Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 112: V for Vendetta
Originally, Nathaniel had thought it likely that the fortress of West Hill would need to withstand a major Orlesian assault. As it had fallen out, the worst they faced were a handful of half-drowned chevaliers, the few survivors of the destroyed Orlesian fleet. Wreckage washed up all along the southern shore of the Waking Sea from Jader to Kilda. One poor fellow had actually clung to a capsized boat for days. The news of the further disaster in Val Royeaux broke his heart, and he died soon after.
That still left the rest. They were entirely dependent on his charity, since they had lost everything: armor, weapons, horses, boots, coin. Those who had burdened themselves with their possessions had been killed by them. The common folk along the coast were out in force, looting the bloated corpses, sifting through trunks, catching the odd horse. Nathaniel did not begrudge the poor their plunder: these were exactly the same people who would have been despoiled and slaughtered had the Orlesians successfully made landfall.
As to the survivors, he saw little point in holding them for ransom, and was inclined to send them to Jader and let Bronwyn sort them out. New had reached him of the taking of the city, and it had been celebrated at some length. It was also known that Celene's cousins and heirs had fallen into Fereldan hands.
"That is interesting, my darling," remarked Callista, when he told her the news. "It would be a very sensible thing to give one of the princesses in marriage to my cousin Tylus. One of the younger ones, of course. Perhaps that would be a way for a peaceful settlement of the war between Orlais and Nevarra, once this terrible Blight is over."
Nathaniel thought she was making good sense, even though he was hardly objective about his new bride. They had only been married two months, and they had been the happiest two months of his life. That said, marriages were, as he knew well, a traditional way of creating alliances and promoting good will. A marriage might indeed be a way of ending the hostilities between Orlais and Nevarra—at least for a generation or two.
If that was what was in Ferelden's best interests. Was it? The last thing Loghain would want would be Orlais and Nevarra united against Ferelden. It was true, though, that Orlais would likely be savaged by this latest phase of the Blight. And Nevarra had absolutely no reason to attack Ferelden, or to want Orlais to possess Ferelden. It really might not be a bad idea.
"Your cousin isn't betrothed elsewhere?"
"Not anymore. There was a betrothal with Meghan Vael of Starkhaven, but she and her family were murdered. Starkhaven is being ruled by a usurper, Goran Vael."
Nathaniel remembered hearing about the murder of the Vaels. A coup planned by some disaffected nobles and executed by a gang of assassins. The rightful heir, Prince Sebastian, was in exile in Kirkwall. A man always needed to be alert to the unexpected. Father had told him that, but in the end assassins got him, too.
Father should have kept his eyes open.
"I'll write to the King and Queen, my love. They may not know that Prince Tylus is available."
Callista smiled, and returned to her book. She liked to sit with him in his rather ramshackle office here in this rather ramshackle fortress while he completed the ridiculous amounts of necessary paperwork. It was disappointing to be so far from the action. He would include a plea to be permitted to come west with them in the letter as well.
It seemed unlikely that all of Loghain's improvements along the coast would be needed. No one could predict the future, so he did not consider the coin spent to be wasted. Certainly all the improvements he was overseeing here in West Hill were long overdue.
There was a knock at the door.
"Supper, my lord."
"Enter."
A pair of menservants entered, bearing covered dishes from the kitchens. The cooks here were not bad. Nathaniel and Callista had a pleasant custom of having their late supper together and alone, away from the mob of soldiers and engineers. The meal was arranged, and the menservants stood behind the two chairs, with punctilious ceremony.
"Supper is served, my lord and lady." said the shorter one.
The big one said, "The cook made dumplings, just like you wanted, my lady."
"Oh! How nice!" Callista laughed. "I shall bring some of Nevarra to Ferelden, if only in the form of dumplings!"
"Fine with me," Nathaniel agreed absently, still intent on his letter. He gestured the servants away. "We'll summon you when we want the dishes removed."
The servants glanced at each other, faintly annoyed.
"You are sure you wouldn't like us to serve the soup, my lord?"
"I can serve it," Callista said. She looked up from her book. "I'll wait until you're done, my lord."
"As you wish, my lady," Nathaniel said. "I need to finish this letter while the ideas are clear in my mind."
She gave him a sweet smile, guessing his thoughts. He called her "my lady" in front of the servants. Perhaps it was silly and old-fashioned, but it seemed undignified and uncouth to reveal so much of his feelings as to call her by the names he used when alone with her. Nor was it respectful to call her by her first name except when alone or among equals. She knew what he meant when he said "my lady," and that was what mattered.
His parchment fluttered, caught in a draught. The shutters had not been closed properly, and a sharp breeze blew threw the crack. Annoying. The shutters should be closed after sunset, when the wind turned and it grew cool. He was too busy with his letter to get up.
Then he noticed that the servants had not yet left the room.
"You are dismissed."
"Yes, my lord." said the big one. "Perhaps I might close the shutters for you first."
"Do it, and then go."
The shorter fellow was smiling at Callista, standing a bit too close to her. Nathaniel frowned, and the tip of his quill broke. Even more annoyed, he took up his penknife to mend it.
The tall fellow was fumbling with the shutters. Did he not know what he was doing? Nathaniel took another look, and then realized he had never seen either of those servants before.
"You're new here, aren't you?"
"Yes, my lord," the short fellow said, beaming. "Just taken on. And a splendid opportunity, if I may be so bold as to say it."
Nathaniel later could not have said just what about the men made him uneasy. He had had too many close calls in the Free Marches not to trust his instincts.
"Since you're here," he said to the short servant. "Go ahead and start serving."
The fellow bowed obsequiously, smirked, and set out ladling out the rich, creamy shieldfin soup.
"My lady," Nathaniel said casually to Callista. "If you would have a look at this letter, I'd be obliged." He wanted her behind the desk, whatever happened.
"Of course, my da—lord."
She rose lithely, and was beside him in a moment, discreetly pressing against him. He touched her hand, and whispered "Stay here," on a thread of breath.
Without warning, the big fellow slammed into him from the side, wrapping a huge arm around Nathaniel's throat. Callista fell to the floor with a cry, and the short man tossed aside the ladle, drawing a dagger. He vaulted over the dining table, scattering goblets and sweetmeats over the stone floor.
His attacker was strong, but obviously considered Nathaniel to be some soft-headed noble, unable to protect himself. Nathaniel shifted his grip on the penknife, struck backwards, and drove the sharp little blade directly into the side of the assassin's neck. Then he jerked it sideways.
The big fellow staggered back, howling. Nathaniel elbowed him away, grabbed up the heavy inkwell with his left hand and used it to parry the shorter man's dagger. He dropped the pen knife, and his belt knife was in his hand in a split-second. Callista was staying down, bless her. The big man was down, too, bright arterial blood bubbling through this hand.
The shutters rattled, and another man burst through the window and dropped to the floor. Nathaniel swore, and kicked his chair in the man's path, tripping him up. He grabbed his short attacker's wrist, yanked him close and drove his blade into his belly. A shocked squeal answered him. Then he turned to engaged the third man, who unfortunately had a sword.
"Callista! Run!" he shouted. He moved in close to spoil the swordsman's advantage, and kneed him hard. The man grunted, but was unfortunately wearing armor there. The assassin kicked high, jamming his boot into Nathaniel's chest and shoving hard. He lifted his sword for a cut —
And was drenched with hot shieldfin soup. Callista trembled for a moment. and then hit him with the tureen, too.
At Nathaniel's orders, the guards quickly and quietly rounded up all the newer servants. During their search, they found a young woman lurking behind the stables, holding the reins of four horses.
"She was the one in charge of their escape, my lord," a captain told Nathaniel. "A new dairymaid. Nice as you please, currying favor with the housekeeper. Quick with a knife, though. Cut up a few of the boys before they brought her down. Cunning lot. They didn't all come together. Two and two. The girl and the fellow with the sword claimed to be brother and sister from Kirkwall. The two dead men arrived later, with a recommendation from Bann Reginalda. Probably forged, but who would know to check?"
Nathaniel hoped the swordsman would live. He had ingested some of the spilled soup, and was puking up his guts now. The Healers assigned to West Hill assured Nathaniel that the man would live, but only wished he were dead. The soup had been laced with a very nasty poison indeed. From the description of what it would have done, Nathaniel guessed that it was what was used on his brother Thomas.
The dead men and the prisoners had been searched thoroughly, and were quite obviously Crows from the discreet tattoos and certain other aspects of their gear. Nathaniel had spent eight years in the Free Marches, after all, and knew quite a bit about the Crows. Since the Crows had killed his father, brother, and sister, he had learned ever more.
The message left on the scene by his family's murderers had left no doubt of the perpetrators or their patron.
"Blood will have blood. Nemo me impune lacessit."
Nathaniel listened to the captain's report, and nodded. There was no reason to waste time.
"Let's have a talk with our feathered friends."
He resented every moment that he must spend on this filth. He should be with Callista, calming and comforting her, and telling how splendid she'd been. Instead, he would have to drag out every bit of useful information from foreign assassins. He had not realized that the Crows operated in Ferelden. Perhaps they had not, until his father had made a point of angering a powerful Antivan.
The girl was young, but she knew what to expect. She had a face that would have been pretty, had it not been old and hard before its time. She also had ridged scars on her arms from knife fights. In the corner of the cell, the swordsman lay in a heap, pale and sweaty, but no longer vomiting.
"Talk," Nathaniel ordered, without preamble.
The girl spat on the straw of the cell floor. A guard cuffed her hard.
"Suit yourself," Nathaniel said. "Your lives are already forfeit. You, girl, are a horse thief, and that's a hanging offense. You," he said to the swordsman, "tried to assassinate me. Since you were conspiring together— and don't try to pretend you weren't — you are both guilty of petty treason, as I am in command of this fortress. The penalty for that is drawing and quartering. That could mean a very long and unpleasant last day for you. I suggest you talk now, and convince me that you only deserve a quick, clean hanging."
"What do you want to know?" the man shrugged. "You must know we are Crows. If you kill us, others will come, and then others after them, until the contract is fulfilled."
"Who took out this contract on me?"
The girl sneered at him. The man said, with honest surprise, "It is nothing new. It is the old contract. Signora Livia Fortuny discovered that it had not been fulfilled, as you were alive. The contract is on the Howe family. Signora Fortuny declared vendetta against you all. The Crows honor their obligations."
"By killing my wife? She's only a Howe by marriage!"
The girl rolled her eyes. The man gave Nathaniel a sickly smile. "If I may point it out to you, Arl Howe, Signorina Oriana Fortuny was only a Cousland by marriage. It did not save her from your father."
After some consideration, Nathaniel ordered the prisoners to be put in separate cells, where communication was impossible. Unpleasant as the prospect was, he would need to gather every bit of information he could from these assassins. Then he would need to do some hard bargaining with people who had little reason to show him mercy.
Two days, two excruciating interrogations, and two executions later, Nathaniel had a plan. He hired some reliable agents, who put him touch with more. Their job was to go to Antiva and rout out every bit of information available about House Fortuny. Nathaniel knew quite a bit, but it needed to be kept up-to-date. It was also necessary to expose this very nasty threat. Callista wrote to her aunt and cousins in Nevarra. Nathaniel wrote to Loghain and to Anora. And then he wrote another letter, to be sent by diplomatic channels to Antiva.
Nathaniel Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, greets Livia Fortuny, Matriarch of House Fortuny.
Honored Signora:
I am unable to accept the present which you in your generosity wished to bestow upon me. Those charged with the delivery have been rewarded as I deemed appropriate. Do not attempt this again.
My father, Rendon Howe, was guilty of many things, but he was alone in his guilt. What he did, he paid for with his life. My innocent brother and sister paid as well. Three of mine for two of yours. Let their blood suffice. I have made my peace with the Couslands, whose grievance is far greater than yours, but who have risen above it.
I will let pass the recent attempt on my life, but I am less inclined to forgive the insult to my lady wife, Arlessa Callista Pentaghast Howe, the niece of Queen Melantha of Nevarra. You will agree, I think, that however much you may despise the nobility of Ferelden, an attack on the royal house of Van Markham and the noble and formidable Pentaghasts could have consequences unpleasant to you and yours. A letter even now is on its way to Nevarra, expressing dismay at the conduct of those who interfere with soldiers who are engaged in the campaign against the Blight.
Let me make myself yet more clear: I am no stranger to the northern reaches of Thedas. I have friends and servants there yet. Any further attempts to harm the Howes will be met by a disproportionate response against the Fortunys. You have children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, and cousins. I know their names and where they live. If by some chance you were to succeed in your designs against me, I have made arrangements for the complete annihilation of your House.
Withdraw your contract with the Crows.
Think well on this letter, Honored Signora. It would be best if it were the last communication of any kind between us.
Respectfully,
Nathaniel Howe
Travel was certainly a dirty business. The distance between the Circle and Denerim seemed infinite and unbearable. Enchanter Finn had spent the last few days stowed like a bag of bad oats in a creaking, jolting wagon. He slept, mostly, since he discovered that trying to read in a moving wagon disturbed his digestion.
"Out!" rumbled Ser Clancy, one of his Templar guards. "We're here!"
"Here?" Finn roused himself cautiously, rubbing the agonizing crick in his neck. And his robes were rumpled. "Of course we're 'here,'" he muttered. "Where else could we be? The question is where 'here' is."
He clambered awkwardly out of the wagon, and found himself in front of Denerim Cathedral.
"Oh."
It was raining. Not a heavy rain, to be sure, but enough to draw up one's hood and think of hot soup. Ser Clancy pointed his gauntleted hand. "That's where you're supposed to be." Another Templar reached into the wagon and retrieved Finn's lumpy duffel bag. He shoved it into Finn's arms, knocking the breath out of him.
"Move along, now."
Ser Clancy was still pointing, waiting for him to obey. It was never wise to keep Templars waiting. Too many muscles.
"Er, nice traveling with you, too."
He walked toward the house pointed to by the Templar and smiled back at them a little weakly. He avoided a puddle, unhappy at the prospect of mud on his boots. The Templars kept staring at him, obviously expecting him to make a mad dash for freedom. Finn held his head high, and entered the house indicated. He wiped his boots diligently on the little mat provided.
"And who are you?" asked a Chantry sister seated at the table inside
"Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire. At your service."
Sister Ursula stared at the young man, baffled. Then she said slowly, "Oh! You're that mage…"
"I am indeed. Could I come in? It's raining, you see, and my boots are getting unpleasantly damp. Oh, look, there's a stain on my robe. Might I have a cup of tea? I'm a bit chilled."
"Yes, of course. Wait here, while I tell Bethany you've arrived." She rose and went through the inner doorway. Finn peered through and saw blue light: a mage at work healing. This must be the right place. The Ferelden Free Clinic.
It was dreadfully small compared to Kinloch Hold, and it seemed very untidy to Finn. The fine carpet was thick with muddy footprints. There were too many people crowded the waiting room: dirty people in dirty clothes who smelled… well… dirty. There was a small child scampering about, its nose running. It made a dash at Finn and attempted put unclean hands upon his pristine robes.
"Don't do that," Finn warned, twitching his robes away.
"Mamma!" the infant terror roared.
The mother, peacefully resting on the bench, eyes closed, murmured, "Don't mind him, ser. He'll settle down soon. Come here, sweeting. Mamma will give you a confit."
The sweeting grinned up at Finn, like some horrible feral monster. Finn stepped away and hastened to the inner door.
"Here now!" said a gangling figure in Templar armor. "Wait your turn! Is your name on the list?"
"I am not a… er…. a patient," Finn explained. "I'm here from the Circle to assist. As an assistant. And the sister said I could have a cup of tea."
"Ser Otto!" the lad hallooed. "It's that mage fellow!"
Ser Otto emerged from the kitchen, and looked quizzically at the dapper young mage. Finn thought him very imposing. For a moment the young mage's self-assurance faltered. He had never had any trouble with Templars, mainly because he had always done exactly as he was told and spent as much time as possible in the library. This Templar was not scowling, but he was very, very tall. Finn tried an ingratiating smile.
"Ah! Good Ser! My traveling papers," Finn said, presenting them like a shield. "I have orders to assist at the Fereldan Free Clinic located in Threadneedle Street. This is said clinic, is it not?"
"It is," Otto agreed, looking past him with some concern at the patient on an examining table. "Mistress Bethany Hawke here is in charge."
He gestured at the pretty young woman who had glowed blue earlier. Certainly a mage, but not dressed like any Circle mage Finn had ever seen. She had on a rather nice wool gown, but over it— of all things— was an apron. Or at least Finn thought it might be. He had never actually seen such an article of clothing, but had read of them in books. He had heard that the Tranquil in the Circle's kitchens wore them, but that was not a place Finn had ever visited.
Bethany smiled slightly, brushing her hair out of her eyes with the back of her arm. "Good day to you."
She was busy with a nasty burn. The big fellow on the examining table was bearing it stoically. A very nasty, angry-looking burn indeed, probably from forging, Finn supposed. Hot metal was a perilous thing. Sometimes the Tranquil were hurt, crafting metal. The girl's hands bloomed blue again. The burn faded to a dull pink, and the man breathed deeply.
"That's better," said Bethany.
"Maker bless you, Mistress Bethany," the fellow said, rubbing his arm, looking at the healing burn in wonder. "Maker's Breath! Don't hurt a bit now. Me mum'll bring by some of her dried-apple pies. We haven't coin to pay."
"That's quite all right," the girl assured the man. "Apple pie is my favorite. We'll all enjoy it so much."
Ser Otto helped the man up from the examining table. Still rubbing his arm, utterly amazed, the man, dirty face and all, smiled shyly at the girl and touched his forelock in quite a respectful way. If he were not so very dirty, Finn would have suspected him of blushing. He walked out through the reception room, and took a cloak from a nail, wrapping up against the rain.
The lay sister came back, bearing a thick earthenware mug for Finn. "And here's your cup of tea. We always have a pot in the kitchen."
"Really? That's… very nice." It appeared he himself might be visiting a kitchen in the near future.
"Thank you, Sister Ursula," Bethany said to the sister, who gave her quite a nice smile, and resumed her post in the waiting room.
Finn looked about him, not sure what to do. Otto patted his shoulder. "Here, lad. Sit down over there by the fire and drink your tea. Put your bag down… over there."
"I'll just finish up here," said Bethany, "and then we'll talk."
The infant horror in the waiting room set up another wail. Bethany sighed.
"—after I find out what wrong— now— with little Bartholomew Gitts."
Finn had a crawling feeling that he should be offering to lend a hand, but drank his tea instead. He was no good with children. And children were no good with him.
Mistress Bethany Hawke was a mage, but people were being very polite to her. She seemed to know her business, too. Finn watched, breathing in the aroma of excellent Highever Honeygrass tea, while she dealt summarily with the snotty-nosed young Master Gitts. Not a mere cold. The beginnings of a fairly serious throat infection. Yes, that was right. The little monster was given a blast of healing energy and a dose of elfroot syrup. Had it not been for the infection that Finn could sense himself, he would have suspected the brat of shamming in order to scam a spoonful of the sugary tonic. He had done it himself, in his feckless childhood.
The slatternly mother probably liked the stuff, too.
"If you could just see your way clear to give us a bottle," the woman whined, "I wouldn't have to drag him all the way here when he's poorly."
"I'm sorry, Mistress Gitts," Bethany replied gently. "But I am not permitted to hand out large quantities of medicaments. They could be lost or stolen. The spoonful I gave Bartholomew should be quite enough. All he needs now is a good night's sleep."
"I'm not TIRED!" bellowed Master Bartholomew.
"Yes," Ser Otto told him, lifting him bodily from the examining table and setting him on his feet. "You are. Good bye. Maker keep you."
Such a very polite Templar, Finn noted. Very commanding too. Finn almost felt ready for a good night's sleep himself. The grumbling mother gave the child the demanded confit and was on her way. Without a proper thank you, Finn noted.
Bethany washed her hands at the nearby basin, and then dried them carefully. Finn applauded her precautions, beginning to understand the reason for the apron. She put out a very pretty — and clean — hand to him.
"Bethany Hawke. This is Ser Otto, and Ser Kevan is at the door. Sister Ursula gave you your tea. Ser Irminic comes in now and then. You're Enchanter Florian, I presume?"
He bowed, properly. "Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire. At your service." The 'esquire' was perhaps presumptuous in a mage, but his father really was a knight of Ferelden, with his own manor in the Dragon's Peak bannorn. The son of a knight had the right to the honor of "esquire." If he had not manifested as mage in his thirteenth year, he might well have been addressed as "Ser Florian" himself by now.
They were still looking at him in the kindest way. He wilted. "But everyone calls me Finn."
"Well, Finn, what do you know how to do?"
"I'm a qualified Healer," he told her, quite proud of himself. "I'm also the Circle's best linguist—fluent in Arcanum, Tevene, Antivan, and Orlesian— and their foremost expert on ancient Tevinter history."
There were still three people left in the waiting room. The eldest of them scoffed, clearly overhearing Finn.
"Ancient History! Aye, there's coin in that!"
The rest of the waiting room cackled appreciatively.
Finn cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "I suppose people consider me a bookworm. The First Enchanter said I needed to see more of the world than the library. I must say I'm looking forward to the opportunity to work here in Denerim. My parents don't live far away. Ser Otto: might I be allowed to write to them? Would they be permitted to visit? Possibly?"
Bethany caught Otto's eye, amused.
"I think it very likely," said Ser Otto. "But first, why don't you see if you can help Bethany take care of the last of the patients?"
"Oh! Yes... of course."
Even when the clinic closed for the evening, there was a bell that rang inside the house for emergencies. Sister Ursula put up the "closed" sign, and arranged the table near the fire in the large clinic room for a meal. Within a short time, a servant arrived in a carriage, of all things, bringing in covered dishes and baskets containing a delicious-smelling supper.
Meanwhile, Ser Kevan, hardly more than a boy, showed Finn around the little house, and had him put his bag in the very nice bedchamber.
"This is yours," the boy told him. "Unless somebody needs it when they're having a baby or something. But mostly it's yours. Sister Ursula sleeps in the cathedral dormitory. One or two of us Templars always stays here watching the place. We have a little room off the kitchen."
Finn looked about him with growing satisfaction. This was nice. This was very nice indeed. It was nicer than his quarters at the Circle. It was nicer than his old room at home. It had a door. He would have privacy. He could arrange his books on the table at at the foot of the bed. He had a few of his very own, gifts from his parents. Finn knew he was far luckier than most of his fellow mages. His parents still cared about him, and they were permitted to correspond, which they did, very frequently.
Wait... were there only two bedchambers...?
"But where does Mistress Bethany sleep?" he asked, rather puzzled. Perhaps they made her sleep in the dormitory at the Cathedral, though that seemed an odd situation for a mage.
"She sleeps at home, of course," said Kevan, regarding him as he would a half-wit, but willing enough to gossip. "She lives with her mother, Arlessa Leandra, doesn't she?"
"But she has a Templar guard."
"Of course she does," Kevan said, his patience visible. "A crazy man killed her stepfather right on the doorstep of the Cathedral only a month ago! Somebody has to look after her. And we keep order here so the patients don't run rough-shod all over the place. She comes here in that carriage every morning, with an escort. They bring supper in that carriage every night, and take her home. We get breakfast and dinner from the Cathedral refectory, and supper from Bryland House. Come on, I'm starving."
Finn was very good at keeping his ears open. Outright questioning of Templars had always been an unwise move in the Circle. Better to simply listen and learn. These Templars were certainly the pleasantest he had met, but he had no desire to be irritating on his first day.
"I'm so glad you're here, Finn," Bethany said over the excellent steak and mushroom pie. "I don't have to worry about people trying to find me at my mother's at night. If I have to go out to deliver a baby, someone will be here to see people. That's going to be a great help. I have other commitments, too. Ser Otto and I plan to go to the Alienage now and then to see if the elves need help. And there are a few others... friends and family of a sort."
Sister Ursula asked, "How is Arlessa Habren?"
Bethany smiled thinly. "As well as I can make her. Her husband is very solicitous." Seeing Finn's confusion, she explained. "The Arlessa of Denerim. She's expecting a child."
Sister Ursula added, "She is Mistress Bethany's step-sister!"
Apparently the good sister was very impressed by Bethany Hawke's lofty connections. Daughter of the Arlessa of South Reach; stepsister of the Arlessa of Denerim. Finn was fairly impressed, too. The connections might well explain why he had never seen her at the Circle.
They talked over the cases they had treated today, and Bethany filled Finn in about local ailments and the various women in the neighborhood who might give birth any day. Finn felt a little queasy at the prospect. He had healed illnesses and wounds, but there had never been any call at the Circle to do anything so disturbingly messy as deliver a child. Finn could not remember ever seeing a baby up close.
"I don't actually have a lot of experience with midwifery. Perhaps I should observe for now."
Bethany was obviously much too nice to laugh at him, but Finn suspected she wanted to.
Anora was thrilled to be back in Denerim. Even better was to be back in Denerim with Fergus. After considerable thought, they decided to live in Highever House, and travel back and forth to the Palace or Fort Drakon as needed for their work. Spring was stirring in the capital, and the footman-gardener was getting the rooftop garden in order. It was one of Anora's favorite places in the world. Sitting amongst the roses, she could see most of Denerim, while most of Denerim could not see that she was watching.
"Kane is worthless," Fergus told her bluntly, when they at last had the luxury of privacy in their bedchamber. "Not raised as a nobleman, and no natural talent for it. No interest in learning, either. The officers have been doing their duty, by and large, but it's time for a thorough inspection. The new works along the harbor haven't made the progress I expected."
Anora knew that if Fergus was disappointed, Father would be livid. "It's a good thing we're back. That Tevinter slaver ship could arrive at any time." She paused, uneasy. "If it hasn't already."
"I checked. Properly. They haven't come yet. Our own people are on alert in Highever, and I trust them. Hawke has Amaranthine sewn up. There's a fellow who's not about to loosen his grip on what's his! Too bad the Arl of Denerim isn't more like him."
Anora was not as charmed by Bann Adam as her husband, but agreed that he would have been a far more competent Arl than any of the Kendalls that Fate had thrown Fereldan's way.
"I heard something interesting," Anora said, sipping her mulled wine. "There is a free clinic in Ferelden now. Bethany Hawke talked the Grand Cleric into supporting her. Some Templars are on the premises: Ser Otto and Alfstanna's brother Irminric. Arl Bryland left Bethany a house in the Market district, quite near the Cathedral. She's healing people there."
Fergus paused, in the act of getting into bed.
"I thought she'd still be in South Reach."
"No, the ladies returned to Denerim not long ago. It's quite a wonderful idea, isn't it? So incredibly generous of Bethany to use her inheritance for the public good. I think I shall visit, but I'll give her a bit of warning first, naturally."
"Arlessa Leandra will be calling on you. You'll want to hear what she thinks of it."
Between them they heard the gossip of the salons and the barracks; of the state offices and the market. Some of it was encouraging. Some of it was ominous. Much of it was self-contradictory.
—The Arlessa of Denerim had gone mad, and her long-suffering husband had locked her up in her room. Others said that the Arl was a fiend, who locked up his innocent wife so he could have orgies at his estate.
—The Arl of Denerim cared only for dressing up in fine armor and cutting a great figure. His duties were left to his steward, his seneschal, the captain of the city guard, and the harbormaster. They were mostly good men, but needed someone in authority to mediate their internecine disputes. Or, if you preferred, the Arl was in league with the Orlesians, and was siphoning off Fereldan gold.
—The Arlessa of South Reach had been driven from the arling by the small-minded prejudices of the locals and the intransigence of functionaries. She was in poor spirits. Her niece was on the point of riding off to the army alone. Her daughter had opened a free clinic and was as popular as ever. Others said that her daughter was a sinister blood mage, who had deceived the Grand Cleric herself. Her stepson Lord Lothar spent most of his time with the Arl of Denerim's sisters in their nursery. Alternatively, her stepson was locked in the dungeons, and she was planning to kill him and take South Reach for herself.
—A group of minor banns were discontent at the absence of the King and Queen. Who cared about foreign wars? It was the Crown's business to rule Ferelden. If the Queen wanted to play the heroine and fight darkspawn, then Loghain should let her wander off and come back home himself. Unless he was trying to get her with child, in which case, he should come home as soon as that was accomplished.
—The weather was holding well, and with luck, Ferelden should have another good harvest. The fishing fleet had also done well. Rare timber from the Brecilian Forest was selling at the highest price in memory, and Antiva wanted all the Fereldan wool on the market. Naysayers opined that it was all too good to last. The crash was coming: famine, pestilence,and war.
—The conspirators being Arl Bryland's murder had been caught, and were found to be Crows, acting on the orders of his daughter Lady Habren. Or the conspirators had been found to be Orlesian agents. Or they were Templars. Or they were blood mages.
—The elves were getting above themselves, and needed a good set-down. There were too many of them on the roads, giving honest folk a fright. The Queen was too soft on them, she favored elves too much: giving them land, giving them privileges, building them fancy lodgings. The Queen should look after her real subjects. There were few who disputed this, other than the elves themselves.
—Quite a few people thought that the Queen was an avatar of Andraste herself, and thus her war against the Blight was an Exalted March.
Anora did not particularly care for that last rumor, though it had its uses.
The very next night, she and Fergus supped with the Arlessa of South Reach. Bethany, who usually took her dinner and supper at the clinic, was present for the meal. She was in rather good spirits.
Better spirits than the Arlessa, Lothar, and Charade. While the widowed Arlessa's feelings were quite understandable, they had affected the young boy and her niece, who had little to take their minds off their situation.
"It's a good thing you have friends and playmates here in Denerim," Fergus said to Lothar.
"Yes, my lord," Lothar replied, dutiful and not entirely convinced. "It's better than South Reach. But they're girls, my lord. They play with dolls. Even Jewel is awfully lady-like for a mabari. They play house and I always have to be the husband."
"Being a husband is no bad thing," Fergus told him, quite straight-faced. Anora covered her mouth with her hand, and kicked him under the table.
Lothar scowled. "Being a husband every day is. I know Corbus can't leave the army, but I wish Bevin would come to Denerim. We could play war for a change."
"Everybody's playing war. I wish I could play house," Charade muttered.
They spoke briefly of the rest of the family. Arlessa Habren was still quite ill, and Bethany was calling on her. She had not come out in public since her father's death. Anora caught Bethany's eye, letting her know that they would be discussing this in private.
Fergus asked Lothar, "Doesn't she come to play with you sometimes?"
"Never," Lothar said flatly. "She hates Faline and Jancey as much as she hates me."
"Lothar!" Leandra scolded him gently. "You mustn't say such things! Of course your sister doesn't hate you. Or Arl Kane's sisters, either."
"Yes, my lady," Lothar agreed listlessly, with a sad old man's smile on his young face.
After the boy was sent to bed, Anora gave them all a serious look.
"Let us treat each other as friends and allies," she said. "What's wrong with Habren?"
"Mad as a dancing dwarf," Charade declared.
"I'm not sure she's mad... not exactly..." Bethany said. "I come to the estate regularly to see how she's doing. She's three months gone with child, and it's made her ill, as it often does at that stage. She's done some wild and violent things: attacked the governess, tried to throw Faline's puppy out the window—"
Fergus raised his brows.
"—She attacked Kane himself. Attacked me. Attacked Mother. She rages and screams and threatens. Mind you, I don't know if she does it because she's mad, or because Kane has locked her up. She's been spoiled and unreasonable from the time I first met her. She's used to getting her way. Without her father, there's no one to take her part. It could be that her reason is affected by her pregnancy. It's also possible that she did something in the heat of anger, and Kane locked her up for it, which has exacerbated her condition. It's hard to tell. She's completely incapable of being polite to me, so I'm not the most objective observer."
Fergus nodded, rather concerned. Habren was his cousin, after all. "Is Kane abusing her? Beating her?"
"I've seen no evidence of it. Now and then I've seen a few bruises, but she's so wild and furious when I'm there that it's possible that they might be self-inflicted, or caused when Kane defends himself. He told me he's hiring a nurse to stay with her. That would be for the best."
Anora had had enough of Habren, whom she had always disliked. "If you see evidence of abuse, let us know, of course. Now let us move on to more interesting topics. Do tell us about your clinic."
The supper, altogether, was a mine of information. Even at the end, when the guests were seen to the door, Charade managed to whisper a request to Anora to speak to her alone the next day.
"I want to ride out and join the army, Your Grace," Charade told Anora, as they sat together in the rooftop garden of Highever House. "More specifically, I want to join Rothgar. He's going to be out west until Maker knows when. Adam gave me the money for my dowry. I'm going to go out there, hunt my man down, drag him to the nearest priest, and marry him. And I'm going to stay by his side and fight with him." She laughed, embarrassed. "At his side. Not with him. Not against him. Well, not much, I hope."
"Your aunt will miss you," Anora said gently.
"My aunt never knew of my existence until about six months ago. Bethany is here in town. If my aunt wants to see more of her, she can go to the clinic a few times a week and help her. They have breakfast together every day. If Bethany married a nobleman and lived in his house, my aunt wouldn't complain. And she has Lothar to care for. She does a good job seeing after him. She's made friends, too. I don't see the point of delaying my life indefinitely so she has someone to sit with her and receive guests. So I've got a plan."
Anora inclined her head, ready to listen.
"You send regular couriers to the army. I'm a good horsewoman, and I know how to take care of myself. Send me with the next rider. I even have the money for my own horses. Rothgar must be somewhere near West Hill. I'll stop there and hear the news."
"And then the hunting down, dragging to the priest, and marrying, I take it," said Anora.
"Exactly."
"I sent dispatches to the King two days ago. If nothing extraordinary happens, I will send the next batch four days from now. Can you be ready by then?"
"Absolutely."
"Don't take five hundred sovereigns with you," Anora advised. "It would be very heavy. Lord Rothgar will simply have to trust that you're good for it."
Charade had not yet left for the west when the harbormaster sent urgent word that a Tevinter ship was sailing into Denerim harbor
Fergus was prepared for this, though he had not expected the Tevinters to come quite so soon. A number of scenarios had been considered, and there was always the possibility that it was a bona fide diplomatic mission. It would not do to simply attack the ship on docking. The ship was headed for the South Docks, which made sense. Whether it was a diplomatic mission, which would go to the Palace, or a slaver gang, which would head toward their underground compound, the South Docks would be the place to seek harbor.
There were two entrances to the slaver compound: one in the tenement in Runagate Court, and one behind The Condemned Man, a dockyards tavern. The latter was a short walk to the south end of the docks. The former was reached by Amaranthine Street, a (comparatively) wide and twisting lane that flowed into King's Way. A number of ways had been scouted to reach either in advance of the suspects. Fergus and some his men were well-positioned to observe, in a warehouse on the corner of Amaranthine Street and South Docks Lane.
If these were indeed the slavers, they would have no reason to think that their usual protections were not in place: the befuddled harbormaster, the incurious officials. They would be on the lookout for their sister ship, which was in harbor, and "crewed" by a number of city guardsmen and Templars in disguise. There was also one of the army mages aboard. He was well-versed in the Litany of Adralla, a sovereign protection against Blood Magic.
He had borrowed the new mage from the clinic today, young Enchanter Florian, as he was something of an expert on Tevinter. With him were Ser Otto and Ser Irminric. Young Kevan had been left behind, since someone had to remain at the clinic. The Templars were eager for the adventure, unsurprisingly.
"You're with me," Fergus told the mage and Templars. "We're going to observe, at first. If they go to the slave ship or to the underground compound, we'll move in on them immediately. "I'll want you to advise me on Tevinter lore. If these are diplomats, they'll need to be greeted properly."
"Er… I've never been to Tevinter, you understand," said Finn, somewhat embarrassed. "I just know the language and history."
"That's more than I know," Fergus said, with a snort of laughter. "We don't want to insult them if they're not criminals."
"Of course not. If they are, of course…"
"Then we show no mercy. And you, I'm told, know the LItany of Adralla in case of Blood Magic."
"Of course. Bethany was so disappointed not to come here today."
Otto gave Irminric a look. Personally, he thought Bethany a more powerful and quick-witted mage than Finn, and actually better suited to this kind of challenge, but noblemen were sometimes blinded by chivalry. Odd, in the brother of the formidable Girl Warden.
Sure enough, Fergus shook his head. "I wouldn't put Bethany is this kind of danger. She's a sweet young girl, and her brother's a good friend of mine."
Finn also privately thought that Bethany was likely a far more formidable mage than Teyrn Fergus realized, but perhaps it was for the best. Bethany was a good public face for mages in Denerim: pretty, gentle, and well-mannered. None of them could picture Bethany in a fight, though Finn suspected that she was quite powerful enough to defend herself.
A slight stir in the crowd. There was Kane, in his golden parade armor, with his dog, his bodyguards, and the captain of the Denerim City Guard. Fergus cursed silently. He had been notified of the event, as Denerim was, after all, his responsibility. He was supposed to to stay out of the way. Instead, he had decided to come and watch the excitement, no doubt wanting to make sure that if they confiscated this splendid ship, he got his rightful share. Not only was the armor attracting attention, but all Denerim knew the man's handsome face.
"Who's that, my lord?" whispered Finn.
"The new Arl of Denerim," Fergus growled, knowing that it would be improper to express his opinion publicly. Kane was a mistake and a misfortune in his opinion. Yes, he had the bloodright, but nothing else to recommend him but his pretty looks. At least Anora and Bronwyn saw through the façade.
Kane was chatting with the harbormaster, who could hardly tell him to be quiet. Did the man not understand that this was a delicate operation? On the other hand, Fergus could not ignore Kane's rights, without raising some perfectly justified questions and angry commentary from his fellow nobles.
The ship was drawing close to the docks now, moving in gracefully. Vindicta was its name. A fine, large vessel, with a big stern deck cabin that must be home to an important man. In fact, were it a legitimate mission, the leader would likely stay on board, and simply send a messenger to the Palace, with an official notice of his presence.
It took time. Fergus watched, almost unblinking, noting the signals that everyone was in position. Kane had at last gone inside the harbormaster's office, and was out of sight. There was a welcoming party at the underground compound too, with lookouts posted outside to alert them. A good man headed that: Sergeant Kylon of the City Guard. In fact, the man had ten times the sense of his captain, though none of his superior's influential friends and patrons.
The ship was docking. After a long wait, the passengers disembarked down a gangplank. A tall man with an oiled beard in luxurious robes was surrounded by henchman and servants. Crates of luggage were unloaded. A party was told off, and moved in the direction of the other Tevinter ship, some distance away. The harbormaster, warned in advance, did not approach them, nor did they attempt to report to his office. They were asking no questions at all. That did not bode well.
Finn was sure that the leader must be a magister, but all important Tevinters were, of course. They had to be tolerated in diplomatic missions, because they were the elite of their nation.
All right. The party going to the ship would be arrested at the site. It might be innocent enough: naturally the crew of any Tevinter ship would be curious about fellow countrymen. Fergus hoped the rest of the Tevinters moved on quickly enough not to observe the arrests, and also that they would be done quietly enough not to alarm their fellows or cause a riot at the docks. Another group was watching the ship. How the crew were treated depended on what the magister did next.
The magister did not turn south toward the tavern, but instead moved toward Amaranthine Street. They were walking confidently, moving along, their numbers and bodyguards formidable enough to cause others to avoid them. The guards shadowed them, trailing through the alleys, crouched on the roofs. A signal, and Fergus stepped out of his own observation post with his party, and they followed the Tevinters up Amaranthine Street. Finn made a face, not liking the situation, but seeing no way out of it.
And then the magister turned left into Runagate Court.
"That's that," Fergus muttered.
Unknown to the Tevinters, they were surrounded, and this was the signal to attack. Fergus and his men moved in from the back and sides.
Kylon and his men stepped out of the tenement, surprising the the Tevinters. Kylon walked forward, holding up his badge of office.
"I am Sergeant Daniel Kylon of the Denerim City Guard. I arrest you in the name of the Crown for the crime of slaving. Lay down your weapons, and you will be spared!"
The magister actually laughed, a light, urbane sound.
"My dear fellow, you must be joking..." His staff was lifted, and instantly, Ser Otto, next to Fergus, called down a Holy Smite. Two of the Tevinters collapsed, and the magister staggered. With furious curses, the battle was joined.
Finn had never seen Blood Magic before. He had heard the whispers and the dirty sniggers— the same sort one heard when the lads were talking about girls. He had heard the warnings and read of the consequences. Seeing it was some entirely different. Arms were slashed, and blood misted in magical whirlwinds. Finn gabbled out the Litany, stammering and gasping, genuinely frightened. It was all too clear what would have happened without the Litany, without the Templars, without a well-prepared armed company and archers on the roofs. The Tevinters' bodyguards went down very fast, but the mages, led by the magister himself, put up a powerful defense. Ser Irminic used another Smite, and disabled the younger mages, but once again, the magister was barely rocked by it. Still there were more Fereldans than Tevinters, and they were winning.
And then it went pear-shaped.
"Fasta vass!" shouted the magister. "To the ship!"
He pointed his staff, and blew a hole through the wall of the neighboring house. Screams rose up from inside the dwelling. Fergus roared, "Take him down! Take him down!" and the massed company ran at the magister.
Finn had never in his life been so terrified. Feeling feeble and totally outclassed, he focused on healing the injured and babbling out the Litany to thwart the blood spells. A young woman ran from the house, carrying a bleeding toddler. The magister slipped behind them, using them as shields. A handful of his followers followed, casting spells back at the Fereldans.
A pair of powerful young mages were cornered in the ruins, and refused to surrender, determined to do all the damage they could. A soldier screamed, clutching his head, while his blood boiled.
"Finn! Get over here!" Fergus shouted. He had his shield up and ran low. The panicked Tevinters were missing some of their casts, demoralized by the overwhelming force against them. Kylon, who knew every alley in Denerim, squeezed through a narrow passage and then was around the building. He barreled into the fleeing magister head on, knocking him down.
Pinned under the Fereldan, with a sword's sharp edge to his throat, the magister cried. "I surrender! I surrender!"
In the pandemonium, no one else could hear him. Kylon pressed the sword in, his blood up. The skin of the magister's throat dented a little.
"I'll make it worth your while," the magister croaked. "I have riches on my ship. Riches beyond your dreams. I have gold!" He managed an ingratiating smile. "Why don't we leave them to it, eh? " he said, flicking a glance at the bloody fight going on in the ruined house. "You and I... we're men of the world... come with me to my ship and we'll talk..."
"Don't move!" Kylon snarled. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"
In truth he was fairly alarmed. He had his sword to the man's throat, but this was a blood mage, and not just any blood mage, but a Tevinter magister. Who knew what he could do? The slightest gesture could bring a horde of demons down on them. He could just kill this man, but he was the leader, and Teyrn Fergus said he wanted to question him.
"No," the magister wheezed, the smile stretching into a grin. "I think you're a sensible man. After all, you caught me, and the others are just flailing about. Don't be a fool. They'll take it all for themselves and give you a pat on the head. Let me up, and there'll be chest of gold, all for you..."
"Don't move!"
"Hmmm... how to convince you?" The magister knit his brow, thinking. He moved his head, just a little up and to the side.
Enough to draw blood from Kylon's sword. It swirled into a mist. One moment the guard sergeant was looking down at the magister's grinning face, and then the next he was in the air, flying, flying, the world eerily silent.
He slammed into the house and lay dazed.
The concussion brought down more of the back wall, but the magister was already up and running toward the docks. The Tevinters in the house and the courtyard outside were down, dead or Smitten. Fergus tore past, jumping over the remains of the back wall, and saw the robed figure making a dash down the street.
"Shoot him!" he roared, running. "Shoot him! Finn! Otto! Irminric! Come on!"
Arrows whistled down, but the magister seemed untouchable, protected by a bubble of silver light. Finn, wondering how he could be in a running battle in the streets of Denerim against a Tevinter magister, puffed along in the rear. Men on the rooftops shouted to the men on the docks.
"Finn!" yelled Fergus, turning the corner onto Dockyard Lane. "What's that shell around him?"
"It's a force field!" Finn gasped back, "But he can't keep it up forever. I don't think he can cast through it, either!"
Fergus was running in heavy armor, but he was more accustomed to running than the magister, and in far better condition. Otto and Irminric were keeping up with him effortlessly.
"We got to get closer!" said Otto. "When he drops the shield, we'll both smite him!"
Irminric grunted agreement. "Be ready with the Litany, Finn!"
The Litany took energy, and Finn's was flagging. He hoped he would have enough for another go.
Ahead of them, a crowd of men were on the dock by the Vindicta, including Kane, holding forth to the captain of the City Guard and the harbormaster. Fergus cursed their stupidity. Sunlight glinted on the Arl's bright head and golden armor. They were all gossiping instead of keeping watch. The shouts penetrated their talk, and they turn to look, open-mouthed and gormless, at the dark figure of the magister running straight at them.
Fergus was only yards from the magister when the mage dropped his shield and slammed a fist of energy into the group of notables barring the way to his ship. Kane's golden armor made him a visible target. Everyone standing by the gangplank was knocked off his feet. Half a dozen of them toppled into the water, including Kane, his dog, the harbormaster, and the captain.
Instantly, the pursuers were on the magister, and number of unpleasant things happened to him.
He was hit with two Holy Smites at close range, which disabled him; Finn babbled out the Litany, which made it impossible for him to use blood magic; and Fergus beheaded him with a sweep of his sword, which made all the rest moot.
Kane went into the water, surprised, disbelieving. Kane went into the water, just as he thought he had a real grasp on being an arl. Kane went into the water with plans yet to be achieved. He had just given the girls their own ponies, and they were planning a picnic in the country. He was expecting an heir. He was making friends.
He struck out, trying to swim to the surface, but the glittering armor weighed him down. Thrashing, he clutched at the captain of the guard, who was fighting with a buckle, trying to escape the armor that was killing him. The man kicked at him frantically, but Kane only tightened his grip, determined to cling to anything that could save him.
Above him was the sun, a circle of light swimming in the waves, growing smaller and dimmer as he sank. Kane stared up at it, still disbelieving, until his bursting lungs betrayed him, and he gasped, taking a last deep breath... of ocean.
The tangled bodies sank further, a single strap on the captain's armor connecting them briefly until the eddies pushed them apart. Curious fish passed by the dead men. After a time, some drew closer.
Up on the docks, a rescue mission was organized. Finn finally stopped vomiting, and was helped along by a sympathetic Otto.
Kane's dog was beside himself: barking frantically, paddling about, trying to find some bit of his human that he could seize on, in order to drag him to safety.
Fergus shouted, "Ten sovereigns to anyone who can rescue the Arl!" He rebuked himself, and added, "Who rescues anyone!"
Men and elves plunged into the troubled water. The word was passed excitedly, all down the docks, and figures dove in, came up for another breath, and went down again.
Kylon dashed up, bruised but relieved to see that the magister was dead.
"They've secured the prisoners, my lord. If one so much as bites his lip, he'll be killed. "
"Well done, Kylon."
The sergeant shook his head. "Not so well done, my lord. I had him. I had him, and I should have killed him on the spot."
Ser Otto said, "You are not the first to be overcome by a blood mage, and this was the most powerful I've ever seen. We are fortunate he did no greater harm."
"He did harm enough," Fergus grunted, watching the desperate scene below. Kane had been down a long time. "Somebody get a rope around that dog and get him out of the water."
"Bloody hell!" shouted a man in the water. "He bit me, my lord!"
Otto quietly told the horrified Kylon what had happened. The sergeant immediately began unbuckling his armor, wanting to help.
"Don't," said Fergus. "We already have a crowd down there. I offered a reward."
A elf rose to the surface, clutching what looked like a handful of sodden clothing. A rope was lowered, and the harbormaster was hauled up, slack and unconscious. Finn set to work reviving the man, and he was soon coughing but alert, astonished to be alive.
The blond elf who had saved him scrambled up the pier to stand, wet and panting, nearby. Fergus tapped him on the shoulder.
"Well done! What's your name?"
"Taeodor Cibrae, my lord."
"Come to Highever House, and you'll get the rest of your reward," said Fergus, digging into his purse. He drew out two sovereigns, and pressed them into the elf's palm. "For now, take this on account."
"My lord!" cried the elf, overjoyed.
The dog was at last so exhausted that he could no longer fight off the well-meaning man who was trying to save him. People who cared nothing for drowned arls hurried to help the poor faithful mabari, and Finn was pressed into doing what he could for him. Fergus, as a Ferelden, was willing to pay for a dog what he would for anyone else.
Two other men were drawn out of the water: both were harbor employees, and one was dead. Fergus still paid the man who found him something for his pains. That left Kane and the guard captain.
"Anyone in armor would sink like a stone," Irminric said heavily. "We may never recover the bodies."
"Maker's Breath!" Fergus groaned. Was Denerim cursed? Was the title "Arl of Denerim" cursed? And how was he supposed to break the news to Habren? What if Habren ended up ruling Denerim on behalf of her child? It was all a disaster. A bizarre, unlooked-for happenstance. Why couldn't the stupid popinjay have stayed at home where he belonged?
"Maybe one or both of them got his armor off and swam further down the bay," Otto counseled. "We need not give up hope yet."
They busied themselves there at the docks for over an hour, while the divers kept up their efforts. Twenty sovereigns was serious money, and well worth the trouble. In the meantime, the Vindicta was secured and its crew taken under guard to Fort Drakon for questioning. The army mage stationed on the other ship was left at the docks for any further medical help that might be required. Fergus and his party walked back to Runagate Court to see what needed to be done there.
They had managed to capture one of the mages and three of the bodyguards. The mage was young and terrified, and the Templars stood guard over him. Finn went to work healing the injured, while Fergus and Kylon listened to the lamentations of the woman whose house had been destroyed, and the sobs of her little girl. The child had been hurt by splinters, but Finn had put that right. The terror of the explosion was not so easily overcome.
"What am I to do?' the young woman cried, over and over. "What am I to do? I've lost everything!"
Not quite everything, an examination found, but her spinning wheel, the source of her livelihood, had indeed been destroyed, along with all of her unspun wool. That caused her to burst out in tears again.
"I owe Master Pinchbeck for that! He'll have my skin for the debt!"
Unable to bear a crying woman, Fergus told her to go to Highever House with her child, and they'd find work for her. Likely he was dumping his problem on Anora—or more likely the housekeeper— but he trusted either woman to find a fair solution.
He felt guilty. Perhaps he should have attacked the moment the Tevinters left the ship. Perhaps they should have killed them all the moment they docked. It would have saved lives, but how could they make a practice of killing foreigners on sight? Perhaps Kylon should not have followed lawful procedure and identified himself. Who was to say? What happened, had happened.
No word came from the docks about the Arl or the captain. As far as Fergus was concerned, Kylon would get the promotion. That was an easy decision. It was also worrying that a mage had caused so much harm. It might cause a backlash against the new freedoms for mages serving in the army... for Bethany, selflessly working to heal people. Fergus decided that the way to present it was that it had been done by an armed party of foreign slavers. Yes, there were mages, but there were plenty of warriors, too. A slaver gang. That was the tale that would be told publicly,
The real problem was that they had lost yet another Arl of Denerim.
"Tell me he left a will," groaned Anora.
They were in the arl's study, closeted with his steward, his seneschal, and his secretary. Unsurprisingly, the men were deeply shocked by the sudden event. The Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever had come to call, telling them that Arl Kane was almost certainly drowned in the harbor. A freak happenstance. With them was the Arl's mabari, exhausted and heartbroken. The dog dashed away and ran upstairs to the nursery, to find what was left of his pack.
"He did indeed, Your Grace," the steward assured her. "The Arl was punctilious where his family was concerned. He left all his personal fortune—his gold, his movables, his jewelry, and clothing— to his sisters, in equal parts. His wife, Arlessa Habren, was left nothing at all. Nor was the unborn child provided for. I advised his lordship against it, but he would have it so. Naturally, a child of the Arl would inherit the entailed holdings of the Arling of Denerim, but this is a posthumous child, which can never be acknowledged by his father, and so the legal situation is somewhat murky. It would be a matter for the Landsmeet to decide if this child should inherit, or rather the Lady Faline, who is otherwise the presumptive heir, and who is named as such in his will."
"Did Kane name a personal guardian for his sisters, in case of his death?" asked Fergus.
"Yes. Arlessa Leandra of South Reach. His instruction is that his wife, Arlessa Habren, is never under any circumstances to serve in that capacity." The steward grimaced. "As to the arling, he names... me... to continue as steward, until Lady Faline is of age. I realize that this is a situation that may not satisfy the Landsmeet or the Crown. Some may feel that Arlessa Habren should hold the arling in trust for her unborn child."
Anora exchanged a look with Fergus. They knew that neither Loghain nor Bronwyn would tolerate Habren as ruling Arlessa of Denerim for a moment. However, she did have certain rights that had to observed for decency's sake. Nor could she be summarily ejected from the estate. Someone must talk to her. Unfortunately, it looked like it was going to be... them.
Bethany was summoned, as Habren's Healer, as well as Arlessa Leandra and Charade, who would break the news to the girls.
"We'll take care of them," Charade assured Anora. "But don't include us in the conversation with Habren. She hates us, and it would just make her angry."
Leandra sighed, but did not attempt to contradict the truth this time.
It had to be faced. Anora looked a great deal more composed than Fergus felt, as they approached Habren's private apartments. The steward unlocked them, and stood aside.
"I'll go first," Fergus said, uneasy about Habren's temper.
No one was in the parlor. Fergus pushed the next door open, and called out, "Habren? It's Fergus Cousland. Are you all right? Habren?"
It was a large, luxuriously furnished bedchamber, but it smelled unclean. Anora made a little grimace of distaste as she followed her husband. Bethany sniffed the air for any scent of illness or infection. The steward, even more uneasy, followed behind.
The big bed was in the far corner, and the bed curtains were closed. A tray of half-eaten food was on the table by the bed.
"Habren!" Fergus called again. "Are you here?" All sorts of hideous possibilities flashed through his brain.
With a snap, the bed curtains were torn back, and Habren burst out of the bed, dressed only in a soiled nightshift. Her pregnancy was not noticeable. It had been only three months, after all.
"Fergus!" she shrieked. "Get me out of here!"
Bethany found her a dressing gown, and Habren snatched it from her without acknowledgement.
"Kane's been keeping me a prisoner!" she shouted, stuffing her arms into the sleeves. "Where is he?" She stared at Anora, and moderated her tone slightly. "What are you doing here?"
It was a very rude question, asked rudely. Anora's face hardened.
"We have news for you, Arlessa," she said. "It would best if you sat down."
"Kane could be back anytime!" Habren protested. "I've got to get away! You don't know what he—"
"Habren!" Fergus shouted. "Just sit down and listen!"
In the little parlor, Fergus quietly told her the day's events.
"It's likely he drowned, Habren," he finished. "We may never find the body. He went in to the water wearing armor."
His cousin's sulky face lit with joy.
"Praise the Maker!" Habren declared. "The bastard deserved it! Can you believe that he dared to keep me a prisoner? I want those horrible little sisters of his out of here before sundown!"
Her four visitors studied her keenly. This was Habren: rude, unkind, and obnoxious, but she did not seem to be insane.
"That is not possible," Anora told her. "You are not ruling Arlessa, but Dowager Arlessa once more. Your child, if born alive and healthy, might be the heir to Denerim, but Lady Faline also has a claim, and was declared the heir in your husband's will."
"But—"
Anora ignored the interruption. "It is a matter for the King's wisdom and the Landsmeet's ratification. As Chancellor of the realm, this is my ruling in the interim: the steward here will administer the arling under my general supervision, and the seneschal the household. You will have complete freedom of movement, and an appropriate allowance. However, I understand that the Arl's sisters are on the floor above. You are not to go there or otherwise visit or harass them. They will be visited by Arless Leandra of South Reach and others as the Arlessa deems proper, since she is their personal guardian. The girls will also be provided with an allowance. You are not to interfere with them, nor with the administration of the arling. If you disobey this decree, it will be regarded as your abdication of all rights of inheritance on your behalf and on that of your child."
"This is an outrage!" Habren hissed. "You've always hated me!"
"Habren, don't be stupid," Fergus growled.
Habren subsided somewhat. Fergus was a little like her father, and he had actually come looking for her, unlike anybody else.
"It is my decree," Anora said coldly, "as Chancellor of the realm. Leave those girls alone. I understand that Mistress Bethany here has been your Healer—"
"I never want to see her again!"
"As you wish," Bethany said calmly, never wanting to see Habren again, either.
"Then you will have to engage your own Healer or midwife. I will arrange with the seneschal for the first payment of your allowance, Arlessa Habren," said Anora. "This is a temporary measure. Your husband left you no coin or other means of support in his will. Do not overspend your allowance, for no more will be forthcoming until the beginning of the next quarter. Do not expect a decision from the Landsmeet until the national emergency of the Blight is over, or until the child is born. That's all I've got to say." She rose to her feet, wanting to leave.
"I'll see to arranging the funeral," Fergus told her more kindly. "But we'll want to wait. Perhaps there's been a miracle, or perhaps..."
"Well, I wouldn't arrange anything for him," Habren declared. "The Maker has avenged me, as far as I'm concerned, and good on Him. Do as you please. Send a maid to me," she told the steward. "I'm going out to the market."
Then, gracelessly, grudgingly, she gave Anora a nod of acknowledgement, and turned her back on them all, looking for something to wear.
Thanks to my reviewers: amac1688, Robbie the Phoenix, spirally, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, KnightOfHolyLight, imperial queen, DjinniGenie, RakeeshJ4, AD Lewis, Kyren, Chiara Crawford, Blinded in a bolthole, Mike3207, RaZoRMandiblez, Nemrut, Ie-maru, Isala Utherera, reality deviant, mille libri, darksky01, Rexiselic, Vizantir, JackOfBladesX, Jenna53, Zute, jnybot, Herebedragons66, Phygmalion, Cjonwalrus, Guest, Acalla, dragonmactir, Fenrir666, MsBarrows, karinfan23, Psyche Sinclair, the darks light, anon, and Josie Lange.
I gave Kylon the first name Daniel as a shout-out to mille libri and her wonderful stories "Freely We Serve" and "Dangerous to Travel to Known Places."
Yes, the magister was Caladrius from canon. It will take time to interrogate all the prisoners. I wanted to wrap up some of my subplots, before sending my heroes west.
My new website is up, with book reviews, links to literature I like, and links to my own original fiction. You can visit me at The Day Dream: (remove spaces) s n carhart dot net.