest to it, along with a few unlucky places beyond. Malcolm hoped that the Amell estate escaped unharmed, given the loss Marian had already suffered, and of course because Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana were in there. And to think, Marian and the others were on their way to leaving Kirkwall when Vengeance happened. Then again, Kirkwall had a nasty habit of exploding into situations involving chaos and destruction.
"Right," Marian said to Merrill as they passed the halfway point to the Gallows, "so we were pretty well fucked back there, and then… we won. How did that happen? Vengeance just seemed to lose his powers, which were significant. And by significant, I mean we should be dead and dead again, and then a little more dead."
Merrill cast a hesitant look toward Morrigan before she answered, "That was the Arlathan elves. They helped. They went into the Beyond and distracted Vengeance enough that he had to ignore everything here and pay attention to him there. Then they fought him, and while they weren't certain if they defeated him, they hurt him enough that he retreated and disappeared."
"Well." Marian glanced appreciatively back at Lowtown. "Remind me to thank them once this is over."
Merrill followed Marian's look toward Lowtown, but hers was guilty. "You can't thank them. They left. They didn't want to risk leaving a link between here and there. So they went back through the eluvian and it… stopped working. It's just a mirror, now. I think they turned it off, however they can do that."
Morrigan fired a dark look Lowtown's way. "I would have appreciated warning from them."
"It's not much, but Airmid did tell me there are more eluvians on Thedas," said Merrill. "Lost ones that need to be reconnected somehow. They were very vague about everything."
"That is their way," said Morrigan.
Quiet fell over them again, up until Frederick's curiosity wouldn't allow him to keep his own silence, not while he had the opportunity to satisfy it. "So," he called loudly from where he stood at the helm, hands on the ship's wheel, "with the what-all happened there… that what an abomination looks like?"
"More or less," said Marian.
"They usually that hard to kill?"
"Again, more or less." Marian rubbed at her temples. "Let's just say, we hope for less. This time, we got more."
"And the mages in the Gallows? Do you think they're rebelling?"
Clearly irritated, Marian stopped feigning disinterest and engaged Frederick by glaring at him. "Do you actually care? Or is this your version of small talk?"
His surprise was enough that he obviously hadn't contemplated that he didn't care about the answers. "My nephew's a templar recruit up there. I haven't heard from him in ages. He used to write once a week, usually more. Not like him to just stop like that. Been wondering if the mages had done something to him, maybe. But if the Knight-Commander's only acting on it now, then maybe… I don't know. I thought you might."
"And don't I feel like an ass." Marian sighed. "My little brother is a templar. I haven't heard from him in weeks, either. Neither has…" Her thoughts tripped there, catching on the idea of speaking about her mother in the past tense—Malcolm recognized the look instantly. Marian shook it off. "Neither had my mother. Personally, I thought it was strange. While my brother wasn't the best at writing me, he always wrote to Mother. Mostly because he'd have gotten several earfuls if he didn't. But then the letters stopped, supposedly because he was sent out on some mission, but I don't know. Knight-Captain Cullen is a friend of mine, and I haven't heard from him in ages, either. Now, I don't know what's going on with the mages, but based on what I've seen, there's something weird going on with the templars."
"Meredith did go from point A to off the sodding map," said Malcolm.
"Knight-Commander Meredith has a duty to protect this city and its people," said Sebastian. "She will do whatever she believes she must to see her duty carried through. It is why Grand Cleric Elthina had put such great trust in her, because the Knight-Commander had always been true to her goal of protecting this city. Yet, it seems the Knight-Commander sees threats where there are none, or great threats where there are only small ones."
Varric gave him a funny look. "Choir Boy, that was a long way to go to say she's delusional."
Though Sebastian didn't outright roll his eyes, the impulse plainly showed. "That's one way of putting it, yes. Whatever threat she perceives in the Circle, she believes it great enough to annul it in order to protect the city. To her, what duty dictates is clear."
Frederick's brow furrowed in the shadow of the bill of his cap. "You think she's right?"
"No." Sebastian slowly shook his head to emphasize, though the depth of gravity he lent to his words would've been enough to get his point across. "She believes the First Enchanter to have been colluding with the abomination we fought. She couldn't be more wrong." His gaze traveled back to a smoldering Hightown rising above the harbor. "Magic and mages didn't destroy the chantry, no more than they murdered Leandra or Grand Cleric Elthina. No. It was an abomination. No more, no less, and these innocent mages should not be punished for what they did not do."
Determination flashed in Marian's eyes once more, chasing out the remnants of her grief. "They won't."
Malcolm felt the same sort of determination, like he had when contemplating swimming after the ferry. "Not if I have anything to say about it."
"I imagine you have several things to say about it," Wynne said from where she'd settled against a bulkhead, tucked in a cloak to fend off the wind and the spray as the scow slid across the harbor.
Shale scoffed, the gravelly sound rumbling through the decking. "It is not like the elder mage hasn't several more things to say about it."
The Gallows had grown larger as they'd talked, and now began to loom over their boat as Hightown did over Lowtown. Frederick squinted at the ships moored as close to the shore as their drafts would allow, and then at the longboats filled with Wardens heading for the beach. "They really Wardens?"
"If they're not," Malcolm said as he stood, "they've gone a long way for a prank."
Minutes later, Frederick deftly beached his scow, managing to land it far enough from where the Warden boats were landing to keep them out of the increasingly large crowd of Wardens. The scow had barely come to a stop before Malcolm was vaulting out of it, Marian right on his heels. Morrigan wasn't far behind either, though she did not vault. That was not something Morrigan did.
"What you want me to do?" Frederick asked once they'd all off-loaded. "You need me to wait? I'll be honest—it'd probably be safer for my boat here than back at the Lowtown docks. Seeing the activity picking up over there, I'd give you your coin back for you to say you need my services."
Marian waved him off. "Keep your coin, and keep your boat here. Better to not need you and have you here than the other way around."
Frederick nodded, and then set about to lowering his sails.
At the top of the beach, Hildur waited for them as they strode up in a single-file line.
"Took you long enough," she said once they were within talking distance.
Malcolm gaped at her. "Took us? Took us long enough?"
She didn't bother addressing him, her attention on Nathaniel. "Nice to see you're alive. Don't expect any backpay."
"You're a lot grumpier than you sounded in Varric's stories," said Merrill.
Hildur focused her frown at the entrance to the Gallows above them. "She took one of mine. I'm not letting that shit stand. Once that shit is not standing, and that Knight-Commander is also not standing, I won't be grumpy."
"I like her," said Morrigan.
Before Malcolm could address the alarming nature of Morrigan expressing out loud that she liked someone, he heard a familiar voice shouting. He turned to find Oghren jumping from a Warden longboat, grinning and waving, his axe on his shoulder.
But when Oghren got closer, his eyes went right to Morrigan. "Witch!"
She gave him a serious nod, mostly without disgust, and possibly a hint of respect. "Oghren."
"I hear we got us some heads to bash."
"Indeed."
His grin grew impossibly wider. "No point in keeping 'em waiting!"
Varric glanced between them, and then asked those around him, "Did that sound like a friendly reunion to you? Because it did to me."
"People who traveled together during the Blight seem to bond over things like wanton violence," said Sebastian.
If Sebastian wasn't his brother-in-law, Malcolm would've tossed him into the harbor. "I'll show you some wanton violence when I beat you about the head with that fancy bow of yours," he said instead.
"You want me to hold him down?" asked Sigrun. "Because I will."
"Hey! You're here!" Malcolm chose to let Sebastian's comments slide. He had other things to concentrate on. Now ignoring Sebastian, Malcolm took another look around, and realized that Hildur had brought along most of the Fereldan Wardens. "You're all here."
"Damn right," said Oghren. "That means it's time to get to the part where we kill them templars."
Hildur grabbed his armor as he walked by and directed him toward where the rest of the Wardens had gathered. "Plans are good. We're going to make a plan, and those plans involve most of our mages. They're on their way here from the ships. If you bothered to look at the harbor, you'd see their boat. Once they're here and we make our plan, we're going to execute it, and while we do, we'll execute the Knight-Commander."
Oghren cocked a bushy eyebrow, and then shot a sympathetic look over his shoulder, at Malcolm and Morrigan. "I hope neither of you kids thought you were going to kill the Knight-Commander. Aeducan's got this locked up. You'll have to content yourselves with watching, like me."
"We shall see," said Morrigan.
"Should we do introductions?" Sebastian asked Malcolm. "So that we may know the people on our side?"
Hildur shot him a disbelieving look before she answered for Malcolm. "No time for bonding. Griffons good. Swords of Mercy bad. Kill the Knight-Commander. Introductions and niceties later." Without bothering to wait for reply from Sebastian, she motioned to the Wardens who'd formed up nearby. "Finalize your preparations within the next five minutes." Then she pointed at a squad of Wardens, all dwarves. "And you four know what to do. Get that gate down."
Malcolm watched curiously as they bolted for the Gallows' gates, which were locked, but lacked guards anywhere within sight. "Sappers?" he asked Hildur, looking back when he realized he couldn't see what they were doing.
She nodded. "Glavonak trained them. They've come in handy in the Deep Roads when we're asked to clear out and collapse thaigs, but I never that I'd be using them on the surface. Still, glad to have them. Battering rams are cumbersome and take too long."
"Also less explody," said Oghren.
"I could easily smash the gates," said Shale.
"This is a better show, golem," said Oghren. "You'll see."
Her memory jogged by something Oghren had said, Hildur lost her look of exasperation and instead turned an inquisitive one on Morrigan. "Speaking of standing back, what about the kid?"
Morrigan's eyes narrowed dangerously. Though, in Malcolm's experience, anytime Morrigan's eyes narrowed was dangerous. It was one of her warnings that you should run. He never had. "His name is Cianán," said Morrigan, "and he will be fine."
Hildur was unperturbed. "Right. Where?"
"At my side. He can hold his own."
Unconvinced, Hildur glanced between Morrigan and the Warden ships. "As confident as you are in your son's abilities—whose abilities I am not questioning—I'm still uncomfortable with it. I've got Wardens on my ships. I'd strongly suggest him staying with them until we're done clearing out the threat here. Again, I'm not questioning his abilities," Hildur held out a hand as she repeated herself, because Morrigan had straightened fully and seemed about to set fire to the Warden Commander. "I'm questioning bringing a child into this battle. There'll be enough people in the Gallows getting lost in the fight. You went through a lot to get the kid to exist in the first place, right?"
Morrigan nodded, which indicated she was actually considering Hildur's request instead of planning revenge for implying that her son was anything less than worthy as a mage.
Hildur caught on. "So, how about we prevent ourselves from losing him because someone doesn't notice him and ends up doing something stupid?"
"Despite their being Wardens, these Wardens of yours would be strangers," said Morrigan, who still looked mostly unconvinced.
Malcolm glanced down the beach to see that the last longboat had arrived, and the mages who'd been in it were walking toward them. Perran led the way, with Bethany and Rhian on his heels, eagerly stepping through the sand to join them at the top. Eleri trailed them, neither slow nor hurried, while Jurian was just behind her, frowning at the sand whenever it flicked up and hit his robes.
"I will go back to aid in the boy's protection, if it is necessary," Perran said as he drew close, revealing just how much more elven ears could hear.
"Dalish Keeper," Malcolm said to Morrigan, knowing she tended to trust the Dalish more than most people who were not herself.
Morrigan looked slightly more convinced.
"Also," Hildur said after she acknowledged Perran's offer, "Nuala's on the ship. Frankly, if we don't give her something to do, she'll steal one of the boats and row her ass over here to find something to do."
"Nuala's here? Really?" Malcolm almost let himself hope that they'd all get through this and go home happy. Between practically all of the Fereldan Wardens, Revas, and now Nuala, there were enough on their side to sway things. More than, considering the Warden numbers.
Hildur nodded. "She asked to come along. By asked, I mean demanded, and rightly so. Only reason she isn't fighting with us is because this looks bigger than I'd anticipated. She isn't a Warden, hasn't fought in any big engagements, and I don't want her lost in the fight. You and Líadan and the kids'll need her, I think, so best she not die."
Morrigan's brows drew together as she tried to suss out the importance of this person. "Nuala?" she finally asked.
"She took over for Panowen," said Malcolm.
Her objections to leaving Cianán fell away as she realized what he meant. "Then she would be worthy of my trust. If Cianán also agrees to this plan, then I will allow it."
"It's probably for the best," said Cianán, who'd remained shockingly silent throughout the conversation. It amazed Malcolm, because even if his children wouldn't have directly interrupted, they'd end up mumbling things under their breath, or if they were standing next to each other, start talking between themselves. Cianán had merely stood and listened attentively.
Malcolm wondered if Morrigan knew how incredibly lucky she was to have a kid like Cianán, the Old God soul thing aside.
"Good." Hildur's grimness cracked for a momentary, minuscule smile, and then she pointed at Revas. "You're going with them, too, mabari. I know you want to see your master, but you're better used for this by protecting the kid. And don't you whine at me—you know I'm right. You don't have kaddis, it'll be a mess in there, and the kid could use you. I promise we'll get you to her as soon as we can."
Revas' growl sounded more like a grumble, but her short bark afterward was agreement. Then she went to Cianán's side and stayed there as he, Morrigan, and Perran headed back for the longboat.
The break gave the others time to get ready, and for Bethany, it meant she could greet Marian with proper enthusiasm. "Sister!" she shouted and wrapped her in a hug.
Marian returned both the smile and the hug, but it was easy for anyone to see that her heart wasn't in it. Bethany caught on immediately and held her sister at arm's length so she could look her in the eye. "Something's wrong?"
Maker. Malcolm had forgotten the part where Marian was going to have to tell her sister that their mother was probably dead, killed by an act of Vengeance, and that their friend Anders was also dead, also killed by an act of Vengeance. And right now would be a horrible time for Bethany to find out.
"Several somethings," said Isabela.
"We'll talk about it later," Marian said to Bethany. "I promise. Right now, we just… we need to stop Meredith. She's decided she's annulling the Circle."
Bethany frowned, her gaze briefly going to the gates. "If she is, she's starting in the wrong place. Why would she start in the yard? None of the mages are there, only templars."
"She's right," said Thierry. "We shouldn't hear the screams."
"Well, that was a lovely image," said Marian. "Charming fellow, are you?"
Thierry had the decency to look abashed.
Malcolm stopped paying attention to him, because he'd let his and Bethany's observations sink in. An annulment, in his experience, was something that took place literally within a Circle's home, like Kinloch Hold's tower. For a fight that should be taking place inside, there seemed to be a lot of shouting heard from the outside. He just hadn't thought anything of it before because he'd gotten used to the loudness of their fight with Vengeance, and Meredith's shouting afterward. But here, it wasn't just any old shouting, not if one listened closely. It was the sort of shouting that accompanied battle, along with the requisite screams from the dying. And he didn't feel nearly as much magic zinging through the air as he should have. It was nothing like it'd been at Kinloch Hold.
Had they dragged all the mages outside? No, even in Meredith's current state, that would make no sense. It was more expedient and efficient to conduct the annulment on the first sweep through the Gallows, not make the sweep, bring them outside, and then kill them. Too many steps and too much time for an abomination or blood mage to slip through and harm Meredith's precious city.
Still. What were they doing outside?
Not knowing the answer made him anxious, and he suddenly needed to get in there and find out why as soon as possible. He glanced down at the beach, wondering if Morrigan was going to return after making her farewells to her son. A childish, bitter version of Malcolm suddenly wondered if she would again leave them right before battle. The reasonable, adult, though increasingly worried Malcolm—thankfully the larger part of him—dismissed the thought. They were both far past that time.
Yet, Morrigan still knew him, and fixed him with a steady look when she rejoined their group. "I will not be leaving until this is done."
"I know." It did freak him out a little how well she knew him.
She folded her arms and glanced at the gates, where the sappers still worked. "You questioned it."
"Not out loud."
Her arms tightened slightly. "I was there when you fought the archdemon. I did what I could while remaining unseen, but I did not abandon any of you."
He thought for a moment. "Should I be saying thank you? Because I'm honestly not sure."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Neither am I." She looked at him again and indicated the gates. "Shall we move on? We do have a number of templars to kill. 'Tis best we get to it."
He smiled. "Soon as Hildur gives the go-ahead."
They didn't have to wait for long. The sappers gave Hildur several signals, exchanged words with each other, and then sprinted away from the gates and toward the Wardens.
"Wait for it," said Oghren.
Locked iron gates, as it turned out, proved no match for Wardens who applied the explosive powers of lyrium. Bringing the gates down was just as explody a show as Oghren had promised, and as soon as the gates came crashing down and the lyrium-driven flames had cleared, Hildur ordered everyone onward. She took the lead, and Malcolm, Morrigan, Marian and the others closest to them were right up there with her. Given the bright, loud explosion that'd brought down the gates, there was surprisingly little reaction to it on the templars' part. It was like they hadn't noticed.
And the reason no one inside the Gallows much noticed, Malcolm realized as they marched through the gates and into the yard and came to a dead stop, was because the templars were fighting—actually, Malcolm wasn't sure what exactly they were fighting. Knight-Commander Meredith and her templars were engaged in battle with a very large, ugly, writhing creature that might've been made out of bodies, but… he gave up.
"That might be the most fucked up thing I've ever seen," he said. More than broodmothers, but only just.
"I'm not about to disagree with you, Princeling," said Varric. "If I write this part in, no one would believe it."
"Stone preserve us," said Hildur. "A Harvester on the sodding surface."
"A what?" asked Marian. "Please tell me it's not as bad as it sounds like you're saying."
"Flesh golem. Horrible experiment gone wrong a long time ago, but the Shaperate said any golems and methods of creating them were sealed away in a collapsed thaig."
Oghren grunted. "Looks like the Shaperate was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time."
"What use would a flesh golem be?" asked Shale. "Flesh is inherently weak. That is why golems of stone or metal were made. We are superior."
"And you never shut up about it, either," said Oghren.
The Harvester picked up a templar who'd edged in too close, and then flung him across the yard.
"Doesn't look weak to me," said Malcolm. The smell of blood and rot was overwhelming, and the sounds of the crushed and dying weren't helping, either. "Sebastian, remember when you said this would be a small problem?"
"I do recall." Sebastian sounded like he was liable to lose the contents of his stomach at any moment. "I retract my former statement."
"Where did it even come from?" asked Merrill.
"My coin is on blood magic," said Isabela. "Just a guess. Kill a few others, gather up the corpses, make a deal with a demon, and there you have it." When the others gave her incredulous looks, she shrugged. "What? Hang around Kirkwall long enough and you start understanding how blood magic and demons work. Messily. Like that one."
The Harvester threw another templar, and that one landed on the stones near them with a horrific crunch. A second look at the poor soul said that she was unlucky enough to still be breathing. When Jurian didn't move to help, Eleri rolled her eyes and went to the injured templar, waving off Wynne.
Merrill still hadn't lost her puzzled look. "But who would—"
"Anyone desperate and weak enough," said Morrigan. She didn't spit in disgust after she said it. Her tone alone was enough.
"Well, we can't just leave it to kill the templars for us," said Hildur. "We try that, and then once it's done with the templars, it'll come after our arses. I say we pitch in and help. It isn't like a force of Wardens this size can't take it down."
Eleri had managed to stabilize the templar, enough that she was able to clear her throat and talk to them. "We'd appreciate your help," said the templar.
Hildur gave several orders to the squad leaders, and about two-thirds of the Wardens marched into the yard and stepped into the fray with the templars, with the rest held in reserve. Unlike the templars, they worked in well-coordinated units, and the number of templars the Harvester threw began to drop.
"Where'd that thing come from?" asked Marian.
"Would you believe me if I said it was First Enchanter Orsino?"
"Shit," said Marian. "You know what this means?"
"I dare not ask," said Wynne, who'd approached to help with the templar.
Marian threw her hands in the air, and then gestured angrily at the Harvester massacring the gathered templars. "It means she was fucking right. Meredith was right! Orsino was using blood magic!"
The mere idea of Meredith being right was incredibly uncomfortable, partly because it meant they'd been wrong, and mostly because Malcolm's family was in there with whatever awful things were going on, and he remembered what'd happened at Kinloch Hold and Maker knew what he'd do if it was anything the same inside the Gallows. He forced himself to voice some sort of optimism before he tried to just run inside. "Even if the First Enchanter resorts to blood magic," he said to Marian, "it doesn't mean everyone's in on it." Kinloch Hold had been that way. Uldred had been the ringleader, not the First Enchanter, and not everyone had followed. A significant number had rejected it, including Wynne.
"Well, no." Marian's scowl deepened, and she'd drawn her sword. "But it gives her two legs to stand on instead of none with the annulment thing. Not that I think the Circle is corrupted, but you have to admit, Orsino certainly looks the part."
"If the entire Circle is rebelling, then there's a distinct lack of the rest of the Circle in this rebellion out here." He gestured toward the yard in front of him, where the Knight-Commander had begun to make use of the squads of Wardens, directing them to engage and distract the Harvester while she and her templars weakened him using their unique abilities. Meredith was clearly in her element, and her training and dedication showed as she systematically began to take apart the Harvester. If she hadn't been so misguided and hostile and increasingly questionable when it came to her sanity, Malcolm might've respected her in that moment. He did respect her sword, though. It pulsed a bright red before each swing hit the Harvester, and sometimes that energy—magic, perhaps—didn't even require contact to sear a line of fire into the Harvester's hide. Or several hides, as it were, being made out of several bodies.
Malcolm gagged a little, grateful that there were enough Wardens that they weren't needed for this particular operation. It also meant they'd have fresh people to help deal with the templars and Meredith afterward. No one was under any impression that this was anything other than a temporary truce.
"Hawke," Varric said before Marian and Malcolm got into it further, "does that sword look familiar to you?"
"What sword?"
"The one the Knight-Commander is swinging around. Big red one? Kind of hard to miss."
After she gave him a cross look for interrupting, Marian squinted over at where Meredith had hacked a leg out from under the Harvester. "Now that you mention it—no. No! She can't be that stupid. Arrogant, maybe, but not that stupid. But possibly… do you think it was that red lyrium idol?"
"I'd bet my stake in the Hanged Man on it." Varric's voice had gone unusually hard, far from the warm gregariousness that made him so hard to dislike.
Recognizing one of the few topics that brought out that reaction in Varric, Malcolm glanced over at him. "Wasn't that what drove your brother—"
"Exactly, Princeling. If she's holding that, there'll be no reasoning with her. She won't have any reason left."
"I hadn't planned on reasoning, anyway," said Malcolm. "It'd take too long."
"Nor I," said Morrigan.
The templars and Wardens managed fell the Harvester by cutting off its last leg. Flesh began to slough away as soon as it hit the ground, accompanied by the fetid odor of rot. Even as it fell apart, it twitched and writhed, its arms jerking about, catching a couple templars and a few unlucky Wardens unawares, adding them to its tally of casualties. Meredith shoved aside some of the gaping Wardens and templars, and then leapt onto the slowly rolling Harvester. Using one hand, she reached for the Harvester's head and wrenched it free of its body. Then she threw it on the ground, her lip curling in disgust. She jumped down from the motionless body and straight onto the skittering head. Not bothering with her sword, she stomped on it repeatedly, not stopping until it was a wet stain on the square paving stones of the courtyard.
No one moved, every single one of them staring at the splattered remains, and every single one of them wondering what to do. With the battle with the Harvester over, so was their truce, creating enemies from allies, even while they stood next to each other.
"I'll be honest," said Marian, "I never really liked Orsino, but that was a rather gruesome end."
Hildur didn't move her glare from Meredith. "Don't much care," she said to Marian. Then she motioned for the Wardens who'd fought the Harvester to regroup. In ones and twos, they left the sides of the templars and formed up behind Hildur's vanguard, readying to fight the templars.
On their part, the templars no longer looked much like people who'd want to keep fighting. Blood and dust clung to armor and faces, and the same blood smeared the blades held drooping at their sides. Shields dangled from arms too tired to hold them up. Others took knees where they stood, heedless of the muck underfoot. Around the edges of the yard, groans came from the injured, and some pled for a merciful end.
Meredith's orders sundered the silence. "Those who are able, fall into your squads. We must annul this Circle to eliminate the evil pervading it. We do this to protect our city and its people. It is our duty, and we must not turn from it."
The eyes of every templar flicked between their Knight-Commander, who hadn't moved from her triumphant pose over the Harvester, and Warden-Commander Hildur, standing at the forefront of a small army of angry Wardens.
"Surrender," said Hildur, her words ringing as clear as Meredith's, "and you will be granted mercy."
The same fiery look that Meredith had once focused on the Harvester turned first onto Hildur, and then onto her templars. "Ignore the Warden-Commander. The Wardens do not share in our duty. They do not understand. They will seek to interfere, and we will not let them."
Hildur met Meredith's look without flinching, and then directly addressed the templars, herself. "If you do not surrender now, you will be granted no quarter. This is the only chance you'll have. I suggest you take advantage of it. You and your commander are holding one of my Wardens prisoner. I'm going to get her back. If I have to kill you, I will, and I won't hesitate."
The templars moved nothing but their eyes, sliding back and forth from Hildur to Meredith and back again. They were terrified, both of the Wardens and their commander. They were tired, both from fighting the Harvester and fighting their ability to follow Meredith's orders in good conscience.
Then the slave statues carved in Gallows walls stood silent witness as the templars broke under the unwavering gaze of the Grey Wardens. It started with one templar throwing down his sword, and then the courtyard soon filled with the crashes and clangs of the dropped weapons of every templar. Tired and drawn and frightened, the templars stepped away from Meredith, leaving her alone in the center of the yard.
Meredith brandished her sword, pointing at all of them in a sweeping circle, Wardens and templars alike. "You've all fallen to blood magic! You're all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me! But I don't need any of you. I will protect this city myself!"
She handled the two-hander like any normal sort of knight would a dagger.
It didn't bode well for the fight to come.
When she started to throw around red barrages of energy, remarkably similar to what Vengeance had thrown at them closer to the end, that didn't bode well, either. Sometimes the energy exploded, rocking them all on their feet. If it didn't explode, it ringed around them, keeping the bulk of the Wardens separated from Meredith. A few tried to pass through it, and died for their efforts. Hildur gave the order to hold fast and wait it out—for the barrier to weaken or for Meredith to tire, whichever came first.
Like she'd shrugged off Vengeance's attacks, Meredith did the same to the majority of the Warden mages' spells. The ones that did manage to hit only stumbled her briefly, and then she lashed out in return—a light of unnatural fire flew from her red, glowing sword directly back at the offending mage. No matter how artfully the mage dodged, the energy couldn't be escaped. The trail of fire always found a way to its target and sent them writhing to the ground, any spell or glyph they'd formed winking out as their mana drained away.
"Sodding templars," said Rhian.
"If it helps at all, she's an exceptionally good one," said Thierry as he stamped out the leftover flames from Meredith's latest retaliation.
"No, it doesn't help, so shut up."
But when Thierry offered Rhian a hand up, she still accepted it. Then she bounced on her feet as she waited for her magic to replenished. Many of the other mages found themselves in similar situations, and they were getting precariously low on mages capable of any type of offense, and especially defense—like healing.
"Time to take one for the team," Malcolm said to Oghren when the flames of the barrier in front of them went opaque, a sign that it'd weakened. "Several ones, probably."
Oghren grinned. "Good. I need to introduce her to Orzammar's finest." Then he brandished his axe, exchanged a nod with Malcolm, and headed straight for Meredith. As they passed through the energy barrier, their exposed skin tingled then scalded from the red energy.
Malcolm barely heard Hildur shouting orders for the rest of the Wardens to begin their own advance through the weak areas. As long as they could get past the barrier, they could overwhelm Meredith with pure numbers.
"Your Ancestors were nothing but nug droppings!" Oghren shouted when Meredith continued to ignore them in favor of concentrating on taking out the mages. "It's time you faced the might of Orzammar!"
Meredith whipped around at the challenge. "You will fall like the rest of them, dwarf!"
The energy hit Oghren full-on, knocking him back outside the barrier. Wynne ran to help an unmoving Oghren as Meredith advanced, her eyes bright with power, the inhuman red glow beginning to take over. Malcolm yelled a challenge of his own, but Meredith skipped past him, her eyes finding Wynne instead.
Shit.
Meredith's sword came down, and the energy shot out from it again. Malcolm leapt for it, keeping his shield in between himself and Meredith. If Wynne fell, if Wynne died, they would be pretty screwed. And Wynne would be dead and Líadan would never forgive him for it.
Without having his feet planted on solid ground, Malcolm had no way to absorb the blow with his legs, no way to redirect some of the force into the stones. The energy hit his shield and sent him spinning before he slammed against the ground, his helmeted head bouncing on the stones, and leaving his chest aching after the landing had chased the wind from it.
With unnatural speed, Meredith appeared over him. "How does it feel to know I hold what is dearest to you?" she asked, her tone vile and violent, piercing him where it would hurt the most, twisting in a place that no armor could ever protect. "How does it feel to know that I control whether they live or die?"
He frantically rolled away as she brought her sword down, but her previous hit had sapped his speed. The sharp edge of her blade slid through his brigandine just enough to leave a thin, shallow, and impossibly searing cut down his side.
"Shitty," he said with a wheeze as he rolled out of the way again. "How does madness feel?"
"Perhaps it is all madness," Meredith said, and truly seemed to consider it, and Malcolm wasn't sure what that meant. Then she shook her head roughly and it didn't matter anymore what it would have meant, because the moment was gone. "No! I must remain vigilant!" She swung again as Malcolm tried to scuttle backwards out of the way, but it was slower than a roll. Too slow.
He really missed fair fights.
A bereskarn charged into Meredith, sending her reeling sideways, but only for an instant. As soon as Meredith pushed the bereskarn away, she loosed a cleanse directly on it, leaving Morrigan exposed. Without her magic, she was left without the protection of her shapeshifting. Without her magic, even angry as Morrigan was at the turn of events, she had no defense, much less offense. Anger couldn't protect anyone, not all the time, even as much as they might want it to, even when that anger was Morrigan's considerable ire.
Malcolm couldn't get to his feet fast enough, his movements clumsy and agonizingly slow. He shot Morrigan a frightened, apologetic look. He wouldn't be able to save her, not this time, and her own look toward him was filled with sorrow, one that he could name. She was sorry that she would no longer be there for her son, and Malcolm knew his look would mirror her in the same place.
"You go through me before anyone else!" came a shout. Then a blurred Aveline crashed into Meredith, staggering her as much as Morrigan's bereskarn blow had.
Meredith flung Aveline away with the same energy she'd used before, but Aveline's act had served its purpose: Isabela and Sigrun had dragged Morrigan to safety, while Fenris had helped Malcolm to his feet, and the rest of the Wardens marched through the fading flames of the energy barrier.
Frustration further twisted Meredith's once refined features. "Why is this taking so long? Can ones so evil truly be so powerful?"
"Might want to took a good look at yourself if you're going on about evil," said Hildur as she stalked past Malcolm and toward Meredith.
"I have done nothing but perform my duty!" Then Meredith raised her sword, pointing it not at Hildur, but overhead. "Maker, aid your humble servant!"
The energy that burst forth from the sword forced them to shield their eyes, and the walls of the Gallows shook and cracked and groaned as no stone should. When they lowered hands and arms, they blinked in disbelief as the glittering gold statues of Andraste began to descend upon them. Then the weary statues of slaves detached themselves from the walls, joining the metal statues in their advance on the Wardens.
"All right," said Marian, "I didn't know red lyrium could do that. I knew we should've given the rest to Sandal."
"When this is over," said Hildur, "you lot are going to tell me all about this red lyrium of yours."
"It's not Marian's," said Merrill. "It's Meredith's right now."
Sebastian sighed.
And despite the living statues closing in on them, Malcolm felt a little better at the normalcy of their comments.
As the statues continued toward them, Meredith dashed from one cluster to another, urging them onward, her skin more red glow than flesh. Malcolm looked between the ominous statues and Meredith, torn about which threat to address.
"They've got the statues." Hildur chucked a thumb at the Wardens turning their backs on Meredith, stepping between Hildur and her group and their threat. "You keep your attention on Meredith."
Despite Hildur's command, and despite Meredith's shouting—increasingly becoming incoherent as whatever madness held her unraveled her mind—ignoring the statues was incredibly difficult to do. The damn things advanced with a deceptive slowness, a counterpoint to Meredith's blazingly fast movements. It was the slowness that'd had initially allowed to him start in on Morrigan, but then he heard a whirring noise from behind him. He looked to find some of the statues spinning around, blades out, and surprised Wardens ducking and rolling out of the way. The other statues slashed out with swords if they had them, and stone hands if they didn't.
The mages groused and yelled about nothing working on them to impede their advance—they couldn't be stunned or knocked down, and they shook off paralysis spells. It kept the Wardens moving out of their range instead of directly fighting them, all while the mages tried other methods of containing the statues, resulting in more localized earthquakes, walls of fire, and gouts of wind as cold as the Frozen Sea. The resulted in mild effectiveness at best, but the ice spells were a rousing success. Rhian froze the leg of one statue, which Shale promptly punched. The leg shattered and the statue tumbled forward. Its blades didn't stop, but it gave the mages enough time to recover and freeze it again, and the chance for the other Wardens to get in close enough to smash it, piece by piece, before it thawed.
"All right," shouted Thierry, "whoever's got a bloody war hammer needs to start getting to work. We'll have to shatter the sodding things to bits, each one of them."
Though Thierry's direction was a good one as the Wardens split into cohesive units, Wardens with shields protecting the mages and Wardens with hammers until an opening appeared, it was agonizingly slow going.
But they had it under sufficient enough control that Malcolm felt safe in turning his entire focus to Meredith.
The Wardens dealing with the statues turned out to have the easier time of it. Once they'd discovered the statues' weakness, they'd expertly exploited it. The problem with Meredith, like it had been with Vengeance, was that a weakness didn't seem to exist. The red in her eyes glowed brighter with each passing minute, and was reflected in her increasingly stronger attacks. Mages fell, drained of magic, scrambling away from licking flames, while warrior after warrior was repelled, and arrows and bolts fell well short of their mark.
Even Hildur's determination began to give way to the dark shadow of a losing battle.
Then one wave of energy from Meredith's sword knocked everyone down, including the statues.
The mages who had magic left didn't even bother getting to their feet before they froze every statue they could. The other Wardens pounced and systematically destroyed them.
Malcolm and the others with him were slow to stand, but it didn't escape their notice that Meredith was now moved just as slowly.
No, slower. She managed to get only halfway up before she stopped, her sword used in keeping her from falling instead of threatening them again. She'd used the last of her energy on them. Now she had nothing, and the exhaustion emptied her eyes of everything else.
Carefully, Malcolm and Hildur began to approach Meredith, ever wary of a trap. Marian followed, Sebastian with her, Morrigan and Wynne, Merrill and Nathaniel with Oghren between them, Varric and Isabela and Sigrun, Thierry and Shale, and Fenris helping a limping Aveline behind her.
When the last of the smashed statues lay scattered across a courtyard filled with acrid dust and spilled blood, the rest of the Wardens began to regroup behind them.
Meredith's eyes, dimmed yet still laced with red, jumped from Warden to Warden, their expressions ranging from determined to angry. Her eyes burned with desperation. The desperation descended into betrayal, and she looked toward the sky. Then she began to pray, fragments of the Chant, torn pieces of her own mind, questions and doubts and pleas for help, wondering if she'd done the right thing. Wondering if she'd done wrong. The questions and rantings of a woman waiting for a reckoning.
Malcolm felt a strong hand catch hold of his arm.
"We'll finish this," said Hildur. "Take Merrill and go find Líadan and the children before it's too late. Before any of those templars get the stupid idea in their heads to cross Wardens ever again."
He looked between a defeated Meredith and the Gallows entrance. "But what about—"
"We've won. All that's left is cleanup of the shit that started everything." Hildur's expression shifted from the understanding she'd directed at Malcolm to hardness as she looked at Meredith.
"I meant her," said Malcolm. "I should be—"
"Oh, no, she's mine," said Marian. "I've known her longer."
"I would like to have a word with her," said Morrigan.
"She means kill," said Malcolm.
"Obviously," said Hildur, but her words lacked the dry humor that would usually be behind them. "Doesn't matter. I'm the oldest. My kill."
"If anyone gets to kill her, it's me," said Aveline.
Fenris growled. "We do not have the time to draw lots."
"Oh! A race!" said Merrill.
"No." Marian shook her head. "Yes, it's a race, but blood magic is cheating. Go with Malcolm and kill any demons or bad templars inside."
"I haven't even used blood magic," Merrill muttered. "I told Anders and Justice that I was done with it, and I mean it more now than I ever have before."
"I'll go with them," said Bethany. "I know the Gallows."
Malcolm glanced at Meredith again, who still knelt in exhausted, desperate prayer.
His anger leeched away. She was defeated. She wasn't an obstacle anymore. That had been his goal. That was what he'd needed.
He nodded once at Hildur, and then motioned for Merrill and Bethany to follow him.
The last thing he saw before he ran into the Gallows was his friends and allies closing in on a fallen Knight-Commander Meredith. The last thing he heard was her begging for strength to defeat the evil they were. The last thing he wondered was who would land the killing blow. The last thing he realized was that it didn't matter. What mattered was who waited for him behind the doors.
When he shut those doors on Meredith's screams, he didn't care that he hadn't witnessed her death, because what mattered was his family.
Inside, they met with surprisingly little resistance.
They passed the mirrored offices of Meredith and Orsino, both empty as the corridors. No echoed screams or shouts or whispers came from deeper within the building, no Fade tugged at them from a sundered Veil, no demons or abominations skulked about. The lone greeting was the melancholy that permeated every solid inch of stone that formed the Gallows.
"I don't think the mages have all been killed," said Merrill. "Even if we couldn't see the blood, we'd smell it. We'd feel the Veil nearing a tear, the needy spirits reaching through with whispers. Instead, it's like a ruin of everything that was."
"That isn't exactly heartening, Merrill," said Malcolm.
"It is," she said. "They aren't dead. They're just lost, and we're good at finding things."
"Maybe you are. I'm better at hitting things than I am finding them."
"But you found Líadan during the Blight, didn't you? You can do it again."
He was about to object when he realized she'd made a very good point. He didn't need to find someone to tell him where she was, nor did he need to wander and listen for voices that could mean hidden mages. He could find he the same way he'd found her during the Blight, feeling along the taint to bring him to her.
Since they'd taken the amalgamated Joining potion, it took concentration to sense other Wardens, but it could still be done. So, Malcolm concentrated, reached out, and there it was. After he opened his eyes, he looked at Bethany and gestured in that direction. She nodded, her mouth turned in a tiny smile, and they rushed down the hallway, Merrill practically running to keep up.
The trail ended at a set of heavy wooden double doors. When he went to test to see if they were locked, Bethany and Merrill both grabbed his arm to keep him from doing so.
"Do you want to get set on fire?" asked Bethany.
"I'm tired of people asking me that question," Malcolm replied. "Especially mages, since they can set me on fire."
"Oh, no one would really light you on fire, would they?" Merrill asked as Bethany performed a dispel on the doors. "Not a friend, anyway. Or anyone who knew—actually, I'm not sure if they wouldn't, now that I think about it. But I wouldn't set you on fire, so at least you know that."
Malcolm exchanged a confused look with Bethany, who just shrugged. Then she indicated that it was safe for him to test the door.
He did, and it was apparently locked mechanically, and probably also barred. So while he could conceivably bash the lock, getting through the door would be much harder since Shale was outside still. It left him frowning at the doors and wondering if they should just go ask Shale, but Shale punching through the doors could result in casualties of innocents on the other side.
"You could just knock," said Merrill. "Most people try that first." Then she stepped forward and did just that. "See? Not so bad."
"You're not getting in," came an answer from the other side of the doors. "No one's getting in until the First Enchanter himself tells us it's safe."
"Do you accept word from the Fade? Because that's where his word'll be coming from," said Malcolm.
Bethany elbowed him in the side for it, hard. "Sometimes, you are worse than Carver."
"Templar, are you?" asked the man inside the room.
Malcolm growled. "I'm a Grey Warden. One of the women with me, Bethany, is also a Grey Warden, and a mage. And the other woman with me, Merrill, isn't a Warden, but she is a mage. Aside from raising Orsino from—actually, I don't think that could even be done considering what he turned into. Worse than an abomination. So. Here we are."
"Yes. There you are. Not getting in."
Bethany rolled her eyes. "For Maker's sake. Look, I'm Bethany Hawke. My sister is Marian Hawke, also known as the Champion of Kirkwall, and my brother is Ser Carver, who can be a git but also a decent sort if you know him. And, if you know him at all, or happen to know my sister, then you'd know that I am not a threat, nor would anyone with me be."
Shuffling feet came from the other side, then the low tones of discussions being held, and then someone clearly said, "Just let them in. We need to know what's going on."
Then came the sounds of large pieces of furniture being shoved aside, a puff of coolness from another dispel, the clunk of a bar being removed from the other side of the door, then a lock keyed open before one of the doors followed suit.
A man, the one they'd been speaking with, Malcolm assumed, peeked out and took notice of the griffon heraldry on Malcolm and Bethany, as well as the staves Bethany and Merrill held.
"You seem to be legitimate," said the man. "All right, you can come in. Quickly, now. We'll have to barricade the doors again—"
"You don't, actually," said Merrill. "You're safe now."
"But he said First Enchanter Orsino was dead."
"He is," said Malcolm. "But so is Knight-Commander Meredith, and the Wardens have shown the rest of the templars the errors of their ways, with words and swords."
"That is certainly… interesting news," said the man, who'd brightened slightly at learning of the fates of Meredith and her templars. Then he frowned. "By 'words and swords,' did you mean you killed all the templars, too?"
"Only the ones who insisted on following Meredith after they were warned," said Bethany.
The man nodded, relief returning to his features. "Good. I mean, not all the templars were bad. Just some. But others, like Ser Thrask, they did all they could before the First Enchanter went out to confront the Knight-Commander when the order came to muster the garrison. Ser Thrask brought the youngest templar initiates along with warning, and then told us to find shelter and barricade ourselves in until it was over. Whatever 'it' was. Either way, he made sure the children were safe, all of them, not just the initiates." His face darkened. "And then the order to annul the Circle came, and some templars decided they would carry it out without further instructions from the Knight-Commander and…" He motioned behind him, to where several people lay on makeshift pallets on the floor or, in the worst cases, were up on what once were dining tables, but now were being used as examination tables, like Anders had used in his clinic. "As you can see, there were injuries, even though the attackers were repelled in the end. Ser Thrask is the worst off."
"Very noble of him," said Merrill.
The man shot her a grateful look at her being civil, unlike Malcolm. "My name is Gratian. I'm a Senior Enchanter of this Circle."
Malcolm nodded. "Malcolm. I'm looking for my wife and children. They would've been brought here recently. Their names—"
Gratian pointed to where he'd indicated before, where the injured were convalescing, and beyond them, children were gathered around a few younger enchanters. "Over there."
It took Malcolm a moment to find her in the crowd on the opposite side of the room, but then he saw her, mixed in with the mages aiding the wounded. The hair was hers, and he believed the markings on her face were her tattoos, though the distance made them look off. He started for her, crossing the room in great big strides. When he was halfway to her, he saw that her tattoos weren't off so much as they were marred.
No. They'd done everything right, hadn't they? Hadn't he?
No. They hadn't, he hadn't, and the empty proof stood a few paces away.