Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 15: Nights of Redcliffe
The Hinterlands yielded to the power of Maric's Shield. The overgrown hill paths were trampled flat by booted feet and the iron-shod hooves of warhorses. Sharp and green, the scent of bruised foliage followed them from the Wilds to the shores of Lake Calenhad.
Loghain, on the long road to Redcliffe, found himself brooding about Bryland's drunken revelation. It was nonsense, of course. He had not thought Bryland such a fool.
Still, it shed a different light on things he had understood in a different way. That the girl was not enamored of the King was plain good news. Cailan would have been easy prey for a beautiful Grey Warden. And if the beautiful Grey Warden was the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever, it could cause endless political trouble, most especially were the girl to produce a child…
But the blushes had not been for Cailan: they had been for him. Loghain fought back the smile that came to his lips at the idea of that lovely young girl wanting him.
And Bryce had consented? That seemed incredible to him, but after several years, perhaps she really had worn him down. He could not have been their choice for their daughter, but somehow he was the girl's.
To marry a Cousland! Aside from Bronwyn's own considerable charms, marriage to that ancient and prestigious family would have given him even more power over the fractious, imbecilic Landsmeet. With a Cousland bride, very little in Ferelden would be beyond his reach.
If Cailan were to die, leaving no heir…
Loghain tried not to think about that, but it was true that with a Cousland at his side, even the crown would be a possibility. The Couslands were the heirs presumptive, anyway, but he did not see Fergus engaging in a fight for the crown. Even the family allies would be more likely to throw their support behind the more forceful Bronwyn.
She was young, yes, and perhaps he should stand aside for a better and younger man, but who else was there, really?
He had no great respect for the nobles of Ferelden. Howe's sons were out of the question now, of course. Wulffe had mentioned her for his eldest, but she was simply too good for that fellow. There was Teagan, he supposed, and Teagan might well be an arl in short order, but why should he give away such a prize to Teagan?
He had given away just such a prize, indeed, long ago, but that was for the good of the kingdom. His sacrifice had caused him years of grief, and certainly hadn't made Rowan happy. Her brief years with Maric had been years of duty without much reward, with the exception of Cailan. And if Rowan could see how Cailan had grown up…
He nearly sighed, but scowled instead. Ferelden had a strong queen: his daughter Anora. There was no need for Bronwyn to marry contrary to her own wishes.
She was a Grey Warden, of course, which complicated matters. By that order's ancient custom, she ought not to hold a title, but there was nothing in Fereldan law that set that in stone. And if she were his wife, she would not be holding the title of Teyrn of Gwaren. The title was his, and the wife of a teyrn was a teyrna, not because she held the teyrnir, but as a courtesy title. That legal nicety would pacify the Landsmeet.
If they succeeded; if Bronwyn rounded up their allies, if he threw back the darkspawn; if the Blight ended…
These were all in the future, but presuming they won, the Grey Wardens would once again slip into obscurity for the next few hundred years. Why should the girl devote her life to them, when she would already done her duty? She could retire from active service, marry, and do something productive with her life.
With very little training, he suspected that she would be a splendid administrator for the teyrnir, thus freeing him of those concerns. A suitable occupation for her talents, and she would have the sort of life her parents would have wanted…that she had been brought up to expect…
And what a companion she would be…
He tried to put that particular consideration aside for the moment, but it was difficult. He felt the familiar rush, that ache, the longing for that kind of closeness. She was no insipid, whining, hot-house flower, but a strong and beautiful young woman. She might well become a friend as well as wife and lover. Having her in his life would be a pleasure in so many ways…
Cailan had been silent himself, which was unusual, but now he spoke up.
"I haven't visited Redcliffe in over two years, I think. I can hardly believe it. I'm always busy, of course, but I should have taken more notice of Connor. He's my only cousin, after all..."
"He's certainly old enough now to appear at the Landsmeet," Loghain said noncommittally. "He'll have to, in fact. And I recall that you found Redcliffe rather dull."
Cailan looked rather abashed. "True. It's not the liveliest place in Ferelden. The Arlessa is so very pious! She had us going to services in the chapel twice a day. It was more fun visiting Teagan at Rainesfere."
Loghain had not often visited Redcliffe, and had never liked it when he had. It was Rowan's childhood home, of course; but her family were already dispossessed long before he had met her. He had once mocked the proud daughter of the Arl of Redcliffe as an indigent beggar, living off the charity of those who in better days she would have scorned.
Unfair and untrue, of course. He had said that to taunt her, to catch her attention, to make her feel not quite so far above him. Loghain had already had an uncomfortable relationship to the nobility, much of which had been shaped in his youth when his father had been forced to swear fealty to an Orlesian lord: the same lord who raised their taxes to drive them from the land; the same lord who had sent the men who raped and killed his mother. Nobles, at the best, had their own agenda, and were not to be trusted. Occasionally, he forgot that he was one of them, and had been since the end of the rebellion.
After the Orlesians were driven out, and Rowan became Maric's queen, she rarely visited Redcliffe. Perhaps it no longer seemed like home. Eamon returned from the Free Marches and was confirmed in the arling. Teagan, so much younger, looked upon her as a distinguished stranger. Loghain could detect nothing of Rowan in Redcliffe.
It was not much of a village, to be the seat of an arling, to be sure. Redcliffe was even more a backwater than his own teyrnir of Gwaren. That town at least had the fishing and lumber trade, far bigger docks, and the unfailing indicator of a prosperous town: a decent brothel.
By mid-afternoon, they were well within the borders of the arling. As they moved deeper, they found empty houses and deserted farmholds. This land had never been very populous to begin with. Now it seemed abandoned. When they reached the top of a grassy ridge, they saw that a haze of smoke clung to the hills surrounding Redcliffe. Teagan spurred his horse forward, his face strained and anxious.
"I think I should ride ahead," he said quietly to Loghain, after a moment's thought. "Let me take a small band of horsemen, and assess the village's situation. It's between us and the Castle, anyway."
Loghain scowled. At this rate, they would be reaching the village just before sunset. Based on the boy Tomas' account, the monsters were quiescent until then. He could order everyone to camp and enter the village in the morning.
But that did not sit well with him. He gave Teagan a nod. "Take Merrilys and Parton with you. They're fast riders on good horses. If you need us, don't hesitate to send them."
And then Cailan understood what Teagan was planning and wanted to go too. Loghain nearly threw up his hands at that point, but arguing with the King would cost more precious time. There was no way he was going to let Cailan go wandering off into a village of walking dead, so he would just have to go as well.
"Cauthrien!" he called, and was pleased that she was there, alert as ever when he said the word. Quickly, he explained the plan.
"I am riding ahead with the King and Bann Teagan. We need to know what's happening while the sun is still up. Have the men pick up the pace, and keep that boy with you. Once you arrive, assemble the men in the village square in front of the Chantry. We will need to make our arrangements quickly once we meet in Redcliffe."
He cast a cool look at Cailan. "Well? If you want to go, let's go." And he spurred off, over the old path, up a green hill, to find out what had been unleashed in Redcliffe. The expected hoof beats followed him, just a few seconds later.
Cailan was very pleased. Once again he had succeeded in getting his way. True, Loghain was coming along, behaving as if he did not trust Cailan with command, but at least they were in the vanguard, and not waiting for the unbearably slow foot soldiers.
Redcliffe stank of burned bodies and rotting flesh. The breeze carried the reek to them lightly at first. Up on the heights above the village the smell was bearable. As they descended, it became overpowering. The makeshift pyre was in the village square, right in front of the Chantry. Nothing else could have indicated the dire situation quite so clearly.
"My lord!"
A Templar emerged from the Chantry, helmet off, eyes wide. Slowly, his face changed from worry to a relieved smile. "Teyrn Loghain! You've come! Thank the Maker!" He saw who else was riding along and his smile broadened.
"Bann Teagan. Well met, my lord! And—" he gasped and then fell to one knee. "Your Majesty! To be rescued against all hope!"
More people were pushing out of the Chantry now. There were anxious cries and questions and then little squeals from the women.
Teagan remembered the Templar. "Ser Henric, is it?"
"Yes, my lord. I cannot tell you what it means to see you! Tomas got through, after all. We feared..." He glanced at the dozen-odd horsemen a little nervously. "Are there more with you?"
Loghain told the man, "Two companies should be here within half an hour. Right now we need to know your situation. Have you had word from the castle?"
"None!" Ser Henric burst out. "We have not dared approach it for the past two days. The portcullis is closed and the dead walk the grounds. It is all we can do to gather and burn our own dead, here in the village!"
Under Loghain's stern glare, the man pulled himself together, and made way for the Revered Mother, who had joined the rest of the survivors on the porch of the Chantry.
"Bless you!" she greeted them warmly. "The Maker smiles upon us this day!"
Loghain gave her a grim nod, wanting a proper report. He had little patience with blessings, and the sun was low in the sky.
Teagan said, "There's that barn back of the Chantry for the horses."
"Good," Loghain said shortly. "See to it." He and the rest dismounted. Horses were of almost no value in this hilly terrain. The two grooms who had ridden with them took charge of the mounts, and Teagan directed them to the proper place, while the King and his nobles talked over the situation.
The reeking pyre was heaped with charred bodies. Remains had been piled there over and over again, for days. Half-burned legs and arms hung obscenely from the edges of the pile. There were too many dead to give them even the pretense of dignity.
A few more survivors crept out of the Chantry: old women, children, a pretty young girl who looked up at the armed men as if they were her last hope.
She cried out, "Please, please, find my little brother! He ran away and he's all alone! Please my lords, he's all I have…"
Loghain grimaced, and left Teagan and Cailan to the task of comforting the frightened people. He had work to do.
He beckoned Ser Henric over and leaned down to ask, "Are there any other warriors left in the village?"
"I'm the last of the Templars, my lord," Ser Henric told him, his eyes haunted. "There were some knights up at the castle, but they're not…" He looked away. "I saw Tristan last night, but he wasn't one of us anymore." A raw and anguished gaze turned to Loghain. "This was the last night, my lord. I had the last of the people I could find gathered, and we planned to bar the door of the Chantry and keep them out as best we could. Once they were in, it would be over."
"Where do they come from?" Loghain asked crisply.
Henric waved up at the heights above the village, where a battered mill still turned. "Some came across the ridge from the front gate of the castle. There was a natural bottleneck there, and we could hold them all right. We thought we were doing well, until one of the village men came up screaming that the things had somehow come across the lake and were swarming up from the docks. The militia was surrounded and slaughtered, and then the things hit us from two sides. They haven't any weapons, you see, but they're strong. You can put a sword through them and they just keep fighting. You have to practically hack them apart to put them down. So we ran for the Chantry."
He looked away for a moment, in shame. "I was the only to make it. I climbed onto the roof and waited for dawn, while the creatures shrieked and milled about. Now and then one of ours would rise and join them, stumbling and jerking. They wandered away at sunrise, but they've become bolder and bolder about the light. Up at the castle, they don't mind the sun anymore at all."
Loghain studied the terrain, making his plans. Archers with fire arrows and a shield wall would do wonders against these creatures, whatever they were. He would secure the village tonight, and tomorrow, with the dawn, they would have a look at Redcliffe Castle.
"That's the inn up the hill, isn't it?" he asked Henric. "Anyone holding out there?"
Ser Henic lowered his voice, glancing at the crying girl on the Chantry porch. "As far as I know, everyone still alive was gathered into the Chantry. Twenty-two were inside last night."
Loghain grimaced. A score of people left out of hundreds. There might be others, of course: hidden in attics and cellars.
A sudden scream made him look up.
A woman wailed, "It's the monsters! They're coming!"
Children shrilled in terror, running aimlessly like startled chicks. Shouts, prayers, curses swelled up: a confusion of voices.
Loghain shouted above them all. "Silence! It's Maric's Shield. You—catch hold of that child, right now! If you're not here to fight, get back in the Chantry!"
The Revered Mother, frowning, shepherded the non-combatants back through the doors, hushing their questions.
Cailan grinned briefly at Loghain, amused at his father-in-law's grim expression. No doubt he had enjoyed reassuring the young woman.
"Well, Loghain? Will we be moving on to the castle?"
Is he insane? Loghain hoped that his expression did not reveal his opinion.
"No, Cailan. It's already too close to sunset, and we really have little idea what we will be facing. It seems to me that the King's place is here in the heart of the town, in front of the Chantry. The majority of those we can save are here. If anything unfortunate happens elsewhere, you can lend us your support."
Cailan nodded. It was the central position: the most visible position for the people to see their King defending them. He hoped that wherever Loghain was, it was elsewhere, not watching him like a hawk.
The column marched down the sleep slope to the center of village, raising a dust. To Loghain's relief, the mages, Uldred and Wynne had not stayed with the ox cart, but had marched along with the soldiers, accompanied by a pair of youngsters, whose names he did not know.
And there at the head of them all was Cauthrien. She met him, a line between her dark brows, relief far back behind her eyes. King, nobles, and officers met to confer. Loghain gave his orders quickly.
"We have until sunset to make our preparations," he told them. "I want five squads to search the houses thoroughly for survivors. If they find corpses, they need to bring them out. We need to get them burned before dark. Cauthrien, I want you and Bear Company up at the mill, archers at the ready. There's a bottleneck there that attackers from the castle would have to funnel through. These creatures take a lot of putting down. Get a fire going up there and burn the bodies immediately. The mage Uldred will be up there, too, since he excels at fire spells.
"I will command Eagle Company on the docks, The creatures found a way to get over the water, so we must be alert for boats of any kind. I want Wolf Company here in the village behind a shield wall in front of the Chantry. The King will be here, protecting the villagers. Bann Teagan and his knights will stand with him. The mage Wynne should be there to heal the wounded."
The mages joined them and were informed of their assignments. The young girl with them seemed upset, and whispered to Wynne, obviously begging for a change.
Wynne spoke up. "If I may, Teyrn Loghain, perhaps it would be wise to have a mage stationed with your men on the docks. Keili here is becoming an excellent Healer, and sometimes moments can make the difference between life and death."
The apprentice was staring at him in mute appeal. She seemed young to Loghain, but Healers were valuable.
"She'll have to look after herself," he said.
Taking that as permission, the girl fell to her knees in gratitude.
"Thank you, my lord, thank you!" she sobbed. "You won't regret it! I'll be the best Healer you ever saw! I—"
Wynne tugged at her, scandalized. "Get up this minute, Keili! There's no need to make a spectacle of yourself."
Cailan was very amused, and there were smirks all around. Loghain rolled his eyes at the girl's antics.
"Get moving," Sergeant Darrow ordered the search parties. "We've only got until sundown to get through the town. You all know what you have to do. Remember that children can hide in places smaller than you could ever imagine."
They spread out over the village, looking for trapdoors and hidden rooms; opening cupboards and chests and looking under beds and behind piles of blankets.
The dead outnumbered the living. One search party went to the smithy, and found a dead man, ripped nearly apart, reeking of spirits and bile. There was a concealed entrance to a cellar, and some arms stockpiled there, but no people. The dead smith was hauled out, and thrown on the common pyre.
The tavern on the hill was a plum assignment. The door was splintered, and leaves were scattered on the floor, mostly clinging to a sticky patch just inside. A dark trail led to another smashed door and a cellar, where there was quite a bit of damage. A sack of coin had been torn open, and the bright metal gleamed in the half-light. Darrow picked up a piece of silver, and regarded it curiously. The blood on it had clotted some time ago.
"Reckon there was a fight here, Sergeant," one soldier remarked.
"Reckon so." He crouched down by a dark patch at the bottom of the stairs. "Somebody lost. Bloodstains on the steps looks like they were dragged away. Maybe killed at the doorway from all the blood there. Maybe he was found and burned later."
"Or maybe not," another soldier grunted. "Maybe we should search the kegs and barrels, eh, Sergeant?"
"Not tonight. We'll want clear heads. We can always come back at first light. And leave the coin. We don't know that everybody who belongs here is dead. Maybe the women went to the Chantry. Tanna and Bass: you go upstairs and search the rooms. I'll go with Gleary to the kitchen."
They even looked in the lean-to behind the kitchen and behind the bar. There was a ring of keys there. Darrow left it alone. The tankards and and cups were stacked neatly. Walking dead didn't have much of a thirst, it seemed.
In the end, they rounded up a dwarf and two rowdies who seemed to be his hirelings. They were ordered out of the house by the docks. The dwarf complained bitterly, right up until he saw the King in his golden armor standing in the middle of the village square. Sullenly, he agreed to make a stand with the soldiers at the docks, if only to keep the stupid humans from burning his house down.
And Wynne had found a survivor too, a small boy whom she ordered out of a cupboard. The soldiers with her were impressed by her command style. There was a lot to be said for having mages in the army...
A sickly green light was Cauthrien's first warning. A shout rose from the men, and fingers pointed at the phenomenon, rushing their way. Uldred stood beside her, and considered the long narrow path leading down toward them.
"When enough of the creatures are there," he told her, "I can create an inferno that will rage for some time. It should at least damage them."
Cauthrien nodded. Magic was all very well, but she had other methods to rely on, as well.
"Archers!" she shouted. "Make ready!"
The things were quicker than she would have imagined. Pinned with cloth-yard arrows, engulfed in flame, they stumbled on down the hill, seemingly insensible to pain and fear. Some fell, and the flames took them. Some surged on, and crashed against the shields of Bear Company. As long as the shield wall held firm, no undead hands could tear at them...
Loghain waited on the docks, eyes peering into the mist on the lake. How did such creatures use an oar? Magic, he supposed. A reason that was no reason at all. Well, they were ready for them...
He heard the shouts on the heights above the village and saw green light reflected in the thick cloud cover. They were there, all right. Now, where were the rest?
The soldiers muttered and were silenced by their officers in hushed voices.
Something bumped against the piers of the dock, under their feet. Loghain scowled, leaning forward to catch the first glimpse of their foe.
And then the wet hand reached up out of the water and grasped his ankle. The soldiers beside him cried out in alarm, as the walking dead clambered onto the docks, grabbing at the living, throwing them in the water, smashing at them with dead hands.
Holy Maker! Loghain kicked away the groping monster. The things walked across the lake bottom! Why not? It's not like they can drown!
"They're under the docks!" he shouted. "Hack them apart as they climb up! Archers, get to the roofs and shoot down!"
There was a scramble, and there were splashes and screams. A dead face stared into his own, the hands clawing at him, the filthy teeth bared to bite. Loghain smashed it down with his shield and beheaded it. It was still kicking feebly, and another soldier hacked a hand away.
Blood trickled down under his armor. The thing had nipped him along his throat. Instantly there was a glow and the wound closed over. Loghain glanced over to see the girl mage—Keili was her name?—cringing back as if she had committed a crime. He gave the girl a nod, and she gazed at him wordlessly, and then set about looking for more wounds to heal.
"Four men!" Loghain shouted. "Grab any dead you can and carry them to the pyre! Burn these bastards!"
Grunts of approval as swords swung and axes split skulls. Some of Wolf Company trotted up to support them, catching any dead slipping through the maze of the docks, sending them reeling through a gauntlet of steel.
The attack eased off, and Loghain drew a deep breath. Was that it? Was that all?
In a moment, another wave of the things was climbing up onto the docks. There were four waves in all.
And then, it was over.
No more dead shambled down the hill or rose up from the water. The bodies were tossed on the ungainly pile of burning corpses, now burning from their own fuel. The soldiers detailed to attend to the pyre were soot-faced and sickened. Cailan promised himself that they would receive some sort of reward: a gold sovereign apiece, perhaps. It was a filthy, depressing job, but necessary. He almost never carried any money himself, though. Maybe Loghain had some on him...
Cauthrien sent a runner down to Loghain to report that the attacks had stopped. It was long after midnight, and the clouds were beginning to blow away, leaving only wisps to veil the patient stars. She posted a guard, and let two thirds of the men sleep. She slept herself, pushing aside the the memories of dry flesh cracking away under her sword...
Loghain posted his own guards and pulled most of the platoon away to allow them to find what lodgings they could in the empty houses. The docks were a shambles, but that was hardly the worst of the damage to Redcliffe. The little mage girl was following him around, staring, looking like she would like to cast yet another healing spell on him. Hero-worship made him tired, but he could not find it in him to shout at her. Perhaps he was getting soft...
Cailan was fast asleep in his neatly-arranged cot in the chapel off the transept of the Chantry. His guards kept away the curious and the well-wishers and the star-struck priests...
Teagan slept fitfully nearby, waking throughout the night from dreams of grotesque bodies and mindless faces. What had happened to Connor? Would they march on the castle tomorrow, and find the boy turned into a soulless monster? What of Isolde? He sickened at the memory of the female creatures, lost to dignity, their ragged clothes torn and disregarded. Isolde had always taken such pride in looking perfect...
Sergeant Darrow was roused from sleep by a hissed warning from Tanna.
"One of the locals coming!"
After the battle, the Teyrn had ordered him and his men to guard the tavern. Some fools were bound to get a notion to break in and drink themselves sick. A few had come nosing around, but had been set straight.
Darrow struggled to his feet, favoring the arm where the creature had clawed at him. It didn't hurt, which surprised him. Should have been torn to ribbons, by rights, but that little mage had fixed him up a treat. He rubbed his eyes, and then rubbed them again.
Striding boldly up the hill was a handsome piece with hair like fire. She gave Darrow a saucy smile as she drew closer.
"Minding the ale, are you?" she asked.
Tanna challenged her, "Any of your business?"
"I live here. Reckon that makes it my business."
Darrow and Tanna exchanged a weary look. He held out a hand to slow the girl's progress.
"Er—well—before you go in there, you should know it needs—cleaning. Looks like the monsters broke in. Did you have—family—staying there?"
She had seen the broken door by now, and the long-lashed eyes were wide.
"Lloyd was there. He wouldn't leave, not for anything."
"Was he—your husband?"
The girl laughed. "No need to pity me, my bold soldier! No, not my husband. He was a rotten bastard and treated me like a slave. Would have run off, if there were anywhere to run. Is he in there?"
He shook his head. "A lot of blood though. Looks like he was in the cellar—" she nodded, expecting that. He went on. "They got at him there and dragged him upstairs."
Not too upset at the news, the girl considered the matter, and said, "I reckon I'll need to open up then, since he won't be doing it. The name's Bella, by the way. I'm very grateful to you soldiers for coming all this way to save us. The King and the Hero of River Dane, too. That's something to tell travelers for years to come."
Tanna grinned at him as he followed the girl into the tavern.
"Maybe you need some help…"
She did, moving bits of door out of the way. She went straight to the bar, reaching for the keys that were there, and seemed to be looking for something else.
Darrow cleared his throat. "There's some coin on the cellar floor. The purse was torn open. We left it there."
She smiled at him, radiantly. "You're a true gentleman." In a flash she was down the steep steps and scrabbling in the dirt. Darrow found a candle, lit it, and brought it down to light her way.
"That way I see it," said Bella, dropping coins into her pocket, "this tavern is mine now. Lloyd was good for something, after all. I've got plans for this place. I'm going to brew ale the right way from now on, and not water it down til it's no better than dog-piss…"
There was more money there than he had thought: quite a bit of silver and some gold, too. Bella searched under the kegs, straining to reach every last bit she could.
She pushed herself up at length, with another smile. "That last was worth it. A sovereign! Foul bloody mess on it, too, but nothing a good soak and a scrub won't cure. Fancy a pint?
"I wouldn't say no."
By the time Loghain walked up to the mill, that wretched Orlesian woman was already running away. He briefly considered telling the archers to shoot her down. A pleasant thought, but impractical.
Cauthrien had sent for him, but the damage was done. Teagan was determined to go into the castle alone, swayed by Isolde's tearful pleas.
"What can I do?" he protested. "This is my family. Connor is my nephew!"
"You're going to get yourself killed," Loghain snarled. "There are traps, and then there are traps, and I have never seen anything before that had "trap" written on it quite so plainly."
The younger man ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I do have a plan: that's why I sent Isolde away. I'll go and distract whatever it is that's up there. While I'm doing that, a small force can infiltrate the castle using a passage under the lake."
Loghain stared at him. "A passage under the lake? Does the Arlessa know about it?"
Teagan smiled grimly. "I am quite sure she does not. The passage runs from there—" he pointed to the mill, "—and comes up through the dungeons. The dungeons Isolde certainly knows about, but not about the passage. Eamon pledged long ago never to tell her." He pulled a heavy gold ring from his hand and passed it to Loghain. "This ring opens the lock of the concealed door that leads down to the passage. It's old—dwarven work from the look of it—and quite sound. Your people can come up from the dungeons and make their way downstairs—or down again to the cellars, which have door to the courtyard. From there you can open the portcullis, and enter the castle. I'll sketch you a diagram."
And he did, quickly, while Cailan joined them, looking disgustingly bright-eyed.
He was not happy to see his uncle go, but was very optimistic about the scheme, and pleased that he would be in command of the main body at the castle gate.
For Loghain had decided to lead the scouting party himself.
There were many reasons for his decision. It was essential that it be done well, quietly, and thoroughly, of course, but more importantly, if anything personally incriminating was in evidence, he wanted to see it for himself and first. Teagan had said that the mage had left the Castle, but had he left anything that would tie him to Loghain?
And he felt guilty, truth be told. Whatever happened here was at least in part his doing. Arl Eamon had been a thorn in his side, but the villagers had never done him harm, and did not deserve a ghastly death at the hands of undead monsters. He owed it to them to risk himself.
"Fine," he shrugged, sneering a little at Teagan. "If you're determined to get killed, then go right ahead."
Cailan smiled, and clapped Teagan on the shoulder. "Do try not to die," he said. "It's not as if I'm particularly rich in uncles!"
Loghain chose his companions carefully. Cauthrien, because she was looking wrathful at the very idea of the scouting expedition, and she would feel better at his side. And he would feel better with that sword of hers along. He considered. Yes, Uldred. There was magic involved, and they would need expertise.
And then he decided to bring Wynne as well. The older woman was extraordinarily calm under stress, and there was just the chance that the King's cousin would be in some sort of dire state...
The signet key worked, and soon they were moving along the narrow stone passageway. It was sound, indeed: not particularly damp, and high enough for him walk comfortably. No one had much to say, fortunately, because every noise they made was magnified by the stone about them. There was a door at the end, which slid out of the way. And then they were in the dungeons beneath Castle Redcliffe.
The cells were empty. It puzzled Loghain a bit, since he could not imagine a castle ruled by a woman as volatile as Isolde not having prisoners in the dungeons. Perhaps there had been prisoners, and they had been removed. And a little further on they came across two more of the walking dead.
Two were no challenge at all. Uldred froze them solid, and one shattered as Cauthrien brought the Summer Sword down on it. It shattered so completely and dramatically, in face, that she backed away, startled and repulsed. Loghain found he had lost his rhythm as well. Fighting alongside mages took some adapting. An opponent shattering like an icicle simply seemed wrong.
But it was certainly convenient.
Cauthrien gave him a look from the corner of her eye. She was thinking what he was thinking, as she so often did. A few more of the dead emerged from the cells, stumbling toward them, moaning and roaring like nothing that had ever been human. Yet they clearly had. One had been a woman, once.
Wynne knew some handy spells, herself. She was doing something that knocked the creatures down, flat on their backs, sometimes stunning them. It was impressive, and after a moment, one learned to take the advantage and cut the thing apart as it lay helpless.
They found the staircase to the castle proper and began wandering the halls, meeting groups of the dead-now one or two, now a half-dozen. There were demons in the chapel. Loghain had come across demons very rarely and Cauthrien had never seen one. The sight made him think of Bronwyn and her Demon in the Circle Tower. Doing something that she had done recently made her more real to him, somehow. She, too, was fighting side by side with mages.
They paused to catch their breath after the chapel.
"Aside from the demons, we've come across twenty-three walking dead since we entered the dungeons," Cauthrien said. "I wonder how many people were here in the castle to begin with?"
In another hall, they found the body of a young girl, recently and horribly dead. Wynne gazed on her in pity.
"The poor child. She must have tried to escape. How frightened she must have been." She drew closer. "Wait, my lord! I think she may be alive. Perhaps I can—"
The girl sat up, eyes blank, and uttered an awful groan. With unnatural speed, she was on her feet and lurching toward them.
Uldred froze her. "Not exactly alive, my dear Wynne."
Loghain tried bashing her with his shield. She exploded into red ice crystals.
"Not alive at all," Cauthrien remarked."I hope."
Loghain had no time for witticisms at the expense of the dead. "Let's move on."
He hated killing the mabaris they found, but they were mad and ensorcelled, and Uldred was clearly not interested in doing anything to them but destroying them. Mages seemed not to have much feeling for animals, but that was no doubt due to their separation from the natural world. He thought of Bronwyn's letter to her brother, and how she fumed at the treatment of the little apprentices, forbidden even to play out of doors. There might be something in what she said. The treatment of the mages in the Tower did not seem calculated to develop well-balanced individuals.
Wynne sighed, after they cleared out the path to the kitchen. "I'm afraid that it's growing more and more unlikely that we will find that poor child alive."
Loghain grimaced. The idea that he had killed a child with his meddling—no, probably more than one—caused him some distress. The Arling of Redcliffe was going to need years to recover from this disaster, and it would be his duty to support Cailan in any measures the Crown took to help the victims. The Royal Treasury was not in the best shape at the moment, due to the war with the darkspawn. He should have hired the Crows to kill Eamon.
His gauntleted hands were bloody, and left smears on Teagan's little floorplans. Loghain cursed. A big metal-shod door led to a corridor by the Great Hall, but it was locked, and too massive to blow apart without attracting every monster in the Castle. There was an alternate route...
Yes. It was better, anyway. There was the kitchen, and there were the stairs down to the cellar. There was a little door from the cellar to the courtyard. They moved through the passages. Cauthrien gave them her most recent body count.
"We're up to forty-one. How many more can there be? We must have slaughtered the bulk of them last night!"
Loghain shrugged, shoving open the cellar door, and blinking at the sudden assault of daylight. The courtyard seemed deserted. It was just possible that Cauthrien was right. Maybe they had already eliminated the worst of the threat. Cautiously, he stepped out into the open. Fifty yards away was the portcullis and its lever. They only had to—
The world slid sideways. Loghain was on his back, crashing along the stony ground with no control over his own body. He jolted to a stop, disoriented, his ears ringing. Uldred was shouting something, and Cauthrien shrieked out a battle cry. They were coming...
Everything was very slow. The air was thick and pressed him to the ground. Gritting his teeth, he squinted up at the creature looming over him. It was in armor, and it was not human. Its sword was coming down—
He rolled to the side, hacking at the creature's ankles. It stumbled, but made no sound, as if pain were a thing unknown to it. It flared blue, as Uldred struck it with a spell to slow it. Cauthrien swung at it, grunting with effort. The thing turned to her, its blade arcing at her with incredible force and speed. There was a clang, a spurt of blood, and Cauthrien screamed.
Loghain balanced himself up on one knee, and drove his sword straight into the creature's groin. Such a move would have severed any normal creature's femoral artery and killed it in seconds, but this thing was still striking out, wordless and remorseless. Wynne cast a blue healing glow over Cauthrien and the spurt of blood slowed to a trickle.
The thing was still slashing at them, and caught Loghain along the side: a glancing blow that pit metal against metal in screeching protest. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer. Loghain used the force of the blow to add to his own strength as he hacked down on the creature's armored arm. It broke. In complete silence, the creature took up its sword with the other, undamaged arm.
More spells, more slowing, more hacking and slashing, more healing, and Cauthrien was again able to wield her blade, bringing it down in a way that would have cleft anything else from chin to breastbone. The thing staggered, and Loghain whirled, cutting into the massive neck. Its resistance to magic was nearly gone. Uldred's last spell drained it of life, and Loghain needed to do no more than buffet it with his shield to bring it to its knees and then lay it out, dead at last.
They stood there, panting. Uldred was strangely pasty under his olive skin. He reached into a pouch for a small flask and downed the contents, his hand shaking.
"A good idea," Wynne sighed, drinking from her own flask. Whatever they were taking, it had an odd, unfamiliar smell. Cauthrien mouthed the word "lyrium?" at him, and he nodded. It must be.
"What in the Maker's name was that thing?" he asked.
Uldred blew out a breath. "A Revenant. A powerful undead being. I've never come across one before." He seemed genuinely impressed.
"Nor have I," Wynne admitted. "That was terrifying. Perhaps there's nothing worse here."
"You mean, maybe we're done? I mean—surely that was the heart of the evil," Cauthrien said. "Maker, I hope so. What could be worse than that bastard?"
"I'd rather not know," Loghain said. "Let's go let the King in. Perhaps now we can go to the Castle without being attacked every two minutes."
Cailan had seen part of the battle, and had been very impressed. He hurried to the remains of the Revenant, poking at it gingerly with the toe of his armored boot. "What a monstrous creature! Look here, Loghain, I wish you wouldn't hoard all the glory. Do give some of the rest of us a chance at slaying inhuman fiends! Ser Cauthrien," he said expansively. "You were splendid."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she answered blandly. "I was nearly killed. I would have been, but for the mages."
"Yes!" Cailan enthused. "Wonderful, really wonderful, the way you all fought together. That just the sort of thing the army needs!"
Loghain gestured to him, and they went up the steps together. There were no guards, and the great doors were unbarred, giving way at a touch.
Uldred caught his breath, and suddenly gestured at Loghain, frowning deeply.
"I take it," Loghain growled, "that we are not quite done."
"There's something else here," Uldred muttered. "Something big."
At a glare from Loghain, the King's Guard closed ranks around them. The Great Hall was to the left…
And in it was the Guerrin family. All of the Guerrin family.
The boy was laughing and clapping, pleased and excited. Arlessa Isolde stood next to him, very still. A noble fire lit the scene in flickers of sickly yellow and blood red.
There was Teagan, putting a show of some sort. Probably not exactly what he had in mind when he said he would create a diversion. The man was leaping, cutting capers, frisking like an Orlesian minstrel, while the child urged him on.
And watching it all was Eamon Guerrin.
Cailan gasped, and said something under his breath. Everyone paused for a moment, to stare at the thing sitting in the arl's High Seat.
It was both like and unlike the Eamon that Loghain had known. It looked—bigger, certainly—and the features were smoother and not entirely finished. A haze clung to the edges of the creature, as if the boundaries were yet to be determined. It stared back at them, expressionless.
Loghain whispered to Uldred, "Is that an illusion?"
"Not exactly," the mage answered, not taking his eyes from the sight before them. "It is material, but bound together by magic. It is a kind of golem, but not the sort made by dwarves. I suspect the arl's ashes were used."
"It is nothing but a vile puppet, and an insult to the man's memory," Wynne muttered fiercely, clutching her staff a little tighter.
The child noticed them, and called out. His unnatural voice sent a chill through Loghain.
"Who is that man in the golden armor, Mother? I can't see him well enough."
"It is the King, Connor: your cousin." Arlessa Isolde barely looked at them, terrified and ashamed.
"King! There is no King here but me! Isn't that so, Uncle!"
"Marmalade!" shouted Teagan, with a bow and a manic grin.
Furious, Cailan tried to push past his guard. "What did you do to him?"
The demon in child form sneered. "I like him better this way. He amuses me. I warned him what would happen if he kept shouting. Nobody tells me what to do!"
Teagan nodded eagerly. "Nobody tells him what to do! No-bo-dy!"
Isolde sobbed out, "I beg you, Your Majesty! Please don't hurt my son! He only wanted his father back!"
Uldred and Wynne looked at each other, astonished. "He is a mage!" Uldred exclaimed. "Did no one know of this?"
There was an uneasy stir in the soldier's ranks. Keili whispered a prayer.
"Oh come, Swift Sword of Mercy..."
Loghain was silent. Cailan looked winded. "I had no idea. Is this why you wouldn't bring him to Denerim, Isolde?"
"He was being to taught to control himself!" the woman cried. "I hired an apostate to tutor him. I thought if he knew just enough he could hide his powers, no one need ever know. The mage betrayed us, and ran away. This is all his doing!"
"Lady Isolde," Wynne reproved her. "This child has become an abomination. You concealed his magic, and only harm has come of it."
"Oh, Isolde!" Cailan mourned. "Why?"
"They would have taken him away!" Isolde clutched at the demon, who shrugged off her hands.
"Fool woman!" it growled. "You are beginning to bore me!"
"Uldred—" Loghain began. "Is there any way…"
Uldred shook his head slowly, raising his staff. Cailan was near tears. Cauthrien reached for her weapon.
"Father!" screamed Connor. "Protect me!" He ran behind his mother, cowering.
The thing in the High Seat rose, growing every moment. It glowed with magic and menace, and drew an enormous sword. If the Revenant had been alarming, this was ten times worse.
Uldred flashed out a wave of ice, slowing the Eamon-thing. Teagan, his eyes unfocused, rushed forward. Loghain swung him around, and the bann's jaw connected with Cailan's fist.
"Sorry, Uncle," Cailan muttered. "You men!" he shouted at three men to his left. "Take him! Hold him down! Get him out of here and don't hurt him!"
Teagan was dragged away, unconscious, and the real fight began.
They ringed the creature, which lashed out with sword and magic. Arrows struck and were shrugged off. Swords cut through glowing flesh and wounds closed as they were made. Uldred caught it in a glowing shaft of light, immobilizing it briefly. They hacked at it, uselessly. It had never been alive, and could not die.
Cailan swung his greatsword, and should have sheared off the thing's hand; but the blade passed through without injury to the creature at all. One of the knights, knocked flying, crashed into Loghain.
"Holy Maker!" Cauthrien shrieked in Loghain's ear. "The boy is stabbing his mother!"
Loghain looked. Isolde was on her knees, eyes glazing. Blood was pouring from her arms and sides, trickling from her mouth.
"Blood magic!" cried Wynne. "Stop him!"
Uldred downed another stinking potion. "I'll try to hold the creature still," he shouted to Loghain. "Kill the boy! Kill the boy!" Seeing Loghain hesitate, he said, "Kill the boy, and the creature will be destroyed. It is the only way!"
The thing swung its sword, and a knight screamed as the blade clove through his armor and nearly cut him in two. Blood gushed from the groaning mouth, and the man sprawled gruesomely on the stone floor.
"Maker!" Cailan roared. "Out of my way, Loghain! I'll do it!" He stumbled away from the melee and took the steps up to the dais in two bounds. Isolde clutched at him, dying, the words bubbling from her mouth.
"Don't...hurt him..." She fell, face down, and the demon behind her looked up, small face pale, eyes wide, clutching a red-stained dagger.
"No! No! You wouldn't hurt a little boy! You couldn't! You—"
Cailan snarled, and plunged his sword through the child's body. Connor wriggled and shrieked, and was still. Cailan stared at his little cousin, panting, and then vomited violently, falling to his knees.
The Eamon-thing faded, shrank; and as the soldiers backed away, it slowly crumbled to dust. The sword and armor crashed to the floor, empty.
Keili was still praying, her face streaked with tears. Wynne pulled her up from her knees, and set her to work, healing.
"You can pray after you've done your work, my girl!"
The dead and wounded were gathered. Cauthrien gave orders, but Loghain was deaf to them. He had killed Eamon, and now it was clear that he had got away with it. He felt soiled, and not elated. It had been perhaps the worst mistake of his life. He blew out a long breath, and walked over to Cailan.
His son-in-law was pale and sweating, on his knees still, wiping his mouth. Loghain stood over him, and then hunkered down to speak in the young man's ear.
"Cailan..."
"I killed a child. I killed my own flesh and blood."
"The child was long gone. You killed an abomination. You did your duty, and you saved a lot of lives."
"I feel horrible." Cailan glanced over at the small body. "He looks so helpless."
"He wasn't helpless, and you know it. If you feel horrible, that's normal. If you didn't, you'd be the monster."
"If only..."
"Don't start with that. Regrets are useless. None of us could have predicted this. If anyone's to blame, it's the mother, hiding his magic, keeping what was happening a secret. She could have warned the village, but she didn't. She deliberately led Teagan into a trap that would have cost him his life in the end."
Cailan shook his head, miserable and guilty.
Loghain scowled at him. "You always said you wanted to be like your father: a hero. Well, Cailan, I can tell you that you father felt just as you are feeling now most of the time he was king. It's the way you feel when you make the hard choices. You did the right thing today, and your father would have been proud."
Hesitantly, he put out his hand, and gave the boy a pat on the shoulder. Creaking to his feet, he said brusquely. "That's just about enough self-reproach for one day. We have work to do. Your uncle should be himself when he wakes, and he'll need your help. He'll be Arl of Redcliffe now, of course. It's not going to be easy for him. Come on."
The mage girl wanted to cast another healing spell his way. Loghain grunted his thanks, and pointed at the King.
If Loghain felt any pain, he knew he deserved it. Regrets were useless, but he had them, all the same.
Thank you to all my readers, but a special thank you to my reviewers: jen4306, Carnie Heart, Amhran Comhrac, Persephone Chiara, Eva Galana, Shakespira, almostinsane, Night Hunter MGS, Aoihand, phoenixandashes, Piceron, Angry Girl, Porphyra, Shining Girl, Enaid Aderyn, sleepyowelet, Have Socks Will Travel, khaos94, Zyanic, mutive, Beriathwen, and coko-sam.