Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 89: Andraste's True Champion
"I hereby arrest the Grand Cleric Muirin for heresy!"
Those words, thrown out by the Knight-Divine like a gauntlet, shocked and scandalized some of the Landsmeet and infuriated the rest. The Grand Cleric's companions, Templar and priest alike, rallied to her, the priests supporting her, the Templars forming a protective circle. Ser Otto and Ser Irminric were in front: Irminic glowering and Otto serenely confident.
Sister Justine whispered protests to Sister Rose. "He hasn't the authority! Not unless he's been given apostolic powers by the Divine herself and... er... oh, dear... Maybe he has!" Sister Rose's face was as panicked as her own must be.
Bronwyn rose from her throne before Loghain could stop her, and stalked down to confront the Knight-Divine.
"The Grand Cleric is going nowhere with you!"
Duke Prosper edged close to Ser Chrysagon, and whispered urgently, "Are you mad? Are you deliberately provoking them?"
In a ghastly flash of insight, it occurred to him that those might be indeed the Divine's orders: to provoke an unforgivable scene resulting in their deaths. Perhaps that was exactly the casus belli that the Divine wished. He himself had been somewhat out of favor of late, and had looked upon this mission as a chance to raise himself in the Empress' eyes. Perhaps she had viewed it somewhat differently. Chrysagon was a fanatic, and coming close to the end of his active service, due to his heavy indulgence in lyrium.
The Templar pushed Prosper away, and took a heavy step toward Bronwyn. Scout, sensing the big man's ill intentions, bounded down from the dais more quickly than any human could manage and barked angrily. Without breaking stride, the Templar kicked out with his steel-shod boot, and caught the surprised mabari in the ribs. With a pained yelp, Scout twisted away from the full force of the kick, and prepared to spring on this enemy and rend him.
"Scout! To me!" cried Bronwyn. However satisfying it might be to see the Knight-Divine mauled to death by a mabari, it probably would not do Ferelden's reputation much good with the rest of the Thedas.
A terrible, shocked silence fell. It penetrated even Ser Chrysagon's understanding that perhaps he had overstepped his limits, though he was not entirely sure why. After all, he had only kicked a dog.
Duke Prosper had the sense to frame it quite differently. Ser Chrysagon had kicked the Queen of Ferelden's dog. In Ferelden. In front of a great many angry Fereldans and their dogs. Loghain was coming down the dais now, and was reaching for his sword.
Prosper's chances of leaving this country alive were shrinking to a tiny window—
He reached out, and spun the Templar around. A single punch to the jaw put the man down. The Duke immediately dropped to one knee in front of Bronwyn. The huge dog at her side panted, jaws slavering.
"Pardon, Your Majesty! The Knight-Divine is ill! He is deranged! Spare him, I pray you!" And then, he held his breath, wisely not looking the young woman in the eye. Instead, his fixed his gaze on the glittering hem of her gown, and took quick glances from side to side with his peripheral vision.
There was noise now, hushed but expectant. People were chattering and gesturing. Some were chuckling at the brawl, which while not as thrilling as a duel, still provided them with entertainment. Dogs were barking and growling, baring their teeth. It was a thoroughly bad situation, but he had given the Fereldans a pretext for allowing them to live.
And besides, Chrysagon was a madman.
Anders moved through the crowd, and cast a healing spell on Scout. The dog was only bruised, but humans, he had found, often were more sympathetic toward the sufferings of animals than toward those of their own kind. Some coos of sympathy and approval were directed his way. Immediately, he withdrew behind the rest of the truculent Wardens, who were crowding up near Bronwyn.
"I can cast a sleep spell on the Knight-Divine, Your Majesty," he said, in a voice at once manly and subservient, perfectly pitched to carry. "Perhaps after a healing sleep, he may come to himself once more."
"Grand Cleric," Loghain said, "This man began his raving insults with you. What do you wish done with him? His behavior deserves a cell at Fort Drakon or worse."
Muirin paused, wondering what she ought to do. Harrith whispered in her ear.
"It could be that it's the lyrium, Your Grace. It could be. With the strain and the sea voyage, it could be early collapse. Another voyage in this weather might kill him."
Muirin raised her voice, hating the easy escape, hating the deception, hating everything that sullied that one thrilling, never-to-be-forgotten moment when she seen Andraste's power for herself. She dipped her hand into her pocket, and found the inextinguishable warmth, drawing strength from it.
"Your Majesties," she said. "If the Knight-Divine truly wishes me to travel to Val Royeaux, I shall go—"
Cries of "No!" interrupted her. Some of them came from her own people. Bronwyn glared at her, furious. Muirin put up her hand to be heard.
"—in the spring. I would go now," she said, "if I thought I could survive the winter in a ship. I will go in the spring and present myself to the Divine. I shall go as soon as the Waking Sea is free of ice. Duke Prosper, as the Knight-Divine appears to be indisposed and unable to attend to practical matters, I will tender the written account of the miracle to you, and I charge you to deliver it into the hands of the Divine. She will have time to ponder it before my arrival."
"Gladly, your Grace," Prosper assured her. Things were looking better. If he was charged with an errand, there was yet another reason to let him live and sail away; far, far away from this land of bandit kings, of fierce, green-eyed queens, of unnaturally intelligent dogs, and of impolitic, inconvenient miracles. He could not wait to read the Grand Cleric's account. For that matter, it might even be true. Truth was, after all, very often stranger than fiction. That did not mean, of course, that the Divine would allow herself to be convinced by something so very contrary to the political currents in Orlais.
"You cannot mean to go before the Holy Office," Bronwyn hissed at the older woman. "It is tantamount to suicide!"
"It is not suicide," Muirin said. "It is bearing witness. I can do no other. though I perish for it. What is a priest, but one who bears witness to the truth of the Maker? I do not fear the truth, though it might be distasteful to those for whom the Chantry is only yet another path to worldly power. I saw a miracle. Yes. I saw it. I witnessed it in a conclave of priests and Templars. I will never deny it, though the fire burn and the blade pass the flesh. I would go to Val Royeaux, but I cannot go now, not when there is a strong chance that the ship would sink in a storm or I would die before I had a chance to speak in my defense. Yes," she said, feeling a little braver. "I shall go, but in the spring."
She could not risk dying at sea. If that happened, the Fereldan Chantry would be left without clear leadership. The Divine might send one of her favorites to create even greater fractures among the faithful. It was clear that the Divine wished to remove her from office. If she had just a little longer, she could ordain more priests and prepare her people for the inevitable onslaught. Just a little longer, and perhaps Beatrix would die, and a Divine of stronger will and less loyalty to the Empire might be elected...
"Meanwhile," Loghain said, "what is to be done with him?" He waved a contemptuous hand at the Knight-Divine, who was stirring, moaning, on the stone floor.
"He is my responsibility," Muirin said. "Let him be taken to the Cathedral where we can care for him. His duties, it seems, have become too onerous for him. Let the mage cast a spell of sleep on him, lest he harm others or himself."
Anders smiled, and cast the most powerful, crushing, repressive sleeping hex in his power, relishing the public permission from a priest. It was sweet.
With consideration, feigned by some Templars, but quite genuine in Otto's case, Ser Chrysagon was loaded onto a litter, and carried out to the Grand Cleric's carriage, to be taken to one of the clean, comfortable cells in the Cathedral set aside for Templars who had at last become dangerously addled by their addiction to lyrium. Most were eventually sent to the hospice in Val Royeaux, to be tended by the well-trained brothers and sisters there. Some were too ill for the journey, and those were cared for in Denerim. Ser Chrysagon would very likely be one such, though Muirin's conscience pained her. She did not think it was lyrium talking in his case: she believed that the man simply had no respect whatever for Ferelden and its inhabitants, and had lost his temper.
Bronwyn pointed at the discarded box on the floor. The gold and sapphire ornament had spilled out, gleaming. "And do take him his present," she said acidly. "Perhaps it will please him to contemplate it."
"Your Majesty," Nathaniel Howe spoke up. "After the Knight-Divine's wild words, there is bound to be speculation and gossip. Might I suggest that it would be better to be told the true facts? Could the Grand Cleric be prevailed upon to tell the Landsmeet the result of her investigations? If Andraste has made a miracle in Ferelden, that is a holy thing, something to be honored and celebrated throughout the kingdom."
"I agree," Kane Kendalls called out. He wanted to know. The Council never told him the juicy bits. Besides, the Knight-Divine was a bastard who kicked dogs. Kane thought hanging was too good for anyone who'd hurt a dog. Anything that got the Orlesian dog-kicker that wound up was something Kane favored.
"Loghain," Wulffe growled in an undertone. "Better to get it out there. Bronwyn's been too modest about it, after all."
"Yes," Loghain said aloud. "Grand Cleric, the truth should be known."
Bronwyn sighed deeply, feeling rather sick at the prospect, and went back to her horribly uncomfortable throne. "If that is the wish of the Landsmeet, then I agree, but let it be known that it was never my intention to boast of this."
The Grand Cleric was too exhausted to tell the story herself. Instead, she beckoned to Sister Justine. Muirin had suspected there would be some sort of scene at the Orlesian's leave-taking, and had ordered a copy of the transcript brought to the Landsmeet in case she needed to refresh her memory.
Sister Justine was shown to the speaker's platform, and glancing about nervously, began reading.
"Minutes of the Examination of Lady Bronwyn Cousland, this first day of Umbralis,, Dragon 9:30. In attendance at the conclave:
Grand Cleric Muirin, officiating.
Revered Mothers Perpetua, Boann, Rosamund, Damaris, Eudoxia, and Juliana.
Knights-Commander Harrith, Rylock, Bryant, and Greagoir. Templars Ser Otto and Irminric.
Sister Justine, curator of holy artifacts.
Sister Rose, conclave clerk
Demelza, a child of the Chantry
Also in attendance:
First Enchanter Irving of the Kinloch Hold Circle of Magi.
Grey Wardens Anders and Jowan. Grey Warden Leliana, formerly a lay sister of the Lothering Chantry.
Lady Bronwyn Cousland, Acting Warden-Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, as the individual to be examined in regard to claims made as to the discovery of the Ashes of Andraste, andin regard to a certain cure alleged to have been made of the Dowager Queen Anora by means of said Ashes.
The excited whispers faded, as the complete attention of the Landsmeet focused on the small and mousy figure in the speaker's platform.
Bronwyn was relieved, as Sister Justine kept reading, that this account was edited to reveal nothing about the other pinches of Ashes. It gave the impression that the child had been healed by the remains of the pinch that had been used for Anora. This was what the Grand Cleric had promised to do, but Bronwyn was rather surprised that she had kept her word in the official version intended for the Divine.
"And that's the end," Bronwyn broke in, after the final account of the events at Haven: the slaying of the High Dragon Andraste, the death of Cullen, and her warning to the villagers to desist from their murderous ways.
"Why isn't this a place of pilgrimage?" one old lady called out. "The Prophet's Shrine should be a place of worship and healing! Why is it being kept secret?"
Many voices supported this, and Bronwyn had a ready reply.
"Because it is dangerous!" she shouted, exasperated. "The journey is dangerous; the villagers are dangerous, and the caverns might harbor more dragons yet. The Gauntlet itself it dangerous. We found the remains of many who had failed and died. Yes, we hoped to make this public, but after the Blight is over and the way can be made safe."
Duke Prosper had listened to the entire tale with wonder and pleasure. It was better than the best bard's tale, full of variety, adventure, and tragic death. It was, he believed, largely true. Most impressive. His opinion of the young Queen rose accordingly. All the more reason to deplore her marriage to a man no better than Maferath. In fact, Loghain bore unpleasant resemblances to Maferath. It was astonishing that these bumpkins did not see that. One did not really factor the Maker into one's affairs—not if one were rational man of the world; but Andraste had clearly shown this young woman favor. It was something to consider seriously. If only she could be freed of her frightful mésalliance.
He had heard that she had previously killed a dragon, hence her sobriquet of Dragonslayer. That, however, had been a well-prepared expedition. This was something far more dangerous. How big was a High Dragon, really? Prosper had no real idea. However, he had hunted wyvern in one of his family estates, and they were quite dangerous enough. He even had tamed a wyvern and had trained it as a mount. Could one ride a dragon? All very interesting. Even more interesting were the things obviously not in the report.
Meanwhile, he wanted very much to take these papers, retrieve his luggage, and get out of this country. Loghain noticed him, and promptly ordered exactly that.
Bronwyn was put out at all the furtive, awed looks directed her way. Even Nathaniel and her own brother were being perfectly ridiculous. The Ashes were old news to her, but clearly not old news to most of the nobles of the Landsmeet. Rumors were one thing: the findings of the Chantry were something else. She overheard the murmurs about "Andraste's True Champion" throughout the evening. Loghain must have heard them, too. He was even more stone-faced than usual. Of course, dealing with the Orlesians earlier in the day had put him out of humor. At least he had had the satisfaction of one being tossed into custody at the Cathedral, and the other sent to sea in questionable weather.
She wondered at the depth of Duke Prosper de Montfort's loyalty. The Empress was not going to be pleased at any news he carried. Bronwyn thought that in a like case, she would make for the warmer seas of the Free Marches and winter in Ostwick or Hercinia. Of course, if he did that, he might not be able to return to Orlais… ever. At least he was no longer their problem. She was happy to leave the Landsmeet and the day's business behind
More pleasantly, the Nevarran musician Zoe Pheronis arrived for her private audience, along with adorable little Amethyne. Loghain grimaced at the thought of such frippery, but attended after all when he heard that Nathaniel Howe and the Hawke brothers were invited, as well as Fergus and Anora. The Little Audience Chamber was arranged with cushioned chairs. and in the middle of the room, some padded stools for the musicians.
The Nevarran was a woman of about fifty, handsome and well-preserved. It was possible that she was even older, but it was difficult to tell. Understanding that the Queen wished to see something unusual, she wore Nevarran dress. It differed from Orlesian styles in small but interesting necklines were lower; and the sleeves of the overdress were slashed from elbow to wrist, falling away from the tight undersleeves. It was quite attractive when she played the lute, and the color combination of greens and turquoise-blues was subtle and restful. She had devised a similar costume for the child out of the same materials. Of course, it took very little cloth to dress a slender little elf maiden.
She brought a number of instruments: a fat-bellied lute, a smaller mandora, a straight flute of—of all things!—dragonbone. She had a wide drum, called a drogedan, and rattles, bells, and a little triangle of silverite. Amethyne carried these in, with an important air, as well as her own little tambourine. Both the woman and the child made the most beautiful and elaborate curtseys before the King and Queen.
Amethyne was learning drumwork quickly, and accompanied her teacher both on tambourine and then on drogedan. The Nevarran woman was a superb instrumentalist. Bronwyn, accustomed to good quality music by Leliana, could tell that here was a true musician. Then Mistress Zoe played a Nevarran tune, and Amethyne danced for them like a leaping kitten, all quick grace and trailing scarves. It was really very charming, and Bronwyn thought her coin well spent.
After the applause died away, Bronwyn said, "Thank you, Mistress Zoe, and thank you, Amethyne. I am glad that you are making the most of your opportunity to study with such an accomplished teacher."
Zoe immediately bowed low once more, glancing quickly at Amethyne, who copied her perfectly.
"I thank Your Majesty. Allow me, I pray you, to express my gratitude at the opportunity to serve you in this. Also, indeed, for your gift of such a talented pupil. She is a joy to teach."
"You are from Nevarra originally, I understand," said Bronwyn.
"I am indeed, Your Majesty. The life of a minstrel is one of travel. It is some years since I saw the city of the Van Markhams, where I was born."
"I know little of Nevarra. I should like to hear some of your country's songs."
"As you wish, Your Majesty. I shall render them into your tongue."
They were quite nice songs, too, though the mode of their composition sounded a little odd to Ferelden ears. Many of them were about the land itself, and about the Minanter, greatest of rivers.
"Orlais, of course," said Mistress Zoe, at the end of a ballad, "is our great enemy. We have many songs about battles fought against the chevaliers and about how Nevarrans have resisted their invasions. Would it please you to hear one? I can render it, also, into your tongue."
"Yes," Loghain said shortly, before Bronwyn could make a gentler reply. The song proved quite gruesome.
"In Blessed Age eight forty-one the Orlesians formed a plan
To massacre us Nevarrans down by the River Vann
To massacre us Nevarrans and not to spare a man
But to drive us down like a herd of swine into the River Vann."
"Ah, those are the Orlesians we also know!" laughed Bronwyn, at the song's end. Loghain, she saw, was pleased, as he would be by anything vilifying Orlesians. "But tell me: it is true that the Nevarrans, unlike the rest of Thedas, bury their dead in elaborate tombs? I have read that in the works of Brother Genetivi."
"It is true, Majesty, though only the greatest and richest have the famous tombs that encompass gardens, baths, and ballrooms. Most families have small stone tombs, no bigger than a cottage, where the dead of a family are stacked in their coffins on shelves inscribing their names. That said, the Necropolis is a vast place and not one to linger in after dark, for many things walk there, and the least dangerous are the bandits who dwell in untended tombs."
"Might we hear a Nevarran tale?" asked Anora. "I should like that."
"I can relate to you a famous one, Majesty, that comes down from ancient times."
The Minstrel Zoe Pheronis' tale of Rhampsinitus and the Clever Thief
Lord Rhampsinitus was possessed, it is written, of great riches—indeed to such an amount, that no other noble of Nevarra surpassed or even equaled his wealth. To guard this great fortune, he had built a vast chamber of hewn stone, one side of which was to form a part of the outer wall of a new castle.
The builder, however, was corrupt, and contrived, as he was constructing the outer wall, to insert in this wall a stone which could easily be removed from its place by two men, or even one. So the chamber was finished, and the great lord's gold stored away in it.
The builder fell sick; and finding his end approaching, he called for his two sons, and related to them the contrivance he had made in the Lord Rhampsinitus' treasure-chamber, telling them it was for their sakes he had done it, so that they might always live in affluence. Then he gave them clear directions concerning the mode of removing the stone, and communicated the measurements, bidding them carefully keep the secret, and soon after, he died. The sons were not slow in setting to work; they went by night to the castle, found the stone in the wall, and having removed it with ease, plundered the treasury.
When the lord next paid a visit to his vault, he was astonished to see that the coin was sunk in some of the storage vessels. Whom to accuse, however, he knew not, as the seals were all perfect, and the fastenings of the room secure. Still, each time that he repeated his visits, he found that more gold was gone.
At last the lord determined to have some traps made, and set them near the vessels which contained his wealth. This was done, and when the thieves came, as usual, to the treasure chamber, one of them was caught in the trap. Perceiving that he was lost, he instantly called his brother, and telling him what had happened, entreated him to enter as quickly as possible and cut off his head, that when his body should be discovered it might not be recognized, which would have the effect of bringing ruin upon both. The other thief thought the advice good, and was persuaded to follow it; then, fitting the stone into its place, he went home, taking with him his brother's head.
When day dawned, the lord came into the treasure chamber, and marveled greatly to see the headless body of a thief in the trap, although the building was still whole, and neither entrance nor exit was to be seen anywhere. In this perplexity he commanded the body of the dead man to be hung up outside the castle wall, and set a guard to watch it, with orders that if any persons were seen weeping or lamenting near the place, they should be seized and brought before him. When the mother heard of this exposure of the corpse of her son, she took it sorely to heart, and spoke to her surviving child, bidding him devise some plan or other to get back the body, and threatening that if he did not exert himself she would go herself to the king and denounce him as a robber.
The son said all he could to persuade her to let the matter rest, but in vain: she still continued to trouble him, until at last he yielded, and contrived as follows: Filling some skins with wine, he loaded them on donkeys, which he drove before him till he came to the place where the guards were watching the dead body. Then, pulling two or three of the skins towards him, he untied some of the necks which dangled by the asses' sides. The wine poured freely out, whereupon he began to beat his head and shout with all his might, seeming not to know which of the donkeys he should turn to first.
When the guards saw the wine running they rushed one and all into the road, each with some vessel or other, and caught the liquor as it was spilling. The driver pretended anger, and loaded them with abuse. They did their best to pacify him, until at last he appeared to soften, and recover his good humor and set to work to rearrange their donkeys' burdens. Meanwhile, as he talked and chatted with the guards, one of them began to jest with him and make him laugh, whereupon he gave them one of the skins as a gift. They now made up their minds to sit down and have a drinking-bout where they were, so they begged him to remain and drink with them. Then the man let himself be persuaded, and stayed.
As the drinking went on, they grew very friendly together, so presently he gave them another skin, from which they drank so copiously that they were all overcome with liquor. Growing drowsy, they lay down, and fell asleep on the spot. The thief waited till it was the dead of the night, and then took down the body of his brother; after which, in mockery, he shaved off the right side of all the soldiers' beards, and so left them. Laying his brother's body upon the donkeys, he carried it home to his mother, having thus accomplished the thing that she had required of him.
When it came to Rhampsinitus' ears that the thief's body was stolen away, he was furious. Wishing to catch the man who had contrived the trick, he announced that he would bestow his own daughter upon the man who would narrate to her the best story of the cleverest and wickedest thing done by himself. If anyone in reply told her the story of the thief, she was to lay hold of him, and not allow him to get away.
The daughter did as her father willed, and the thief, who was well aware of the king's motive, felt a desire to outdo him in craft and cunning. Accordingly he contrived a clever plan.
He procured the corpse of a man lately dead, and cutting off one of the arms at the shoulder, put it under his clothing, and so went to the king's daughter after sunset. When she put the question to him as she had done to all the rest, he replied that the wickedest thing he had ever done was cutting off the head of his brother when he was caught in a trap in the king's treasury, and the cleverest was making the guards drunk and carrying off the body. As he spoke, the princess caught at him, but the thief took advantage of the darkness to hold out to her the hand of the corpse. Imagining it to be his own hand, she seized and held it fast; while the thief, leaving it in her grasp, made his escape by the door.
Lord Rhampsinitus, when word was brought him of this fresh success, was amazed at the wit and audacity of the man. He sent messengers throughout the city to proclaim a free pardon for the thief, and to promise him a rich reward, if he came and made himself known. The thief took the lord at his word, and came boldly into his presence; whereupon Rhampsinitus gave him his daughter in marriage. "My daughter," he said, "has not only a bold man as husband, but the most cunning in all Nevarra."
"You know what?" Carver whispered to Adam. "If I ever get caught in a trap, I don't want you to cut off my head."
Hawke laughed. "Likewise!"
They kept the minstrel talking for some time, telling them of the land and customs of Nevarra. Bronwyn bitterly regretted that she would not be going with the embassy. They more she learned of the interesting places they would be going, the more put out she was not to be part of it.
The last festive night of the Landsmeet was a little wearying. Everyone was ready for it to be over. Bronwyn herself, while she enjoyed the dancing, was not sorry to leave early. It had been eventful, but it had gone on too long. And tomorrow, they would have to deal with the Dalish grant.
She nearly fell asleep while Fionn was brushing out her hair. Loghain came in, and set about going to bed in his usual matter-of-fact way. In the midst of this, a footman appeared at the door with a message.
"Pardon, Your Majesty, but a courier from Ser Cauthrien has arrived."
"I'll see him in my study. Show him up." He turned to Bronwyn. "Later, then."
"Certainly not," Bronwyn said, wanting news of her Wardens. "I'll come with you."
"If you must."
He did not wait for her, and so Bronwyn threw on her scarlet dressing gown and practically ran after him. She did not notice the admiring looks of the guards.
"—Ser Cauthrien plans an early start tomorrow, Your Majesty, and will be here a little after midday. The weather looks to hold, and the roads are clear."
Loghain dismissed him, and read Cauthrien's letter.
Bronwyn shut the door and perched on the arm of Loghain's comfortable chair. "Tomorrow. They'll be tired, but they should come to the Landsmeet before the end and be honored. People really think we should do something for Alistair—"
"Yes, yes. I've already made plans for both of them."
"Really?" Bronwyn hardly knew whether to be pleased that he had thought of Alistair or offended that he had made said plans without her input. "Might I know what they are?"
Briefly, he outlined what he had in mind for them. He saw no reason why there would be serious opposition.
There was certainly no opposition from the Council. That morning, the last of their meetings during the Landsmeet, Loghain laid out his intention of creating two new bannorns in the west of Ferelden. Reports from army scouts and from the Wardens had made clear that the country there was chaotic and lawless. Firm hands were needed to establish order and keep the peace. After considering everything they had heard yesterday, it was clear that the area around Sulcher Pass must have a ruler. That bannorn would encompass the villages of Sulcher and Haven. Considering the strategic importance of the Sulcher Pass and the value of the ancient temple near Haven, he thought the best choice would be someone of proven military capacity; someone who had worked tirelessly for Ferelden security. Thus, Ser Cauthrien would be named Bann Cauthrien Woodhouse of Sulcher Pass.
Bronwyn realized with embarrassment that she had not even known Cauthrien's surname. It was not a very distinguished-sounding one, to be sure, but that might well change, over time. Before the Council could react to this appointment, Loghain went on
"There's that neck of land near Orzammar, too; just under the Waking Sea Islands. It's important to make clear that it's Ferelden. There's a little village—Stonehaven— up on the coast that's the biggest settlement aside from the trading camp by the Orzammar Gate. I've thought over this appointment, and I decided that the bann there should be someone known to the dwarves. A name was brought up earlier in the Landsmeet, and many people feel that the young man deserves some recognition for his birth. I know him, and I think he's a fine lad who'd be an asset to the Landsmeet. Therefore, I'm going to propose young Alistair—Warden or not—as the Bann of Stonehaven. I suppose we should grant him a surname of his own as well. I favor Fitzmaric, myself."
Bronwyn had thought that if he was given anything at all, Alistair's lands would be in the remote south. Apparently Loghain thought better of him than she had quite realized. Alistair's lands would be south of Alfstanna's, west of Bann Naois', and north of the royal desmesne at Gherlen's Pass. And important new foundation, and something else that the Orlesians might frown upon, not only because Alistair was a Warden, but because the borders that Loghain had sketched out on his map extended all the way to the Jader Bay Hills. Another provocation. Well, why not? As Nan used to say, "Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb."
"What a wonderful idea," Bronwyn agreed. "'Bann Alistair Fitzmaric of Stonehaven' sounds very well."
Anora knit her brow briefly, wondering if this might cause issues far in the future. At least father had not granted Alistair the name "Theirin." That would have been awkward indeed.
Teagan was extremely pleased, and less inclined to blame himself for his bungling earlier in the Landsmeet. If nothing else, he had made Alistair's name and heritage known, and now the boy would at last have some good from it.
Howe, Bryland, and Wulffe considered it the right and honorable thing to do. Kane was indifferent for a variety of reasons; among them the fact the new bann would be on the other side of Ferelden. Fergus knew that it was important to his sister, both as a form of restitution for one she felt had not been given the upbringing he deserved—and as her friend, of whom she was very fond. For that matter, Fergus liked Alistair for himself, and was glad that the young man would have recognition, and an establishment in the North.
"All right, then," Loghain said, looking at the faces around the table. "We'll start the session a bit later than usual. The Dalish know to be there, and I'll give orders for Cauthrien and Alistair to come to the Chamber as soon as they arrive."
Fergus grinned. "They won't exactly be dressed for Court."
"They'll look exactly like what they are," Loghain snorted. "Soldiers of Ferelden. That should be enough for anyone."
The children were coming to the last sessions, partly because it was historic, and also because they might not be seeing much of each other in the near future.
Bad as the weather was, Bryland wanted to take his new bride to South Reach, and show her the arling, and the arling to her. He needed to be sure that things were running smoothly and that his revenues were being paid in properly. The boys, too, would enjoy winter sports there, now that the south was no longer dangerous. Then, too, he felt that his daughter needed some privacy to enjoy with her new husband. She seemed very happy—very pleased with her choice. Dinner together every day might be close and familial, but they all needed to work on their marriages. The boys would miss the little girls, but they would treasure their meetings all the more for it.
Corbus, in fact, had begged him to take Faline and Jancy with them, saying that Habren would like it if they did. It was undoubtedly true, and Bryland was sorry for it, but he explained to the boy that Habren could not always have everything exactly as she would like, and it was important for Kane, Habren, and Kane's sisters all to learn to live together as a family. Besides, Kane was fond of his sisters and would miss them. Perhaps the girls could have a short visit this summer. Beneath his calm smile, his thoughts were racing.
If the darkspawn stay far away. If the Orlesians dpn't invade. If the Chantry doesn't declare an Exalted March on Ferelden.
Besides, he was not going to stay in South Reach very long. With the Orlesians making noises, he would need to be back in the capital by early next month. Even though South Reach was far from the border, he too would have a role to play in preparing the country for a possible invasion.
As to Leandra's daughter and niece, they had waffled back and forth about what to do. Originally, the plan had been for the girls to spend some time in the city of Amaranthine with Bann Adam. That was no longer feasible, as Adam was being taken by his Arl to assess the need for "Coastal Improvements." At least that was the story Adam told his mother. Leandra was not particularly happy about it, and not pleased that Carver, too, was leaving on an unspecified Grey Warden "mission." Bryland did not know all the details, but he knew that the embassy to Nevarra was leaving very soon. The fewer who knew, of course, the better.
Instead of going to the coast, the girls could join them in South Reach and thus would have the chance to see Leandra in her new role of chatelaine of Castle Byland. It would be especially good for Charade, who needed to understand what would be expected of her in West Hills. Wulffe was a widower, and his eldest son's wife would be the mistress of the castle. No time like the present to understand what that was all about.
It was just as well that they had done with the great public feasts. Tonight they would enjoy a quiet dinner at home, and retire early. By late afternoon the Landsmeet would be over, and tomorrow they would be on the road.
The stares fixed on the Dalish envoys to the Landsmeet ranged from wondering to disgusted to outright hostile. It was one thing to make good on poor Cailan's promise to the elves, and quite another to have to stand in close proximity to tattooed knife-ears. A Landsmeet was the time for the nobles to air their frank opinions, and some very nasty things were said to the elves' faces.
"—Land belongs to people who'll use it properly!" objected Bann Berthilde. "The Dalish are nothing but vagabonds and poachers!"
"—It seems to me," huffed Bann Everly, eyeing the ethereal young Merrill, "that some elven wench might have used her unnatural wiles on the young king!"
The Dalish, well-schooled by Marethari, only gave the shemlens filthy looks. They must remember the prize to be gained. It did not matter what was said, as long as the land was delivered to them. Cathair tugged at Danith's elbow, restraining her.
"Let the fools talk, lethallan," he whispered. "It is only so much wind."
Arl Wulffe glared at Everly, mortified that one of his own sworn banns would make this sort of trouble.
Bryland was equally annoyed. Raising his voice, he said, "I was in the King's presence when he raised the issue, and I saw no sign of undue influence. I was also present in my share of fights where the elves gave good service!"
Loghain, seeing Bronwyn's flushed, angry face, had something to say himself. "The Dalish kept their word to us. Now it's time to keep our word to them. This isn't the first time they've done Ferelden a good turn. No one lives on the land in question, and it suits the elves well enough. They'll use it," he said to Bann Berthilde, "as they see fit."
Then Teagan got up to speak, and gave an impassioned speech about his royal nephew Cailan, and what Teagan thought of those who sought to diminish his legacy. Cailan had believed that all his people deserved protection and a decent life—"
Anders muttered to Niall, "I never heard that he gave a fig for mages!"
"He used the term 'people,'" Niall whispered back, grimacing. "I don't think he—or the late king—meant us. Bronwyn—and I suppose Loghain, too—well, they've already done more for us that all the other kings and queens of Ferelden put together "
Teagan was going on at length, though, and people were listening. It was a good appeal to sentiment. Furthermore, many nobles hoped that if the Dalish had a bit of land of their own, they would stay there and not trouble honest folk.
The Grand Cleric, of course, had to bring up missionaries. Bronwyn was resigned to it. It was the priest's duty, after all.
Marethari answered, quite a good match for the Grand Cleric in the dignified old lady department.
"No harm will befall such travelers at our hands. This, I swear. Those who find their way to us will be allowed to speak their words in safety."
Tara, standing among the Wardens, smirked. She had had a very interesting conversation with Keeper Marethari yesterday. An interesting conversation and an even more interesting demonstration. Chantry missionaries would walk in circles, round and round the borders, never penetrating into the lands at all. Very few people knew about the ancient temple. They would assume that the Dalish had moved on to another camp. It would be formidable protection from all sorts of possible dangers: darkspawn, foresters, bandits, and yes, Templars. There must be some openings to allow forest creature their natural migration, but those would be guarded carefully. As the barrier would only extend up twenty feet or so, birds would be able to travel as they liked.
Anders saw her smirking and gave her a wink. Dalish Keeper and Circle mages were exchanging a great deal of interesting lore. Not everyone was compatible with the Arcane Warrior magic Tara had learned in the temple, but quite a few were picking it up. Morrigan had been surprised to learn that some Dalish mages knew shape-shifting. She had thought it was a secret known only to Flemeth, but that was not true. It was very difficult magic, however, and only the most powerful and the most attuned to the natural world learned it. Tara and Jowan had not taken to it. Niall was still studying various animals, trying to find one for which he felt an affinity.
Teagan finished his speech, and came down to considerable applause, smiling at an adoring Kaitlyn. Loghain, grimly pleased that Teagan had done the work for him, decided it was now or never, and called for a vote. Bronwyn bit her lip. She understood why Loghain did not want her to speak. She had already made a name for herself as a defender of elves and mages. It would be foolish to antagonize her human subjects by perceived favoritism, however ridiculous such an accusation would be.
A few curmudgeons actually voted against the proposal; there were about a dozen abstentions. It passed, and passed with a reasonable majority. Many nobles,in fact, were uneasy about opposing anything the Queen favored. The document was signed and sealed and copies given to the Dalish and retained for the Royal Archives. Sensing that it was time for an exit, Marethari led her people out of the Landsmeet Chamber. Afterwards, a number of nobles breathed sighs of relief and reassured themselves that their purses and jewelry were still in their possession.
A round of self-congratulatory speeches followed, as the Landsmeet wound down: banns praising themselves and the new King and Queen. Some speakers embarrassed Bronwyn as they went on about her personal relationship with Andraste as her "True Champion," predicting that the favor shown the Queen would extend to the nation as a whole. A few speakers expressed some alarm at the fraying relations with their nearest neighbor, and other expressed hopes that the Blight would be over by spring. Bronwyn did not allow herself to roll her eyes at such fatuity, but the rest of the Wardens showed no such restraint.
In the midst of this, a messenger came forward to whisper news to Loghain, who grunted an order to the man. Bronwyn looked a question, and Loghain gave her a nod. Shortly thereafter, Cauthrien and Alistair entered the Landsmeet followed by a retinue of officers and Wardens. Curious eyes followed them, and there were a few double takes when Sten joined them, easily towering over anyone else in the room. Not all Ferelden nobles had seen a Qunari for themselves.
Alistair shot Bronwyn a bright grin, which faded into confusion when he was urged forward, along with Cauthrien. He and his companions were not exactly at their best. They tracked in dirty slush, and to be honest, they were all a bit…whiffy. He had yanked off his ridiculous fur hat before entering the Landsmeet Chamber, but many of his companions had not, and the dwarves, especially, looked like an assortment of dirty, truculent stuffed toys. Oghren's hat was not only bearskin, but was most of an actual bear's head. Their entry was greeted by a few squeaks from the more sheltered noble ladies.
Loghain rose to his feet, and Bronwyn followed him a split-second later. Alistair thought she was looking fairly spiffy, crown and all. He wondered what the First Warden would say.
Looking about the room, Loghain said, "Ferelden is strong, and is growing stronger. To keep order within the realm, we must have leaders. Our reach is extending into the Frostbacks, and I, with the agreement of the Queen, the Chancellor, and the Council, have decided that these outlying lands will be formed into new bannorns. Ser Cauthrien, your loyal, courageous, and capable service make you our choice for the new Bannorn of Sulcher's Pass. Nobles of Ferelden, acclaim her."
Surprised and blind-sided, no one managed to put together a coherent opposition—or if they thought of one, they did not dare voice it. Applause and some resentful murmurs followed the announcement. Plenty of younger sons would have been glad of a chance at a new bannorn.
Eyes glittering with malice, Lady Rosalyn whispered to her younger son, "A handsome farewell present for a cast-off mistress! Everyone knows she's been his campfollower for years. Can't have her about now that he's decently married, and so he's sending her off to the far side of the kingdom! At least he hasn't produced any bastards... I hope..."
Her older son quieted her, hoping no one had overheard.
Still standing at attention before the throne, Cauthrien appeared quite shocked at the honor. Loghain gave her a hint of smile, and she responded with a salute. Then she blushed, realizing that she ought to have bowed.
"And you, Alistair," Loghain continued, turning to his old friend's son, and conspicuously leaving off the title of 'Warden.' "You have done good service in driving the darkspawn from Ostagar. Your father would have been very proud of you."
Alistair's jaw dropped. His blush was darker than Cauthrien's.
"There is no doubt," Loghain continued, "that by ability and birthright you belong in the Landsmeet. Therefore, we bestow on you the surname Fitzmaric, and the new bannorn of Stonehaven, knowing you will be a respectful neighbor to our brave allies the dwarves."
There was more generous applause for Alistair, especially from ladies who considered the tall figure clad in armor and wolfskin cloak very handsome and now very eligible. The dwarves, too, liked any favorable mention of themselves, and thought 'Stonehaven' sounded like a respectable sort of place. It had the word "stone" in it, anyway.
"Does anyone," asked Bronwyn, "oppose the appointments of Bann Cauthrien and Bann Alistair?"
No one did. The seneschal insinuated himself between the rather confused new nobles, coaching them through the rite of homage. First Cauthrien, and then Alistair approached the King and Queen and received the Kiss of Peace from each of them. Alistair grew pink with suppressed laughter. Loghain glared at him.
Just like his father!
Bronwyn kissed him on both his stubbly cheeks and gave him a wink.
"But—"
"Shhh!" she hushed him. "This is a good thing. We'll talk later."
The Landsmeet closed with pomp and circumstance, and then with dozens of nobles scrambling to be first out the door to their carriages. Bronwyn watched the carnage, laughing and unseen, from an upstairs window. Then she changed out of her royal trappings, and went to join the noisy reunion in the Wardens' Hall.
Those who had never seen it were given the tour. There was astonishment at Shale, and excitement at the comfort their quarters promised. Bronwyn showed Alistair the room that had been hers.
"This is yours, now, Senior Warden."
"It used to be Duncan's," he whispered, and then scrubbed at his eyes furiously with the heel of his hand. Bronwyn patted his arm, not willing to waste any more sentiment on Duncan, whom she liked less and less in retrospect. Briskly, she helped Alistair get organized in his new space.
"What's in that chest? It rattles."
Alistair was a little embarrassed. "It's loot, all right? We found lots of things when we were exploring the Deep Roads."
"That's wonderful," she said, opening it to have a look. "Oh! Very nice! You should wear that jeweled collar. In fact, go down to the stores and have yourself fitted up with at least one good doublet. We have heaps in the storerooms. You'll need it when you get invited to dinner. Don't make that sulky face. Fergus will invite you, and you can hardly complain about him."
"I like Teyrn Fergus all right," Alistair allowed.
"You'd better!"
Mistress Rannelly called them to dinner, and Alistair was out of the door before Bronwyn could pursue the matter.
"Maker! I'm starving!"
It had been a hard march, and the newcomers ate heartily. For the sake of camaraderie, so did all the rest. After that, the newly arrived Wardens were hustled into the study and given a dose of Avernus' potion, and then told briefly about Soldier's Peak. When that was done, the junior Wardens were dismissed to be happy, rowdy, and comfortable, and Bronwyn called all the rest to a long meeting. Some of it was repetition, but everyone was interested in what the others had been doing. Each made a detailed report of what they had seen and experienced. The dogs jostled their way into the meeting, enjoying the smells of pack members, old and new. Alistair was thrilled when the unnamed puppy sat beside him, listening for all the world like he understood the conversation.
The big news items were the slaying of the Architect, the curious withdrawal of the darkspawn, and the clearance of much of the Deep Roads.
"Now that the Landsmeet it over at last—" Bronwyn began.
Alistair interrupted. "—And I still have a bone to pick with you about that—"
"Later," Bronwyn said. "We'll get to that, I promise you. Now that the Landsmeet is over, I need to get back to Warden business. I'm going to take a party up to Soldier's Peak, mostly those who haven't seen it yet."
"I already called dibs!" Tara declared. "Brosca and I are first in line!"
"Oh, you're certainly coming along. Alistair, you just got here, so why don't you and your people rest a bit and hold the fort? Have some fun in the city and sleep in? You'd probably enjoy a rest from marching."
"No lie!" Alistair agreed.
"I need to go home, anyway" Adaia said, feeling very daring. "I need to see my family."
"Of course you do," Bronwyn agreed. "They'll want to see you. And Tara, you promised to go yourself. Go in the morning, and be ready to move out at midday."
Adaia punched Tara on the arm lightly, whispering.
"No," Tara said, "I don't think there will be any trouble. The new Arl of Denerim isn't interested in the Alienage at all, and I don't think he cares about Vaughan and Urien."
"I don't think he does," Bronwyn said with a nod. "All the same, I'm giving you the orders I've given everyone else, and pass them along to your junior Wardens. No one goes anywhere alone. When you do go out, you wear your Warden tunics. If you don't have one, go see Mistress Rannelly and she'll get you kitted out. The going out alone part goes for everybody, even nobles."
"That means you, Chantry Boy!" Oghren slapped the back of Alistair's head.
"Hey!" Alistair made a face. "Bronwyn, you said nobody would make me be anything I didn't want to be."
"I said," Bronwyn replied, "that no one would make you King. You're not King. Everybody felt that you deserved recognition. Teagan made a very stirring speech about you. Loghain, now that he knows you better, feels that you're someone the Landsmeet needs: someone not puffed up, someone who's known hardship and battle. It was the decision of the Landsmeet, Alistair. Obviously, both of us have to put our duties as Wardens first while the Blight lasts. We can but hope the Blight does not last for the rest of our lives."
"What are we supposed to call you now?" asked Carver.
"'Bronwyn' here amongst ourselves, or 'Commander' if you're feeling formal. If you speaking of me to someone else, maybe you should refer to me as 'Her Majesty,' or just as 'the Queen.'" She thought again, "Or as 'Queen Bronwyn' if my stepdaughter is anywhere in the vicinity."
Anders said, perfectly straight-faced, "I think we should always refer to you as "Andraste's True Champion."
"Please don't," Bronwyn said, looking pained.
"Or as 'The Dragonslayer,'" suggested Morrigan, with a faint, sly smile.
"Very funny. I thought 'The Girl Warden' was annoying enough."
"Who else is going to Soldier's Peak?" asked Tara.
"You and your your party," said Bronwyn. "Along with me. Anders, Morrigan, Carver, Zevran, Aveline, Toliver, too. Some others will be traveling with us, too, but they have a different mission. And Loghain."
"Ha!" Brosca burst out laughing. "The Big Guy doesn't want to let you out of his sight, does he?"
Bronwyn shrugged, smiling a little, "Something like that." She saw Alistair, still brooding over his new title. "Alistair, it's done; and it should have been done a long time ago."
"But what's the First Warden going to say about us?" he pleaded. "Me a Bann, and you a…a Queen!"
"At the moment," Bronwyn said, iron in her voice. "I really don't much care about the opinion of the First Warden. I've written to him about the talking darkspawn we killed in Amaranthine. I've written to a lot of the Warden posts. The Warden-Commander of Nevarra wrote back, telling me that all the Wardens have been forbidden to help us in any way. He believes it's Orlesian influence, and that nearly everyone thinks Ferelden too unimportant to be the real target of the Archdemon. Meanwhile, they sit on their hands, waiting for events to unfold."
She thumped the desk, the anger rising in her again. "We are facing the first Blight in four hundred years. In my opinion, any Warden worth his salt should already be here, facing it with us. What else are they for? And what's to stop them getting on a ship and coming here, if they had any honor or courage? Since they have decided to leave us to the darkspawn, I think we're free to run the order here any way we want."
"Oh, Cousin! You're home!"
An impromptu celebration in the Alienage led to some scandalously early-morning drinking. Warden Adaia was welcomed back by her family, and tried to accustom herself to the name "Melian Tabris" once more. Wardens crowded into the dingy wooden hovel, bringing gifts. The keg of ale Oghren carried was broached at once.
Adaia's father, Cyrion, cried over her, holding her as if he could not bear to let her go again. Even those elves who had looked on her as a troublemaker and disgrace in the past greeted her with respect. Adaia had never before realized that being the center of attention could be... pleasant. Her croaking voice, as always, was at odds with her delicate face.
"Father, these are my special friends: Alistair is my Senior Warden; and this is Siofranni—she's Dalish, as you can see; and this is Oghren, and this is Sten, You know Danith, Tara and Zevran, of course. That's Cathair and Darach, and there's Steren and Nuala, talking to Valendrian. We could almost make an Alienage from all the elves in the Wardens!"
Danith snorted, "Don't try to make me a city elf, lethallan!"
"Wouldn't think of it." Adaia said, pert with good humor. "But I think we've learned that Dalish elves and city elves have more in common than any of us realized! If you like, you can think of Alienage elves as just another clan!"
Shianni tipped her cousin's face up to the sunlight and approved. "You look good. Where did you get that fancy fur coat?"
"I earned it!" Adaia said proudly. "I've been working hard and fighting, too, and Warden pay is really high. I've brought presents! I earned the furs, and Siofranni and I designed our coats. It was really cold at Ostagar."
Alistair thought about joining the conversation, but then felt very shy all of a sudden. They had all been so close down at Ostagar: really like a family. He had thought that maybe Adaia… liked him, a little. At least she seemed to have forgiven him for being human. Emrys had warned him that maybe Adaia would not want a lot of big, armed humans intimidating her people, but Alistair had laughed at that. Now he felt awkward and out of place, and was wondering if he had blundered in somewhere where he really was not wanted. Emrys was smart; Alistair knew he should listen to him more often. Even the Dalish looked more at home here than he did.
Adaia was still talking, cheeks red with excitement.
"And as soon as we got to Denerim, we were called into the Landsmeet Chamber—all of us! And Alistair was made a bann!"
The atmosphere around them suddenly froze. Everyone, to Alistair's horror, started bowing and cringing away. Some people even looked frightened.
"My lord, you do our house honor—"
"I'm just a Grey Warden," Alistair said, his throat thick. "Just another Warden! We're all friends together…"
"Kindly spoken, your lordship…"
It was hopeless. Fixing a smile on his face, Alistair left the packed little house as soon as he could and wandered across the frozen, filthy lane. Some of the Dalish Wardens had already come out, and were talking with Marethari and Merrill's people.
The Dalish were in the process of leaving, not wanting to give the shemlen a chance to change their minds about the land grant. The women trusted Bronwyn, and the old men trusted Loghain, but they trusted no one else but their own people and their Warden friends. Marethari wanted to get back to the land and start casting the barrier wards that would hide them from unfriendly eyes.
"Anetha ara, Warden Alistair!" called Merrill in her sweet, light voice. "We are going home."
"I'm glad for you," he said. "Really glad. We'll keep in touch, and let you know as soon as we find out anything about the Archdemon."
"We will come quickly, when the time comes. Our Keeper has spoken to Tara. She will know how to find us."
She was called away to help with the last of the packing. Alistair, once more at loose ends, shuffled back toward the Tabris hovel, and met Zevran, who was lounging outside.
"You look out of sorts, my lord," the Antivan said, smirking.
"That's right; it's Mock Alistair Day. I thought you'd be in there, the life of the party."
"Alas, there seems to be a plot brewing to arrange a 'proper' wedding between me and the divine Tara. She feels exactly on the matter as I do—that others should mind their own business. However, they are her cousins, and she does revel a bit in the hitherto unknown delights of family. As for me, if they cannot find me, they cannot drag me before a priest."
Sten appeared, stooping under the wooden lintel. "The ceilings are too low here," he rumbled. "And this place is a scandal of poor urban planning."
Zevran shrugged. "It is not the worst Alienage I have ever seen. It is my understanding that Bronwyn intends to demolish the derelict object opposite to us and build decent housing in its place. She has also spoken of having a sewage drain underneath the 'street' rather than the current putrid open gutter. It will be interesting to see what comes of that."
Tara emerged from the door, hands up to forestall argument. "—I think it sounds grand, but I just can't right now. Oh, there you are, Zevran. We've got to get back to the Compound. Bronwyn had a mission for us, didn't she?"
"Indeed she did," Zevran agreed, gallantly rising to her defence. "Cara mia, may I take your arm?"
"You may, good ser."
"A mission?" Alistair said, snatching at the pretext. "I almost forgot!"
"Indeed," Sten said, already ahead of them, "It would be very wrong to fail in our duties."
Nathaniel Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, was going home to his arling. His arling, indeed; confirmed in his possession by the Landsmeet. With him were a number of his banns, a group of Wardens, and to the surprise of some, the King and Queen. Bann Varel had been quietly informed that Nathaniel and Adam would be traveling for possibly the next two months, and he was charged with running the arling and the city while they were gone.
As to Ferelden itself...
"Anora is Chancellor," Loghain told his people. "She has Fergus Cousland to back her up in case of trouble. Meanwhile, I have inspections to make."
While Bronwyn had been making merry with her Wardens the night before, he had enjoyed a long and detailed conversation with the Glavonak brothers, and even now had some detailed plans with him to think over. They had played with a number of substances, and their explosives were more powerful than ever. They had invented some war-engines, too; machines capable of throwing missiles and explosives over the highest walls, or onto the largest ships. There was still time to organize some thoroughly nasty— he hoped lethal—surprises for unwelcome visitors.
Traveling up the Pilgrim's Path was not easy at this time of year. Instead of oxen, they had hitched workhorses to the wagons they were bringing to resupply the Legion. Their speed was much better than usual, even on the wintry road. By the time twilight enshrouded them, they had reached the impressive entrance of a deserted silverite mine, deep in the Wending Wood.
Thanks to my reviewers: Kyren, Isala Uthernera, KnightOfHolyLight, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Blinded in a bolthole, Douche McNitpick, Girl-chama, Trishata96, Zute, Mike3207, EpitomyofShyness, EmbertoInferno, Sizuka2, MsBarrows, Robbie the Phoenix, Psyche Sinclair, Mastigo, almostinsane, Verpine, JackOfBladesX, al103, Costin, Bob, Jenna53, Phygmalion, darksky01, brrt, Have Socks. Will Travel, Rexiselic, mille libri, jnybot, Griffon Rider, Promenius, Tsu Doh Nimh, WraithRune, Trevorswim, and DjinniGenie. Several of you have come up with clever and ingenious ideas for thwarting Orlesians!
The story, Rhampsinitus and the Clever Thief, is adapted from an Egyptian story preserved by Herodotus.
Yes, it will become clear in the next chapters that the puppy is imprinting on Alistair. After giving it a lot of thought, I decided that the early experiences of the Tevinter-bred litter would incline them toward humans, who had run the kennels and fed them. Elves, when they smelled or met them, would have been low-status, not-pack... almost prey. Alistair, for all his self-deprecation, smells very high-status indeed, based on the way other people behave to him. Don't worry- there will be other mabaris in some Wardens' futures!