Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 53: The Air Is Full of Gods
"Bronwyn!"
Tara's voice drew her out of her evil dreams: a blessed release. Her eyes opened to see a stone ceiling above her and stone walls around her. The stone floor she lay on was no softer than when she had first arranged herself on it.
Tara knelt down by her, and whispered, "I finished my watch. I guess it's time to go."
Zevran was already awake, grinning in the dim torchlight, setting out breakfast for them.
Leliana stirred. "What dreams! If only it were not all so ugly…" She rolled over and shook Cullen. "Time to rise, my friend."
Bronwyn sat up, aware of every bruise on her body. "Where's Scout? Scout!"
The mabari trotted into the little stone room: the chokepoint for the rest of the temple.
Bronwyn now regretted not getting a full night's sleep before tackling the temple. It was far larger than she had imagined, and had been contested nearly every step of the way. The dormitories, the chapels, the libraries, the private sleeping rooms of the mages: all of it had required endless fighting through a maze of traps. Even after healing and rejuvenation and hours of sleep, Bronwyn's whole body ached. They would need more spells before they could go on.
The temple, they had found, had another long hall, and after that diverged into two branches, both of which eventually rejoined at this choke point. As she had feared, getting this far had required the death of every inhabitant they met. None, thank the Maker, were children, at least. As of now, the bodies lay where they had fallen. They had cleared this one place, and nearly collapsed with exhaustion.
Cullen sat up, groaning, and groped for his canteen. At least they would neither thirst nor starve in this place: it was packed with supplies and had fountain-style wells for water. The best of everything Haven had to offer was kept here: grain in abundance as well as many different kinds of bread; fruit preserves and wildflower honey; meats both salted and smoked; barrels of ale and kegs of cider and perry. Nothing had been stinted where the temple was concerned.
"You know," Zevran laughed, "if we did not have to worry about whatever lurks beyond this door, we could live here very well."
"I know!" Tara agreed. "Those mages had really good beds. It's too bad we couldn't sleep in them!"
"I'm just glad nothing came through that door," Bronwyn grunted, rearranging her armor.
"Come! Eat!" Zevran urged her. "There is some of that perry you say you like. Very agreeable at breakfast. There is good bread and cheese. These heretics know how to provision a stronghold."
"And there's butter!" Tara lavished some on her bread, and bit into it blissfully. "I haven't had such good butter since we were at the Warden Compound!"
"Leliana and Cullen have never been there," Zevran remarked. "They have much to look forward to."
"Yes," Bronwyn agreed, helping herself to the remarkably good bread. Heretics or not, Haven bakers knew their business. "Let's see: Alistair has been there, of course, before the Blight, but not Anders or Cullen, nor Leliana or Morrigan, or Brosca, Adaia, Oghren, Sten, or Carver. Someday, though…someday we'll all be there together in the Warden's Hall, and we'll have the celebratory dinner to end them all. The housekeeper loves to spoil her Wardens and all their friends!"
Scout wanted his breakfast too. He wheedled Bronwyn into giving him some of her buttered bread and a chunk of good smoked ham. Bronwyn rubbed his ears affectionately, amazed at her dog's courage and resilience.
"I wish we had a few more of him," Cullen remarked. "The Wardens would conquer the world!"
"Maybe someday," Bronwyn said. "It's not a bad idea. The griffons of old are gone, but they were useless in the Deep Roads anyway. Not like Scout!"
The dog looked up from his breakfast, grinning and licking his chops.
No one hurried. The big closed door might lead anywhere, though Bronwyn hoped fervently that it would lead them to the Urn. They packed up with great care. Bronwyn fastened some grenades to her belt, thinking of Adaia. That thought made her mind turn to Ostagar, and she wondered what was happening there.
And she thought of Loghain, of course. He had been displeased with her, haring off on what he thought a fool's errand. If the person afflicted had been anyone other than his daughter, her departure very likely would have meant the end of their alliance.
But Anora was his daughter, and he loved her deeply, though undemonstratively. To him, her life was no doubt worth all the blood shed for her yesterday—and all that might be shed today. If Bronwyn could bring the Ashes back to Anora, and if they did all that legend suggested, then Bronwyn would need no other dowry to take to her husband. Not that Loghain had ever said anything about expecting a dowry. If anything, Bronwyn hoped for a bridal gift that would include a gown or two... And definitely more hairpins. She struggled with her tangles, braiding them away a little more securely.
"Here," Tara said, handing Cullen another vial of lyrium. "Keep this on you. I have a feeling the next few hours are going to be rough."
They gathered at the doorway and Bronwyn nodded to Zevran. Cautiously, he pushed open the door. Like much of the temple, the next room was well-illuminated with torches and wall sconces filled with oil.
This, however, was not like the temple they had seen. What they saw now was a large chamber of half-finished stone and rough edges. Stalactites hung perilously from the ceiling. Of course the entire temple was essentially a cavern, but labor and art had smoothed and polished it like a jewel. This portion was left in a more... natural... state. More supplies were stored here, but mostly... it was full of rubbish. Trash. Even human waste.
"Well," Bronwyn said quietly. She hoped she would not do something appalling, like burst into tears. "This is disappointing."
Was this the end of the journey? They had not found the Urn in the temple, though they had approached each new doorway with high hopes. They had found treasure, and some admirable statuary, and precious, ancient texts by the score, but not the Urn, nor anything that could be construed to be an Urn.
"Look! There is a doorway leading off it. Perhaps there is a passage that connects with the rest of the temple," Leliana said, with forced cheer. "There must be something remarkable here...somewhere, for the people of Haven to defend it with such fervor."
Cullen nodded. "They spoke of seeing Andraste. Well, we haven't seen her so far. There must be more. I'm sure we didn't miss any other exits. Whatever is important must be further on."
Bronwyn turned to the others. "Zevran? Tara? Go on or go back?"
Zevran shrugged. "I am your sworn man. I go where you go, Noble One."
"Oh, let's go at least a little farther," Tara urged. "Maybe the temple was really more like a school… Yes, really. It had that big classroom place and those libraries. Maybe the real secrets are beyond the caves. We've got to try, anyway. We'd look stupid if we turned back now!"
Hoping for the best, Bronwyn slipped through the door quietly, and the rest followed.
They explored the chamber in silence. Aside from the one cave-like opening, they discovered no other hidden exits. It was not much more than a midden. There was nothing to be done but enter the tunnel.
It was a cave, but some work had been done over the years to make it easily passable. It was much darker than the temple. Oil lamps were set into the wall, but at long intervals. Bronwyn moved along, alert for any sound ahead of them. At her side, Zevran checked for traps.
After a short time, Bronwyn put up her hand. Just ahead, someone was…whistling. Whistling quite cheerfully, as they drew closer. There was a bend in the cave, and Bronwyn gestured everyone up against the stone, while they waited.
The young man was alone, and drew his blade as soon as he saw them. He was down and dead in seconds, and Cullen dragged the body out of sight. No one said anything. They simply moved on, deeper and deeper into the tunnels.
"At least," Tara whispered softly, "they're nothing like the Deep Roads."
That was true. That was something. Bronwyn felt a little cheered at Tara's words. The Deep Roads had been incomparably more horrible. Today they were moving down a rather clean cave tunnel, with a floor that someone had taken the trouble to smooth enough for easy travel. And whatever they found, it was impossible that it could be as bad as the Broodmother than had nearly blinded her.
They clung to the sides of the tunnel, moving along fairly quickly. The air changed, and up ahead they could see the sides of the cave open out to a chamber. Faint noise filtered back to them. This would be the first test.
"What it is?" Leliana whispered. "Some sort of work room?"
"Maybe."
A wide and high cavern, the roof supported by a single, massive, natural pillar. The pillar obscured the opposite side of the chamber. They could hear human voices, conversing in normal tones, and an odd squeaking and chittering.
"Some sort of machine?" Cullen guessed.
Scout sniffed the air, and then sniffed it again and growled, hackles rising.
"Shh!" Bronwyn gestured for silence, and the growl became inaudible, but Scout was no less alert. "All right... come on. Let's see what it is."
The faint squeaks exploded into high, horrible squeals, and around the pillar appeared a half dozen tiny dragons, running directly at them.
"Maker!" Cullen burst out. Everyone else said very much the same thing at the same time, with the occasional obscenity added.
Scout, who already had smelled what they were, was the first to know what to do. He barreled at the baby dragon in the lead and fastened his jaws at its throat, giving it a mighty shake.
"Come on!" Bronwyn shouted. "Tara! Watch out for—"
She stumbled, hit by a sickening green bolt of energy.
"—mages..."
Leliana was loosing arrows with astonishing speed at a pair of outraged warriors. Tara caught the opposing mage in a web of paralysis. Scout released the first dragonling, its neck broken, and leaped for another. More of the repulsive little monsters rushed at them, squeaking furiously. They were dangerous too: too young to flame, but big enough to kill with fangs and claws. Scout uttered an anguished yip as one of them raked him across the side. Bronwyn cut the dragonling's head off, and devoted herself to killing the rest of them, while the rest of the party killed the humans. Tara thumped her staff against the floor, satisfied, as the mage collapsed, frozen to death. One warrior tried to run, but Leliana's arrows brought him...her?...down.
Her, it appeared, on further inspection. The chamber proved to be quite interesting. There were many books, and various kinds of strange equipment, as well as some small flasks of blood, arranged on a very elegant set of shelves.
"No wonder Genetivi was interested in dragon cults," Tara whispered. "He must have figured out about these people. They really do live with dragons!" She reached for the book, but Bronwyn stopped her.
"Heal Scout first."
"Of course. Sorry, you good boy. You knew before we did, didn't you? You are so smart..."
Everyone's cuts and bruises were healed as well, and Bronwyn agreed that they needed to reassess their situation. She drew out the book on dragon cults and had another look.
"All right... "cultists... kill a small number of those young in order to feast on draconic blood. That blood is said to have a number of strange long-term effects, including bestowing greater strength and endurance... Nevarran dragon-hunters have said these cultists are incredibly powerful opponents.' Yes," she said wryly. "That certainly sounds like those Reavers."
"So they live with dragons," Cullen said thoughtfully, "but they don't worship them. They worship Andraste, however warped and confused their notions of her are."
Zevran thought they were missing the point. "They live with the dragons, my friend. They raise dragons. That means that somewhere soon we will come across dragons bigger than those little ones. Maybe very big."
"True." Bronwyn patted the grenades on her belt. "If they have young, then there is likely a mature female dragon and some drakes somewhere near Haven. These cultists bring the eggs here and care for them." She added slowly, "If the caverns contain a large enough chamber, some of the mature dragonkind might even live here. We had better be very careful."
"That dragon we killed in the elven temple wasn't so terrible," Tara recalled. "as long as you didn't let yourself get flamed. I've never seen a drake. They're the males that can't fly, right?"
"Right. But books say they can flame, so they're still dangerous." She patted the mabari's head. "If you smell dragon, Scout, let me know."
The dog yipped, nosing at the dragonling corpses. Dragons had a very strong, interesting smell. There might a good snack here later, when he was hungry.
"I wish Jowan were here," Tara said. "He'd be fascinated by all the new books."
"And the blood magic," Cullen muttered.
Tara made a face at him, and stuffed a thin volume into a pouch. "We don't know if we'll be coming back this way," she said earnestly, trying to excuse herself to Bronwyn.
"No more baggage," Bronwyn insisted. "I'm willing to bet everything I possess that we'll need to fight again—and soon."
Tara sighed to herself. There was so much here. Jowan would go wild for the books, of course, but so would Anders. Morrigan would pretend to be above it all, but she'd be cramming ancient tomes into her pack like everybody else. This was a treasure-house of knowledge, and no one but a handful of crazy dragon-fanciers had seen it. She played with the idea of mages hiding out here. If those Haven folk could conceal themselves, why not mages? Niall, now—he was an Isolationist. He'd love the idea of a society of mages, living free and independent lives in this amazing temple, studying and researching whatever they pleased. Of course, someone would have to cook the dinners... and raise the food... and make the beds. Tara was not sure that the Isolationists had quite figured out the minutiae of daily life. How would they get by, when there were only mages about, who knew next to nothing about anything practical?
The cave branched eventually. Bronwyn stood at the juncture, with no idea which way to go. Scout liked the right hand tunnel.
"It's a bit…smelly," Leliana said, making a face.
"If it's whiffy, that's probably why he likes it," Bronwyn agreed. Scout panted innocently, brown eyes guileless. "All right, we'll try it."
It got very whiffy indeed as they moved further, but they met no resistance—in fact no sign or sound of any humans. They heard, instead, the distant, distinctive bleat of goats.
"Perhaps this leads outside," Tara whispered.
Zevran did not think so. "There would be a breeze. We shall see."
It was well lit, and the tunnel bent in several places. They came to a widening of the path, and the way opened into a moderate-sized cavern.
A cavern that reeked of goat. Scout liked it very much, and trotted to a heap of dung, shoveled neatly into a corner.
"Well done, boy," Bronwyn snarked.
It was a cul-de-sac. It was evidently a place to store live food for the dragonlings. Other odds and ends were piled here and there, but mostly there were cages filled with wretched, frightened goats and filthy straw smelling of goat. The large pile of dung in the corner of the room, however, did not smell like goat…
Scout barked, and dashed to the tunnel entrance, growling.
Zevran grinned fiercely."Someone's looking for breakfast, perhaps?"
Not human footsteps. They were heavier, and somehow scratchier—an unfamiliar gait.
"Dragons!" Cullen shouted.
Three of them appeared around the nearest bend, moving fast, the biggest nearly as tall as a man at the shoulder. The long necks undulated, and the fanged mouths gaped, ready to inhale deeply.
Tara leaped forward and cast a freezing spell. "They're drakes, actually!" she yelled, pleased as the creatures slowed and whitened with frost. "No wings!"
Wings would have meant nothing under that low ceiling anyway. What mattered were the creatures' agility, their damnably hard scales, and their sharp edges. They were vulnerable where other dragons were vulnerable, though, and easier to reach than the bigger ones. One drake reared, lashing out with its formidable claws, but in doing so exposed a soft belly that Yusaris sliced open. Eyes and throats were pierced, and magic drained life from the hulking bodies.
The last drake standing, almost with its dying breath, loosed a blast of fire. Bronwyn and Zevran rolled out of the way, but only Tara's armor spared her a bad burn. The drake thrashed wildly, and then subsided. Scout trotted over to the one whose guts were spilled out, curious about what might be good.
"Watch out for the second stomach," Bronwyn warned. She pointed her booted toe at a black and glistening sac. "I think that's it. It's where their fire comes from and I think it would taste really bad."
So Scout snacked on a kidney instead, or what they thought was probably a kidney, though the size made it hard to tell. Scout liked it, anyway.
"It's so bloody," Leliana remarked. "Are you sure you want Scout licking up dragon blood? It might make him…well..."
"Like himself, only more so?" laughed Zevran.
"Come on, everyone," Bronwyn ordered. "And no, you can't bring the kidney with you, Scout. Drop it, ser! You've had plenty. I don't know," she said to Leliana. "The blood doesn't seem to be doing him any harm, and he hasn't had fresh meat in several days."
So it was back down the tunnel they way they came, Up ahead, they heard a man calling.
"Here, boy! Scorcher, where did you go this time? You are such a bad boy!"
"Oh, no!" Tara whispered. "We've killed someone's pet!"
The dragon wrangler had a pair of assistants, and all of them had maces, but they were ambushed and killed. As the companions followed the left hand tunnel, they came upon more and more people. They were always recognized as intruders, and all the confrontations ended in a final, lethal fashion. Further on was yet another branch in the tunnel, and once again Scout was interested in turning right.
"Oh, why not?" muttered Bronwyn. "We'll have to fight them all in the end, anyhow."
The right hand path led to a very large cavern, and they paused, looking it over carefully. Steam rose from the far wall, and it reeked of the now familiar scent of dragons. Scout's soft growl warned them in time to annihilate another mob of hungry, aggressive little dragonlings. A drake attacked, attracted by the smell of blood and strange humans.
And as they dealt with one danger, they moved on to another. A pair of Reaver guards came running, axes awhirl. They never reached the companions, between Tara's spells and Leliana's arrows.
"I am using a much heavier arrow for these men," Leliana informed them. "And poisoning my arrows, too. It is the safest way."
They all agreed that it was a very prudent practice; even more so when another drake came thundering out of a side chamber, and they were simultaneously hit with a burst of magical energy. Up some steps, a mage was casting from an observation platform.
"Deal with the mage, Tara!" Bronwyn shouted. "We'll take care of the drake!"
A good plan, if the mage Tara faced had been of the garden variety. Alas, this one was extremely powerful, with a long, long range. They hacked the drake apart with savage energy and then ran to support Tara against the this new danger.
Cullen did not dare summon a smite, for fear the enemy would finish Tara off before his own power was drained. Instead, he rushed up, and was promptly caught in a leg trap. Bronwyn swore, leaped past him. and found herself crossing swords with the mage.
"Andraste's Nightgown!" she shouted, fearfully startled. The mage was casting with the sword. And it was a real sword—in fact, a splendid silverite sword_ and what was more, the mage knew how to use it.
He was a powerful mage, but no more than a competent swordsman. In moments, Bronwyn's point had found its way past his guard, and he was spitted on her blade. He fell slowly, face filled with astonishment, hands grasping desperately for the jeweled hilt of his weapon.
Tara puffed up the stairs, exhausted and indignant. "He was tough! I didn't know that a little backwater like this could train a mage that well. Or maybe he was just really, really powerful! Ooo! He had a sword!"
"You have a sword,Tara," Leliana said kindly.
"It's not really real. It's a staff disguised as a fake sword. His sword is real, and he could cast with it!"
"This is quite the weapon," Zevran agreed, eyes alight at the beauty of it. He bent down and reached for it, and then dropped it with a pained curse.
"Braska! What kind of sword is this?"
Tara knelt down to examine it. Unlike most things in life, it looked even better close to than from a distance: the jewels rich, the setting finely worked, the chasing exquisitely detailed. She touched the hilt lightly, and then gripped it with growing confidence. "My kind of sword," she whispered.
"A magical sword?" Leliana wondered, feeling a ballad in there somewhere.
"Why not?" Bronwyn shrugged. "Magic is everywhere."
"I know you said we weren't supposed to take loot,"Tara said, "but can't I take this? Please, Bronwyn? It's a magic sword. I can cast with it and skewer people, too!"
"If you're going to use a real sword," Bronwyn said, "you'd best learn to use it properly. Zevran, see to it."
"With pleasure!" The assassin unbuckled the scabbard from the mage's corpse and slipped it over Tara's shoulder. Tara triumphantly sheathed the sword. feeling already that it was hers indeed.
"It will be extra weight," Bronwyn pointed out. "If it gets in the way of your casting, just drop it, and perhaps we can come back for it later."
"It's going to be fine," Tara promised. "I'll take off the fake and just wear this." With Zevran's help, she rearranged her weapons, and dropped the inferior weapon to the ground without another thought. "The sword's scabbard is gorgeous, too. Look! it even has a name! Yes, it does. It's written here in Arcanum: 'Spellweaver!' I like that!"
When in the ancient elven tombs she had communed with the spirit of long-dead arcane warrior. The visions they had shared rushed back, fueled by the touch of the sword. Tara suspected she would need little teaching. Flashes of physical memory came to her: the clash of sword on sword, the edges charged with magic and purpose. She was stronger, and she would be stronger still...
Beyond this cavern they came upon what appeared to be a kind of hatchery of dragon eggs. Two mages and their assistants were working there, and put up a brief resistance. This was a strange place indeed: the huge eggs were set into beautifully made stands, and lamps were set up illuminate the long stone tables and the eggs. The companions shook their heads. The elaborate organization and tools were like nothing any of them had ever seen.
"They've been at this for ages," Cullen said in wonder. "Ages. They have devoted themselves to this horrible endeavor with all their hearts and souls. What a tragic waste."
"Leave it, Cullen," Bronwyn said. "There will be few enough of them left by the time this day is over."
They had to backtrack once again, and eventually found where the tunnel branched off.
"How long are these tunnels?" Tara complained.
Bronwyn wondered that herself. If they continued on and on like this, they would eventually have to camp, which was not a pleasant prospect. They had been making noise, too, and anyone else in the caverns must know that enemies were here.
Though how many more people could there be? The village of Haven, though it seemed prosperous enough, was not large. They could not hope to support many more warriors.
But a few more, certainly. There was noise up ahead: shouts and orders.
"They know we're coming," Cullen said.
Bronwyn smiled grimly. "They know someone's coming. They know nothing about us."
"Well said," Zevran agreed.
"Right!" said Tara. "They don't know about us being big damned heroes!"
An ambush materialized from behind a corner. Only two very strong opponents. A mistake, since they were facing six stronger attackers. The companions moved on, perceptibly higher and higher, and then Leliana exclaimed with relief.
"Look! Right ahead, the caverns connect with a finished corridor!" She whispered. "Perhaps that is the real temple!"
"If they know we're coming," Bronwyn whispered back, "we'll need to be wary for traps. Keep your eyes open."
So they saw the trip line, and Zevran disarmed it. A mage was waiting in a dilapidated chamber, along with some guards. They were dealt with, and the companions left only bloody corpses behind.
Bronwyn was wondering if they really would have stop and rest again. Not knowing what was ahead, she was not sure if she should let herself be tempted to see one more tunnel; one more chamber. Still, the longer they waited, the more advantage they gave to the defenders.
"Come on."
A chamber was up ahead. Bronwyn peered around the corner and at first thought it was obscured by steam, but then saw the fire burning in a big pit. A group of warriors were gathered around it, warming their hands. Others stood alert, waiting. Most interesting, however, was the shaft of sunlight breaking though an opening in the stone. Here was the exit to the surface!
Everyone had a look, and then they moved back to confer.
"I think these must be the last," Cullen said. "There's at least one mage there."
"I'm surprised they haven't laid any more traps," Bronwyn said. "They seem to be simply…waiting."
"Maybe they want to talk," Zevran suggested. "Considering what has happened to everyone else in the caverns, I would want to call a parley, were I in their shoes."
"All right." Bronwyn thought quickly. "We'll confront them. If they want to talk, we'll hear what they have to say. I may have to think on my feet. Tara, keep your eyes on that mage."
It was not the mage who stepped forward to speak to them, however, but a very impressive man with an axe.
"Stop! You will go no further! Who are you?" he demanded, bristling with anger, his voice booming in the enclosed space. He was tall: as tall as Loghain, with the same dark hair, but with a heavy beard and a darker complexion. Under black brows, dark eyes burned with rage. He glared at her furiously, taking in every detail of her appearance. "You have defiled our temple, spilled the blood of the faithful, and slaughtered our young! You will tell me now, intruder, why you have done all this!"
Bronwyn glanced around the chamber quickly, taking in the number of men and their weapons. She and her companions had been fighting all day, and these men were fresh. Perhaps a soft answer was best—at least to start with.
"I am Bronwyn Cousland, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. We did not come to attack you. We did not come to kill anyone. We came for the Urn of the Sacred Ashes, and we will not leave until we have set eyes upon it."
The man was incredulous. "You have done all this for a worthless relic? The Urn has no value to us. It contains only the remains of Andraste's former manifestation. We, who are privileged to serve the living Andraste, have no time for such trifles."
"The living Andraste?" Cullen said, shocked and disbelieving. "You cannot mean that!"
"Andraste died many ages ago," Leliana said earnestly.
A scornful laugh. "You know nothing! So know this, strangers: the Prophetess Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to Her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine. We are Her chosen."
"That's..." Bronwyn managed, trying not to gape like a fool. "That's... an extraordinary claim."
The dark man seemed gratified by her astonishment. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Father Kolgrim. leader and guide to the Disciples of Andraste. She is no long-dead myth, but a living being of immeasurable power. Long ago we were chosen to serve Her, and so we have for these ages past."
"And yet you have kept her secret," Bronwyn said, "Why? All Thedas reveres Andraste and would welcome her return. Why does she not reveal herself?"
Kolgrim studied her, dark eyes considering. He smiled faintly.
"She is not yet ready to make Her power known. None but the Disciples may approach Andraste. When the time is right, She will descend upon the nations in fiery splendor, and all will know Her. I warn you: kill us, and you will face Her. She will smell our blood upon you and Her wrath will be great."
"I told you," Bronwyn said, an edge to her voice, "We are not here to kill, but to find the Ashes. What has become of them?"
Kolgrim scoffed, with a quick, strong gesture of dismissal. "They are still within the funerary temple, but we care nothing for them. Why would we need them, when Andraste in all Her glory walks and breathes among us? But you, who want the Ashes... Many have come here, but only you have had the skill and fortitude to pass the temple. Perhaps there is a way to atone for your recent transgressions..."
Bronwyn held up her hand to silence her own people. "What do you mean? Why would you wish to cooperate with one you consider an enemy?"
"Perhaps…" Kolgrim said, eyes intent on Bronwyn's fair face, "Perhaps I believe in second chances. All of us stumble through the darkness before being found and shown the light. Perhaps...through Andraste's mercy, Her greatest enemy could become Her greatest Champion."
Bronwyn frowned at him, waiting.
Kolgrim said, "The Ashes you seek are not a half-mile away, up through the cavern and in the midst of the next mountain to the east. An immortal guardian protects the shrine, but the being rejects us and refuses to recognize the truth of the Risen Lady. The Ashes are the merest remnant of a dead woman, but they prevent the holy Andraste from fully realizing Her new form. The Beloved needs to reclaim the Ashes, to make them Her own again. With a few drops of the Risen Andraste's blood, the link to Her old incarnation would be severed. Blood carries power, strength, knowledge. Through it, all the power that is held in the Ashes will be returned to our Lady. Take a vial of Our Lady's Blood, and empty it into the dead Ashes."
Mutiny boiling behind her, Bronwyn shook her head. "I cannot promise such a thing. I need the Ashes to heal a sick woman."
"You need only a pinch for that," Kolgrim quickly assured her. "Take that pinch for yourself, then complete your quest, and release Andraste!"
"Why would this guardian admit me to the shrine?" Bronwyn asked. "You have... disciples...you have warriors. Why not go yourself?
"The guardian knows us. We cannot overcome him, for he draws his strength from the Ashes. We cannot so much as enter the precinct. But you—you are unknown to him. He would take you for a pilgrim. You could deliver to Our Lady what is rightfully Hers. You could enter the shrine, perform this service, and then Andraste would be revealed to all the nations of Thedas. The rewards for performing such a service would be great indeed."
"Rewards are always good," Zevran observed softly. Bronwyn shot him a quelling look.
"What rewards do you offer?" she asked Kolgrim bluntly.
"There is great power in the Our Lady's blood. As Andraste's True Champion, you would be admitted to our ranks as an honored sister, sharing in the power of Her Blood. Through Andraste's guidance we have learned to harness that power. All these secrets would be yours."
"Bronwyn!" Cullen burst out, "You can't consider this!"
Bronwyn lowered her voice, and spoke to Kolgrim in a show of agreement. "I think we can work together, but it will be difficult to convince my people. I must speak to them and make them understand."
"Be quick!"
Bronwyn turned her back to the man and walked away, gesturing her friends close. Cullen was bright pink, and Bronwyn thought he was about to pop a blood vessel. Leliana's eyes were wide with horror.
"Shhh!" Bronwyn hushed them, hardly moving her lips. "Play along. The odds aren't with us. Let him think we agree, and he'll show us the way to the shrine. Make a show of unwillingness if you like, but follow my lead." She spoke louder. "But would you really defy the will of Andraste?"
Leliana, as a bard, caught on immediately. "Wouldn't it be wonderful," she said distinctly, "to see Andraste with our own eyes!"
Zevran, too, played his part. "I am your sworn man. It matters little to me. If this is your path, I shall follow, as always."
"I don't know…" Tara's pretense of uncertainty was almost overdone. "We really need the Ashes!"
"As long as we get a pinch first, that's all we need!" Bronwyn said, with more conviction than she felt. How did this Kolgrim know that only a pinch would do?
Cullen's acting was better. He bit his lip and said reluctantly, "If you're sure this is the right thing, Bronwyn…"
"I'm absolutely sure," Bronwyn said confidently, her voice pitched carefully for Kolgrim's ears. "We can save the Queen and serve Andraste at the same time. The power Kolgrim speaks of could be a new advantage against the darkspawn. Every weapon is permissible to a Grey Warden." She turned, her face a mask of calm intent.
"We agree. Give me the vial of blood. As long as I can secure a pinch of the Ashes, it seems that our purposes are not at odds."
The Disciples muttered, glaring balefully at Bronwyn. Kolgrim, however, seemed pleased. "Very well. Take this," he said. He pressed a golden vial into her hands, his touch lingering longer than was entirely necessary. "Now I shall go before you, and beseech the Holy Andraste to let you pass safely into the inner sanctum. Follow me, but at a distance."
Outside the caverns, they found themselves in a barren no man's land, flat and burnt off, separating the two mountain peaks. A long stone road connected them, with bluffs rising up along either side at the far end. Kolgrim strode quickly away, with barely a glance behind to assure him that Bronwyn was coming. Further off to the right were the ruins of an ancient pavilion—possibly yet another shrine. The air was cold and unbelievably clear, hinting at things undreamed of.
"At last we see the sun again!" Leliana said in relief. "Those caverns suck all joy and beauty from life."
"They still weren't as bad as the Deep Roads," Tara insisted. "If it weren't for the people who tried to kill us, exploring them could even be fun!"
"We don't know that others won't try it...and very soon," Cullen pointed out.
"They won't—not if Bronwyn plays on 'Father' Kolgrim's manly feelings," Tara smirked. "I think he fancies her."
"He does not," Bronwyn growled.
"Don't, Tara," Cullen said, thoroughly annoyed. "That's a horrible thing to say."
"But he does!" laughed Zevran. "Tara is absolutely right. You, Noble One, are irresistible to irascible black-haired, black-hearted men."
Leliana touched Cullen on the arm. "I saw him looking at Bronwyn, too. He was curious about her helmet, but like Tara, I think he was softened by her appearance. It is not so surprising, after all, is it?"
"He's disgusting," Cullen insisted. "He and his heretics. What vile people, to plot to sully the sacred Ashes in such way."
"Whatever his motives," Bronwyn said, tired of the discussion, "we are here to find the Ashes, not to fight heretics. If we succeed in finding the Ashes, I hope we can find another exit from this place, and avoid these madmen entirely."
Cullen grumbled, but did not disagree. "But someday," he said darkly, "we'll be back..."
Further out, the wind picked up, clean and bracing. Feathery clouds wreathed the peaks in white, and shadows were already lengthening across the valleys. In this golden light, spellbound and lowering, anything might be possible.
"A fine place to meet Andraste!" Zevran grinned. "The air is full of gods!"
"I'm quite sure they're not our sort of gods," Cullen muttered.
"Father Kolgrim says he's going to show us Andraste," Leliana said, with a hint of hope. "I for one would like that very much."
"It's not going to be Andraste," Cullen said wearily. "It's going to be some sort of ridiculous idol, and we're going to have to pretend to be impressed, to keep up this imposture."
Kolgrim was waiting for them under a sheer bluff, accompanied by two of his Reavers. A pair of archers were off to the side. Bronwyn considered a surprise assault then and there, but was held back by a certain curiosity. Would it be a mere silly puppet-show, impressive only to inbred yokels, or would it be a true wonder?
The man himself was looking back at her with…well, not exactly a smirk, but an expression of satisfaction, as of one who held the winning cards. In his hands was an ornate horn, magnificent with gold mountings. The horn was a curious shade of rich lavender. Bronwyn wondered how they had dyed an ox horn such a beautiful color, until she realized…
"That is the tip of a dragon horn," she said.
"Blessed Andraste! You're right!" Cullen gasped. Then he calmed himself. "We know they raise dragons here. It is hardly surprising that they have some of their remains."
Kolgrim lifted the horn and blew into the golden mouthpiece. A terrible music rang up to the cloud-capped mountain peaks. An even more terrible roar woke the echoes in reply. A huge shadow detached itself from the top of the bluff, and with a deafening thunder of wings, descended upon them.
"Maker!" Bronwyn gasped. Running would do no good. No good at all.
The dragon soared lazily over their heads and settled onto the path before them, shaking the earth. It was a healthy High Dragon, considerably larger than the form Flemeth had assumed. Kolgrim did not flinch or retreat, but adopted a servile demeanor. He crossed his arms before him, and bowed low.
Bronwyn, sword in hand, looked at her friends with a wild surmise. In their eyes she saw reflected her own sudden, utter comprehension.
This, then, was Andraste.
"You see now?' Kolgrim demanded, eyes riveted on the monstrous beast confronting them. "She has risen, and is more glorious than all the Old Gods combined. Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay Her now!"
Personally, Bronwyn thought the dragon-hunting expedition that had faced Flemeth could handle this creature quite well. Perhaps with more archers, and more bombs... but no, they could take her. Her own small party, however, was neither armed nor armored nor prepared to survive a battle with this creature. Tactful lies seemed the best weapon at the moment.
Kolgrim walked forward, straight toward the slavering jaws of the dragon. Bronwyn thought he deserved points for that, dragon-worshipping zealot or not.
"O Beloved Andraste! Most Holy Andraste! We praise Your name! I bring before You Your true Champion. Permit her to pass, Beloved One! Let her pave the way for Your glory!"
Andraste appeared to be thinking about it. If the dragon decided instead that they all looked tasty, Bronwyn wondered if Kolgrim would put up a fight. Probably not. He would probably think being eaten by the "Beloved" was some sort of honor. And then she remembered the girl's words about poor Brother Genetivi.
"He was given to Andraste..."
Maker! These bastards had fed Genetivi to this monster! It was all she could do to keep a moderately worshipful look on her face. She supposed it was quite all right if she looked rather frightened, as well. She was, in fact, fairly terrified. Beside her Scout growled and backed away slightly, clearly thinking that it was time to leave. Bronwyn took a quick glance at her party.
Tara and Zevran looked as scared as she felt herself. Cullen was afraid, but filled with righteous wrath. Leliana looked frightened, too, but also bitterly disappointed. There was no holy mystery here, after all: just a pack of inbred lunatics who had backslid into Tevinter-style dragon worship, with the added fillip of naming their 'god' Andraste. It was horrifying and ugly and pitiable; not a vision of the Divine. This dragon was not Bronwyn's sort of god at all—or Leliana's, or Cullen's, or of anyone else who possessed a shred of sanity. The creature's strength, however, deserved the respect accorded any supremely dangerous enemy.
"You are right," she choked out to Kolgrim through numbed lips. "'Andraste' is glorious."
An endless, endless wait. Bronwyn momentarily expected a mighty inhalation that would signal a blast of flame, and readied herself to leap aside. Instead, the beast looked them over, and then suddenly flapped its wings, staggering them with the force of the downdraft. It took to the skies with a triumphant bellow, and flew back to its lair at the top of the bluffs. Kolgrim watched its every move, eyes glittering in rapture. After a deep, reverential sigh, he turned to Bronwyn.
"The Beloved Andraste will let you pass. Go, and may Her strength uphold you. You know what you must do."
"That was smart, Bronwyn," Tara babbled, as they walked quickly and rather unsteadily toward the door to the inner shrine, trying to ignore the ominous rumbling above their heads. "That was really smart to make them think we were going to do what they wanted. If we'd just killed those crazy men in the caves, the dragon would have come down right on us in the open, and we would have been roasted. Just roasted and eaten up like crispy bacon—"
Zevran put his arm around her shoulder. "Hush, carina. We will survive this, as always. Right now the big dragon is our friend."
Cullen wiped his mouth. "It is no dishonor to use guile when dealing with infidels. You were right to find a way past the dragon, but we must cleanse the world of this ghastly cult. Who knows how many innocent people have been murdered in the name of their false god?"
"Dragon cults," sighed Leliana. "Poor Brother Genetivi knew what waited for him in Haven. I wish he had made his notes clearer. I wish he had told us. He knew what he was walking into—"
"—Or thought he did," Bronwyn said shortly, not liking to ponder Genetivi's last moments. When the fanatics were done with him, he had been fed to a dragon. A dragon. What a cruel end for that mild-mannered, decent scholar.
"And I'm sure that Kolgrim is interested in you," Leliana went on, the words tumbling over each other, "and in your helmet. He looked at it again, as if he recognized it. Perhaps there have been Grey Wardens here before..."
That was not a pleasant thought, either.
They desperately needed rest and food, but they could hardly take either here, out in the open, with a dragon sitting atop the bluffs, and Kolgrim and his fellow maniacs staring at them at a distance. They would have to try to enter the shrine, and Bronwyn hoped they would not have to fight for their lives the moment the door was opened.
Thanks to my reviewers: Costin, Zikram Krais, demonicnargles, Aoi24, Blinded in a Bolthole, MsBarrows, tgcgoddess, Have Travel, riverdaleswhiteflash, Zute, KnightOfHolyLight, Rexiselic, Nemrut, Shakespira, JackOfBladesX, Jyggilag, Enaid Aderyn, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Josie Lange, Girl-Chama, and Tyanilth.
I apologize if your name is not listed. FFdotNet was doing something strange last week, and I was unable to reply to some of your replies in the usual way. Since then, FFdotNet has dropped those reviews, and I can't even find the record of my reply! Your kind words and critiques are appreciated, though, as always.
A short chapter, but I was on vacation in Key West for most of the week with very little time to write. The next chapter will be the adventures within the Shrine and the conclusion of the Urn quest.