Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 119: No Man's Land
"I want a child."
To say that Anders was surprised at Morrigan's words was an understatement: he was amazed, astounded, nearly stupefied. Morrigan wanted a child? He had never seen that she had any particular fondness for children. In fact, she seemed to avoid them whenever possible. There were plenty of women in the army — in the Wardens, for that matter— who were fond of children and looked forward to a chance to coddle them or play with them. Morrigan was not one of them.
Of course, they always said that it was different with your own child. Morrigan might well be one of those women who had no interest in other women's children, but would do everything in the world for her own. It even made a certain kind of sense. Morrigan did not create relationships easily, but she could be quite loyal once she had. Witness their own happy… well... whatever it was.
But this was good, wasn't it? If she wanted to bear his child, it implied that she was not considering giving him the boot anytime soon. A child? Anders rather liked the little buggers himself, though it was something he had never imagined in his own life. The Chantry frowned on mages marrying. It frowned on mages reproducing. For that matter, it frowned on people being mages.
And there were other issues.
He finally managed to squeak, "Maybe we should wait until after the Blight is over."
She remained perfectly in command, perfectly incisive. "And when will that be? Three years...ten years… a hundred? We might be long dead before the Archdemon is slain. Besides, there is another reason. I learned of this some years ago, but it seemed of academic interest. 'Tis not. We move closer to the Archdemon every day. I know of the sacrifice that must be made in order to kill it—"
"How?" he demanded, eyes wide. "Did Tara tell you? Morrigan," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, feeling very put out. "Morrigan, that's a Grey Warden secret!"
"I know many secrets," she murmured seductively. "I grew up with a woman who knew many more. Flemeth told me her all she knew about the Grey Wardens— and somehow she knew everything. She also told me of a loophole in the threat that hangs over all of you —Bronwyn especially."
He glanced about the dark little tent in panic. You never knew who might be listening on the other side of the canvas.
"We can't talk about this here. Tomorrow. When we're outside, we can make sure nobody's eavesdropping. What I want to talk about now is you getting it into your head that you want to be a mother."
"The two things are related," Morrigan said softly, trying to be patient. "'Tis the begetting of the child that will weave a mighty protection over the Grey Warden who strikes the killing blow on the Archdemon."
Ander rolled to his side, trying to make out Morrigan's expression in the darkness. "I've never heard of any protection spell like that," he said.
"Few have. Flemeth was old and wise and knew many a thing unknown to other masters of lore. I used to dismiss some of her sayings," she said, by way of excuse for not telling him before. "but after further consideration, I think she might well have been right in this."
She turned toward him too, and laid a fair smooth hand on his side, stroking gently. "She told me that the unborn child of a Grey Warden could attract the spirit of the Archdemon away from the one who slew it. The Archdemon would perish, and the Grey Warden survive, and the child would carry the spirit of the Old God, now purified of the Taint."
He caught her wrist in his strong grasp. "Are you out of your mind?" he managed, trying to muffled the shout that rose up in response to this wild idea. "Since when do you trust Flemeth? Remember? Flemeth? The old witch who was planning to wear your body like a new gown? The child could well turn out to be a darkspawn!"
She should have given him a calming draught beforehand, but it was too late now. She made her soft tones calm and reasonable.
"The child could not possibly be a darkspawn. When has any child of a Grey Warden become a darkspawn? 'Tis irrational to suggest a thing. How could that be of advantage to Flemeth? And let me remind you, everything Flemeth desired would be something to her advantage."
"You admit she put this idea in your head. Why would it be to your advantage?"
"Because it would be a very great thing. An Old God would be born again into the world, free of the chains that bind the others; untouched by the Taint itself. It could well bring about a Golden Age. We would be its parents: we would cherish it and teach it. There is so much wrong in this world. Would it not take the power of a God to put it right?"
"Morrigan," Anders sighed, unable to believe what he was hearing. It was the craziest idea he had ever heard. And he had thought Morrigan was clever. "If I remember correctly, the Old Gods didn't do so well last time."
"So say the Chantry fools. In old Tevinter, mages ruled, under the wise and watchful eyes of their Old Gods. Magic was a part of life, like bread and wine. No one was burnt at the stake for causing a few sparks, or locked up for life because they could heal the sick. "
That was certainly true. Anything that would help mages was a good thing. But — "Bronwyn wouldn't like being displaced by an Old God child."
She laughed softly. "And why would our child do that, when we have trained him from birth to respect the Queen? I daresay more than that, for that matter, since Bronwyn is likely to take a personal interest in our child. She would be a model and a teacher to the child, who would thus learn all about using power for noble ends. No, the child would be brought up to help Bronwyn. He might even rise to become a chief adviser."
"That's… true enough," Anders admitted, still uncomfortable with the concept. On the other hand, the idea of a child, fathered by him, born by Morrigan, was a very enticing one. Morrigan sensed his hesitation.
"You know how self-sacrificing Bronwyn is. It is an unfortunate trait, but so she is. She would never let someone strike the blow and perish, were she there to do it herself. If she does this without such protection, she will surely die, as all the rest of the Warden Champions have perished in the deed. What then will become of her new freedoms for mages, of her generosity to the elves? They will be dust on the wind, and you know it!"
Anders did know it. Loghain seemed inclined to let Bronwyn have her way, but Loghain was over fifty. He would not live forever. Another king or queen might be well-intentioned, but not have Bronwyn's fearless adherence to her beliefs, or... it had to be said... a certain degree of validation by the Prophet Andraste herself. Bronwyn could get away with things that no one else could.
And of course, on a human level, he did not want her to die. He didn't want anyone to die. Morrigan must have been reading his thoughts.
"'Twas sad enough, the fate of that poor elf. If not Bronwyn, then someone else will perish. Will it be Tara, or that cheerful Brosca, or perhaps the noble Aeducan princess? Will it be you? Who is expendable?"
"Of course I don't think anybody's expendable!" He sighed. "I'm tired. I don't want to argue. Can we talk about this tomorrow? I've got to think it over."
"Very well. Think clearly, but not for long. The Archdemon is closer every day."
He had more questions the next morning. They took their bowls of porridge and withdrew to a fallen tree where they could sit and see who was close enough to hear them. Anders asked questions that Morrigan could answer, and some she had not even asked herself.
"What if someone else is up the duff?" he asked. "There are a lot of women in this man's army. What if Bronwyn gets pregnant again? Or Tara?"
"I am seeing to it that they do not," she said stiffly. "I distribute the women's tea every evening without fail."
"It's not that I doubt Flemeth's information... though I do," he went on. "There must have been other pregnant Wardens... or pregnant wives or mistresses. How does the Archdemon's spirit choose which one to take?"
"I presume it would be a matter of proximity," said Morrigan, rather nonplussed. This was troubling. She had not thought about it, but surely there must be some parameters regarding distance from the dead Archdemon. "Clearly in the past, none of them were close enough to attract the Archdemon's spirit at the critical moment. But I assure you that it will not happen this time. I shall stand with you all. Furthermore, the ritual requires that you know and consent to it. Otherwise, it is simply another night of pleasure."
"Can't have too many of those," Anders agreed cheerfully. "There's another thing. You say the child would have the Archdemon's spirit. What does that mean, exactly. Will it have its memories? Its powers?"
"I assume so."
"Hmmmm... Assumptions could get us into all sorts of trouble. Is spirit the same thing as intelligence? Is it the same thing as magical talent, or is that something physical? If the child simply has the spirit of Urthemiel, God of Beauty, maybe he'll have an overwhelming desire to be a royal dressmaker. Or an artist."
"You are being absurd. No god would engage in such trivialities."
"A lot of people don't find art trivial, sweetheart."
She huffed, dropping her spoon in the empty bowl with a clang, obviously dismissing his remark. Anders still thought this was a very dodgy business. All very nice to have a child: not so nice to have a demon child out to rule the world. Why did Morrigan imagine she could control an Old God? Anders knew it would be entirely beyond him.
He liked the idea of an Old God's spirit living on — without its memories and power. That was fairly amusing, and tolerable in a God of Beauty. A God of Chaos like Zazikel or — he shuddered — of Fire like Toth would be utterly terrifying reincarnated as a toddler.
This child was clearly something Morrigan wanted fiercely, and denying it might well cause her to go elsewhere. That was an unacceptable outcome. He loved Morrigan — yes, he loved her— and he wanted a future with her.
"All right," he smiled. "You've convinced me. We're going to be parents."
Her smile made it all worthwhile.
"I must make some preparations. Tomorrow night, then."
Meanwhile, Anders' mind ticked over various scenarios and possible ways out. A baby was a wonderful thing. An Archdemon baby, not so wonderful. He would simply have to keep Morrigan far enough away from the Archdemon that the ritual failed.
Either that, or very early on he would have to turn his child's attention to the fine arts.
They were in the middle of a war, marching through Blight-infested lands. There was little time for training.
Nonetheless, most of the senior mages did what they could. Huddled in covered supply wagons, Anders made sure that every newly-Joined mage could perform a basic healing spell. Tara taught them the basics of elemental magic. Niall taught them a glyph that would lock an attacker in place. Jowan went over the theory of entropy spells. Morrigan, reluctantly, and only with great persuasion, presented the basics of shape-shifting.
Velanna was not so generous with her time or free with her expertise, and would only teach other elves. Had she not been such a powerful and effective fighter, Bronwyn would have made something of it, but Bronwyn was too busy to deal with Velanna. At least she was teaching somebody something.
They reached the fork in the road, and decisions needed to be made. Even setting up camp had its hazards. Warden mages had to burn off a great deal of ground cover to clean a campsite. Water had to be boiled to purify it. The entire army was warned about touching obvious Taint and about the need to wash frequently. The Taint had affected the wildlife in the area, and they were attacked by Blight-mad wolves and grotesquely swollen spiders. It was not likely to be any better in the near future.
Riordan still wanted to punch through to Val Foret. A strong mounted party should be able to get there in less than a day. His last attempt had failed, but with the slaughter of hundreds of darkspawn, he now had a far better chance of success. Bronwyn was willing to detail some of her new mages to him. A few— especially the former apostates— actually knew how to ride.
Loghain liked the idea of scouting Val Foret.
"If the darkspawn already hold it," he said, "we'd be fools to march all the way to Val Royeaux with our left flank exposed. We'll send a party. If they meet significant resistance, they should withdraw quickly. If they can reach the city, all the better."
Bronwyn liked the idea, too, since the wounded needed a little more rest, and the new mages all the training they could get. Alistair surprised her by asking to go along with Riordan.
"It's my mother, you see," he told her, his voice lowered to a whisper. "Riordan sent her around the long way to see what was happening in Val Foret. She might be there now! If she is, I want to see her."
The party left the following morning, galloping fast along the Val Forest Road. Bronwyn wished them well, wondering what they would find.
Among other things, quite a few cases of Blight disease.
Pitiful remnants of the company that had called themselves the Imperial Guard were hiding out in the woods, survivors of the march of the Montsimmard Wardens on Val Royeaux. Riordan learned about what a disaster that had been. None of the soldiers could tell them anything about the Wardens. They were all either dead or still running, as far as the men knew.
"It was like the darkspawn always knew where they were," one grey-skinned archer told them. "The Wardens had… like a target on them. Wherever we went with them, the darkspawn followed. In the end, the last two went off on their own. We've been getting by as best we could since."
Riordan kept his face expressionless, not wanting to insult the men with his pity, and seeing no point in commenting on the foolishness of eating Blighted creatures.
"If you want to live, you can become Grey Wardens," he told them. "Otherwise the Taint will kill you."
A handful survived. The sleeping men —and one woman— were slung over horses and carried. The rest were burned, and the Wardens moved on. By the afternoon, they reached the limits of the Blight: a land where some green broke up the monotony of Blight grey, brown, and black. Beyond that, in another hour, lay the walls of Val Foret.
For a moment of horror, they thought it was under siege by the darkspawn. Then they realized that the small figures digging outside the walls were human, elves, and dwarves, attempting to divert the nearby river into a huge moat, encircling the city.
A great many people had already left Val Foret. The ones remaining rattled around the city as if it had suddenly grown too large for its population. To the great joy and relief of Alistair and Riordan, Fiona was there, with her largely intact party of a dozen Wardens. She had much to tell them.
"The lord of Val Foret, Count Alain Ghys-Demourne, is most cooperative. He was the uncle of the previous holder of the title, who is believed dead in Val Royeaux. He may be old and fat, but he is no fool."
The man was attempting to keep up some sort of normalcy, by encouraging those remaining in the city to keep trying to raise crops. The Wardens had already seen that the farms and villages to the north and east had been evacuated. They were not entirely deserted, however.
"The farmers go out and work the fields, while the guards on the towers keep a good watch. Some of us go out, too. If we sense darkspawn, the civilians will be sent back to the city at once. We are also patrolling the city very carefully."
Riordan and Alistair learned a great deal. In the city were refugees from Val Royeaux, but unlike all the ones they had met and interviewed previously. these were not from the the dock area. These were survivors from the western faubourgs and the neighboring villages, who had managed to flee upriver to the Imperial Highway. From them, the Wardens found out about how the capital had been undermined. The darkspawn had not breached the walls, but had simply tunneled underneath them, found their way into the sewer system, and emerged inside the city.
"Thus the patrol," Fiona said grimly. "There is a survivor of the Val Royeaux Warden garrison here. The darkspawn did their digging just far enough from the Warden barracks that no one sensed them. By the time they did, it was too late."
That was certainly alarming. Still, the darkspawn had not marched on Val Foret itself. Some scouts had tried to explore the Imperial Highway to the north. Most had not returned, and the ones who did had not got very far.
Many of the inhabitants of Val Foret had fled west, into the Nahashin Marshes. Ghys-Demourne thought they were fools. When the Wardens were presented to him, he told them his opinion of the refugees very frankly.
"Far better to go south to Val Firmin. Warden Fiona here says that city is holding fast," remarked the old nobleman. "There is nothing in the marshes but fever and starvation. I suppose they think to get to Andoral's Reach or hide up in the Hunterhorns, but who's to say that's any better? Best of all to stay and defend one's home."
There was a certain consternation when the leaders of Val Foret heard about the leadership of the army that had come to fight the Blight. Nonetheless, Alistair, as a Fereldan Warden and a noble, was treated very civilly. He gave Fiona a little smile, and her heart swelled with pride at the sight of him. Yes, she and Maric had hoped for a simple life for him, but he was truly his father's son, and had risen in life. Besides, if Bronwyn Cousland could be both Warden and Queen, then Maric's son could be both a Warden and a noble of Ferelden. Alistair had asked Riordan to introduce him as the Bann of Stonehaven. "Arl of Jader" had not yet been approved by the Landsmeet, and Alistair thought putting himself forward as such would hardly be tactful in this situation. He was absolutely right. The Orlesians were thunderstruck that Fereldan soldiers were marching through the Heartlands of Orlais.
"Well... yes..." managed the old count. "Very noble of the young queen to bring her Wardens to help. Very proper. The rest of the Fereldans, though... are they taking over? Is that their scheme? I once fought against Loghain Mac Tir myself, and I don't mind telling you that I would prefer not to repeat that. He is... formidable."
"On my honor," Riordan assured them. "They are not here for conquest. Or," he said, honestly. "Not much. They have claimed Jader, it's true."
There was a burst of indignant talk. Fiona was surprised, but not angry. She had never felt the least personal loyalty to Orlais. Jader might well be better off under Fereldan rule. What would it mean for the Jader Wardens?
" However," said Riordan, holding up his hand for silence, "they have upheld the rights of the Empress' young heiress, Princess Celandine. Duke Prosper de Monfort is her general, and treated with perfect courtesy by the Fereldans. Prince Florestan survived the tragedy at Val Royeaux, and is also with them. And there is more to the army than merely Orlesians and Fereldans. Queen Bronwyn used the Grey Warden treaties to obtain a considerable army from the dwarven king. The Dalish, too, have come, and have fought bravely."
"Elves!" snorted a chevalier, dismissing them.
"They are superb scouts," Riordan rebuked him. "And many have died in the struggle. Some have Joined the Wardens. All have served honorably, as have the mages brought from the Fereldan Circle, also according to the ancient treaties. They have made a great difference," he added, giving Fiona a slight smile.
"Well, mages, yes," agreed Ghys-Demourne. "No one questions the value of mages in times like these. They whipped the Qunaris in the Exalted Marches after all. The truth's the truth."
He liked to think of himself as a fair-minded man; and he was, for an Orlesian nobleman. He had mages in his household; their indentures bought at great expense from the Chantry. He had seen that they were always decently treated, and had been richly rewarded by their loyalty. He would have been dead the year before last from an infected jaw without the skills of his devoted Lyonelle. While what had happened to the Divine was a great tragedy, he was quite complacent about the destruction of the Circle's indenture records. Lyonelle and her children were safe now, which was a blessing in itself. He had not the least scruple about acknowledging the service of mages, even the elven mages who had the worth to become Grey Wardens. Warden Fiona was a credit to her race. Really, in his opinion, she was not like an elf at all.
Riordan considered, and then decided that they ought to know. "It is interesting that you have brought up the Qunari. The Queen came across a party of Qunari in the Orne Valley. They are curious about the Blight."
"How many?" was the next question.
"Perhaps a little over a dozen. Their ship was sunk by the Archdemon when they attempted to sail into the harbor of Val Royeaux."
There was spiteful laughter at that, but the old count remained serious.
"Are they going to cause trouble?"
"Queen Bronwyn thinks they are here to retrieve a Qunari artifact — an ancient work of philosophy— from the ruins of the Cathedral. The Queen had a Qunari traveling with her previously who had served her well, but as he was a Qunari officer, he has chosen to rejoin his people. He, at least, understands the danger posed by the darkspawn, and the Queen believes he will restrain his people from outright obstructionism." He shrugged. "Loghain, on the other hand, is far more suspicious of their motives. He thinks it not unlikely that the Qunari are probing for weaknesses in the south of Thedas. As we have more important enemies to fight at the moment, however, they were permitted to live or die as they like."
Fiona said harshly. "Blight disease is likely to take them anyway."
"Very true."
Some of the Orlesians nodded at that, but no one was particularly smug. Everyone was too afraid of the Blight sickness gaining a hold in Val Foret itself.
They went down to the fortification works around the city. Riordan was impressed in spite of himself. Yes, darkspawn could tunnel under any moat, but the sides were built up that the darkspawn would not see the moat until they were already falling into it. They would would be slowed, even stopped for some time. Later they would attempt mining under the city, but with the Wardens in residence, the Count could have his engineers countermine them and set fire to the works.
"I will not give up my city without a fight," the old man said. "I never thought I would rule here, but now that it has come to me, I'll will do my best for the people."
"That is all any of us can do," said Riordan.
They would stay the night, in the quarters assigned to the Wardens. Clearly, Fiona and Alistair wanted to speak to each other. Riordan smiled faintly, glad for his Wardens to have such a happiness, even in the teeth of Blight and darkspawn.
While Riordan was involved in the venture to Val Foret, the army was not idle. Numerous patrols probed the country ahead. For the longest-range mission, Loghain ordered a company to scout east to the mouth of the Orne, and see if they could make contact with the ships he had ordered to follow the army there.
"We can't lose them," Loghain told Bronwyn, in a moment alone. "We need to keep up communications with Jader and the rest of Ferelden. We can evacuate any wounded, of course, but we need the fleet whether we fail or succeed. Mostly especially if we succeed," he added rather sourly.
"I don't understand."
A bitter smile. "My dear girl, what do you think is going to happen once the Archdemon is gone and the Blight is over? Yes, yes, I know," he said impatiently. "There will still be darkspawn to put down, but that will be a largely internal matter, surely. There will be no more Horde, no more attacks on cities. And with that, Bronwyn, your lovingly crafted Alliance will collapse."
She thought about it. Right now the Orlesians tolerated them because they had to. What if they did not? Her people were far from home, in enemy country. She sighed. Loghain was almost certainly right.
"You think we'll be in danger."
"I know we will. Oh, I think the dwarves will march back to Orzammar with us, but they may not want to get involved in a dispute between surfacers. I think we can more or less rely on the Dalish and the mages, because they will have no choice but to be on our side. They'll want to get out of this country as fast as they can, too."
"We have the Empress-elect in Jader."
"And that's all very well," he said, shrugging. "Though I think such a hostage will be of limited value. Prosper's claim to speak for her has been accepted. They know you would never countenance harm to the girl. She might spend years in Jader, a tragic prisoner, while Prosper rules in her name. Our value as hostages, on the other hand, would be incalculable."
Bronwyn shook her head. "They're not taking me prisoner."
"Nor will they take me," Loghain said. "Mind you, I won't leave the army to its fate. If it comes to it, I will be the last man in the rear guard, but I'm marching out of here with them. It may get fairly grim. We'll want to put the wounded and the noncombatants on ships and get them away to safety. We must not lose contact with those ships. I'm sending Cauthrien. Put together a squad of Wardens to go with her to smell out the darkspawn."
Bronwyn considered sending Leliana, but then decided against it. Loghain did not entirely trust Leliana. Instead, she put Brosca in charge—a Warden whom Loghain did trust and even liked—and had her take Niall, Bustrum, Ostap, Nuala, Steren, and Sigrun. Any supplies they needed would be taken downriver by boat.
It would be easy enough to find the Waking Sea. All one had to do was walk along the northern bank of the Orne. Undoubtedly they would encounter darkspawn on the way.
First, they encountered the Qunari. Brosca had always got on perfectly well with Sten, and when she saw him, looming amidst some leafless trees, she gave him a wave.
"How are you?" she called. "We're going to have a look at the Sea!"
"I am well," he replied. "Perhaps I will be permitted to accompany you."
He was not.
Karasten and Tallis wished to give him orders, and the plan was to follow and observe only. Sten watched the Wardens pass, somewhat wistfully. It would not do, however, to give his superior officers less than his complete attention, however little he thought of them.
After a day with his own people, Sten's observations had somewhat alarmed him. This Karasten was accustomed to command at sea. He had great experience there, and was no doubt well skilled in all the maritime arts. On land he seemed uncertain, but was attempting to conceal it under a facade of severity.
Tallis was not uncertain by nature, but it had not taken Sten long to determine that she was unwell. Nor did it take him long to divine the nature of her ailment.
"You are ill," he remarked. "Too ill to follow the Wardens."
"It's nothing."
Karasten frowned, watching her keenly. He narrowed his eyes at Sten, tacitly ordering him to continue.
"It is the Blight sickness," Sten informed them frankly. He told Tallis, "You have been exposed to darkspawn and have contracted Taint from them. I believe that the Warden-Commander warned you of this possibility."
Tallis tried not to show how alarmed she was.
"You've been exposed to the darkspawn for months. Did you get this sickness?"
"I did not," said Sten. "However, I have traveled with Healers who saw that every injury was cleaned and closed quickly, and was also warned by the Warden-Commander to take great care in washing. Darkspawn blood is particularly infectious. As you have seen in this land, both vegetation and wildlife are vulnerable to the Taint. The Wardens deal with it by fire."
"Is it contagious?" Karasten demanded.
"It is infectious," Sten corrected carefully. "I do not believe that this sickness is easily transmitted by casual contact. However it will be necessary to exercise caution to keep the disease from spreading."
Tallis squared her thin shoulders, and asked, "What can I expect?"
Sten did not spare her the truth. "The disease varies in the individual. You will sicken, and either transform into a ghoul or die outright. No one recovers."
The Ben-Hassrath was visibly shaken at that. "She," said Tallis, referring to Bronwyn, "said that Grey Wardens could help me."
"I believe you would be required to join the Grey Wardens. I am not privy to their secrets, but there is a ceremony of some sort and oaths are sworn. At that point, you would be expected to pledge your loyalty to the Grey Warden order. Deserters are not tolerated. I did not join the Grey Wardens myself, seeing the conflict between serving them and serving the Qun."
Karasten frowned over that, thinking hard.
Tallis did not like the prospect at all. "My loyalty is to the Qun."
"Well said," Karasten approved, and drove his dagger through her back. The point emerged from her chest. Tallis looked at him with horrified astonishment. Karasten withdrew the dagger and a gout of blood spurted out. The Ben-Hassrath collapsed, coughed, and died.
The other Qunari, who had been too far away to overhear the conversation, leaped to their feet in astonishment.
"The Ben-Hassrath had contracted a deadly contagion. She chose the Qun, and to die rather than to defect to the Grey Wardens, or to further infect us," Karasten declared solemnly. He turned to Sten. "I believe you were instructed to wash all Tainted blood from weapons and exposed skin?"
After a beat, Sten replied, "That is correct. Her body also should be burned, along with her personal possessions. Objects of metal can be cleansed by fire."
"See to it, and instruct the men in the appropriate hygiene." ordered Karasten. He retrieved his canteen, and began washing his hands with great care. Later, while the Ben-Hassrath burned, he would see to his dagger, and then wash his hands once more. Only then did the Qunari move on, following the Wardens and the rest of the bas, in order to discover their plans.
Val Chevin seemed safe enough for the moment. Hector Pentaghast left the city walls and went down to the mess hall, wiping his sweaty face.
For some reason, the Archdemon had not made another appearance. Plenty of darkspawn had attacked, but the Wardens were holding the city firmly against them. Attempts to tunnel under the city had been thwarted. In one case, the part of the tunnel outside the walls had been flooded with oil and then set alight. Then it had been booby-trapped and filled with rubble. The darkspawn would have to try harder.
And supplies and reinforcements were still getting through. The harbor was untouched, and the ships came in and out.
Most of the civilians, aside from the brothelkeepers and their whores, were gone. Most had gone north to Montfort and Arlesans. Some had kept traveling. Val Chevin was now a city of Wardens, with a few chevaliers rounding out the complement, and some priests and Templars still in the Chantry. The Revered Mother herself had sailed to Cumberland, to wait out the war.
As in any city, it was a struggle to keep the peace. The First Warden ruled Val Chevin now, and had divided the city into districts: a Nevarran district, a Tevinter district, an Anderfels district, and now a Rivainni district. The Antivans and Marchers had decided to go south to Jader, apparently. Word had come that the Fereldans had pulled together a decent force, including dwarves and elves, and had marched west. The Antivans and Marchers would be throwing in their lot with them. That they were fighting the darkspawn on two fronts was wonderful news, and Pentaghast had sent one of his ships south, hoping to locate Queen Bronwyn and give her a message of support.
Did the Archdemon know about Bronwyn? Pentaghast hoped not. The Archdemon deserved the nastiest surprise the Maker could craft for it.
Across the mess hall, one of his Senior Wardens caught his eye. Athis loaded a plate with hunter's stew, and headed his way. She looked grim: burning with suppressed anger. He had hoped her joint operation with the Tevinters had gone well. Apparently not. Pentaghast groaned. He had told the First Warden that nobody could work with the Tevinters. Nevarrans could get on with Marchers; they could get on with Andermen; they could even get on to some degree with the Orlesians— but the Tevinters, no. They were difficult to cope with even in the privacy of the Wardens' Council, when there were only dozen in the room and everyone was trying very hard. On the operational level, the Tevinters inevitably offended everyone. The handful of Templars left in Val Chevin did not help things, nor did the inevitable clashes between the priests of the rival Chantries.
Athis set down her plate with exaggerated care, and then slumped onto the bench beside him.
"Before you say anything," she began, "we did get all the way out to the Crossways. We didn't lose anybody, so I guess you can call it a success. I was feeling pretty good about it all, until we got back to town and the Tevinter staff came out to welcome their Wardens back." She stabbed angrily at her food with her spoon. "You know they brought slaves."
"Yes, I know." The Tevinters had been reasonably discreet about it, but they had come with quite a large train of campfollowers.
"And they're not just slaves. I think some of them are bloodthralls. They looked as blank as the Tranquil—but they were smiling. It was... horrible. Pretty girls and pretty young men, with terrible, imbecilic smiles pasted on their pretty faces."
Pentaghast was absolutely certain she was right. Tevinter Wardens demanded all the luxuries they enjoyed at home. He had heard that Tevinter Warden facilities boasted every pleasure: even brothels set aside entirely for the Wardens' use, staffed by mind-controlled slaves, who now and then became Tainted themselves. The Tevinter Warden-Commander refused to discuss the matter, and if they wanted him and his incredibly powerful and useful Warden mages to remain with them, there was nothing to do but hold their noses. Once the Blight was over, however, there was going to be real trouble.
"All the more reason to finish this. Don't spread this around, but the First Warden is considering marching on Val Royeaux in the next few days. We've got to locate any nests they've established before they start spawning."
The sentries alerted the camp to a large armed force approaching from the east. To Bronwyn's surprise and delight, they proved to be yet more Wardens.
"Enzo Visconti, Warden-Commander of Antiva, and at your service," said the tall man with the distinguished air and the lusciously seductive accent. Bronwyn noted some admiring looks among her Wardens, both male and female. Zevran was smirking, proud of his countryman for upholding the Antivan tradition of being irresistible.
Bronwyn wondered if she was reading too much into Visconti's behavior. He sounded just like Zevran, only older and more bass instead of tenor, and Zevran made a point of flamboyantly pretending to seduce everyone. Perhaps this was the way all male Antivans behaved. And he kissed her hand, of course. She was ridiculously pleased that her hair was in order and her face not speckled with darkspawn blood.
"You are most welcome, Warden-Commander," she replied warmly. "How many are with you?"
"I have two hundred thirty Wardens and a force of mages totaling forty-one." He laughed. "They are quite recovered from their voyage and glad to be on solid ground once more."
"You've come in good time," Loghain remarked. "We're moving into darkspawn territory."
"Ah, excellent! One wishes to arrive late enough to make an entrance, but not so late as to miss the party entirely."
Instead of fighting, of course, they had to have a meeting instead: Bronwyn and Loghain, Prosper and Florestan, Astrid and Merrill. First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Greagoir were included as well. Visconti tactfully inserted himself into their councils, trying to sense the unstated tensions and the strength of the alliances. They spent some time going over the map and pointing out what they knew and did not know. Their battles so far had been successful. Riordan of Orlais had gone scouting to Val Foret, and other Wardens had been sent down the mouth of the Orne to gather intelligence. Other scouts were out as well. Before their next big push, they would hear what the various parties had to say about the country ahead.
Visconti, in his turn, could tell them something about what he had seen marching up the Imperial Highway. Jader was calm, Halarmshiral holding, Lydes under control by its garrison. As to the Lord of Verchiel, Visconti smiled thinly. This was no place to bring up the fact that Visconti would like to beat the man bloody someday. Then they talked about the war itself. The Antivan was grim about the fate of the Wardens who had been in Val Royeaux and those from Montsimmard.
"So it appears unlikely that Warden-Commander Caron survived. That would make Riordan Acting-Commander. You think well of him?"
Loghain did not permit himself to snort. Bronwyn smiled. "I have worked with Riordan in the past, and yes, I think very well of him. He came to my assistance when I had the greatest need of it."
And while they met, a message arrived by fast courier. A Nevarran ship had arrived at the port of Lydes, and the Warden-Commander of Nevarra's letter was put in Bronwyn's hands. She excused herself while she read it on the spot. It was long, and a meal was served in the big tent while the rest waited for her to finish.
"Well, this is actually good news," she exclaimed, slapping the parchment down on the table. "Oh, is that mine?" she asked, seeing the serving before her.
In between bites, she told everyone the contents of the letter. She had not understood before now that the Wardens—all the Wardens— really had rallied against the Blight.
"The Nevarrans were first, but the Wardens from the Anderfels soon arrived. The First Warden himself! They're based in Val Chevin, the closest big city north of Val Royeaux. Pentaghast says it's pretty much a no-man's-land between the two cities now. He's holding Val Chevin fairly securely at the moment and they're being supplied by sea. And the Tevinters arrived next —"
She saw the expression on old Greagoir's face at the mention of the Tevinters, but chose to ignore it, and went on.
"— and now the Rivainnis, too. They were slowed down by a pirate attack, and their Commander has sworn revenge against the Felicisima Armada."
"Filthy pirates!" muttered Prosper. Pirates were a nuisance. Pirates cost you money.
"As to their tactical situation: the Archdemon took part in two attacks on the city, but was driven off by massed volleys. They haven't seen the creature since the eighteenth, which has them puzzled." Bronwyn laughed lightly. "I think I can shed some light on that. Some of you know that there is a small band of shipwrecked Qunari in the marshes not far from here. A Qunari dreadnought tried to sail into the harbor of Val Royeaux, bold as you please, to retrieve some artifact of theirs. They roused the Archdemon and a mob of darkspawn, which chased the landing party to the docks. The Archdemon then attacked the ship and set it afire."
A few chuckles. No one felt the least sympathy for the Qunari. Bronwyn smiled slightly and told them the best part.
"However, the Archdemon had a surprise of its own. You know the Qunari explosive powder? Their gaatlok? Apparently the fire ignited the place they stored it inside the ship. There was a huge explosion, and the Archdemon was injured in some way. At any rate, it flew away squealing, and did not linger to pick off the survivors in the water."
"Injured!" Visconti smiled, a fierce blaze of white teeth. "Good news!"
"Yes, it is good news," agreed Loghain, "since it has rendered it unwilling to pay us a visit... or harass our allies the Nevarrans in Val Chevin."
This was the first the Antivan had heard about an alliance between Ferelden and Nevarra, and he paid close attention. This would be of importance long after the Blight was over.
"Unfortunately," said Bronwyn, "it did not render the creature unable to fly. In my own experience fighting dragons, and in the lore we gleaned from the Nevarrans, the most essential part of killing any dragon is to bring it down." In brief, she summarized things that had worked, and the role she wished mages to play. "Damaging the wings is what everyone who is not a Warden should concentrate on, first and foremost. Since we cannot surround it in the sky, we must fight it on solid ground."
She told them the rest of the message.
"They want to move on Val Royeaux as soon as possible, of course, before any newly-made Broodmothers can begin spawning. The nests will be tough, no doubt, but they are just as much a strategic objective as the Archdemon itself."
Visconti had considered the matter himself during his voyage. He had only a theoretical knowledge of Broodmothers himself, but his readings painted a dark picture. "Very tough. Have you had any ideas about how to destroy them?"
Astrid smirked. She had taken the lead with this. "A Broodmother nest is no problem for a well-prepared dwarven engineer. We've been using lyrium bombs in mining and construction for ages. They can be assembled out of a large number of lyrium grenades. We have people working on the problem. We can either use remote detonation, magical detonation, or, if we can get some distance above them, we can simply use contact detonation. It'll be a mess, and destroy the place they're hiding in, but lyrium bombs will do the job."
Greagoir opened his mouth, ready to bring up the Chantry's monopoly contract with the dwarves for all surface rights to lyrium. Then he shut it. Actually, dropping a large explosive device on the darkspawn sounded like a very good idea.
Loghain was deeply pleased with the message from the Nevarran Warden. Their diplomatic efforts had actually paid off. They appeared to have one reliable friend, at least, in the Nevarran Warden-Commander. If a mob of Wardens were attacking the horde from the north, the danger to his own people and above all to Bronwyn was substantially lessened. It was late and insultingly Orlesian-centered, but at least the order was mobilized. To paraphrase the Antivan fellow, better late than never.
"We'll send a message back to Warden-Commander Pentaghast," Bronwyn decided. "We have messages anyway, and I wanted to send Pepin to Jader. We'll send a ship to Val Chevin as well, and tell him what we're up to."
There was a road of a sort running parallel to the River Orne on the north bank. "Of a sort" meant that it was narrow, overgrown, and underwater in places. Darkspawn stragglers were everywhere. The Fereldans moved along the path, and darkspawn jumped out at them from time to time. The Wardens sensed them well before their appearance, and most of them fell to Niall's spells and the archers in the party before they could engage them blade to blade.
Brosca liked action, but she could not say she liked this place. It was soft underfoot: as far from good honest Stone as possible, unless they actually tried to walk on water.
There were other hazards, too. Huge webs warned them of giant, blighted spiders. These were as big as the ones in the Deep Roads, and like them, were a by-product of the Taint. Many of Cauthrien's soldiers had not seen them before, so there was something of a stir at their appearance.
At length, they came upon a large area that had been cleared by fire. Cauthrien raised her hand for a halt, and looked about her.
"This must have been the Orlesian camp. Come on."
She pulled out a pencil and parchment and began making notes and a map. Brosca led the Warden around the perimeter of the site, senses alert for darkspawn, but also looking for the odd bit of loot.
Not much remained. The survivors had remained on the site for some days, and had picked it clean. Large, burned-out places had evidently once been mass burial pyres. There was also evidence of a more recent campfire.
"The Qunari," Bustrum said. Steren agreed.
Brosca nodded. A smell of rot drew them to a body left a little way into the forest. It, too, was Qunari, from the size and the horns, though much of it had been scavenged.
"They just left him here?" Niall asked, disgusted. "They didn't burn him, or at least, bury him?"
"I don't think Qunari do that," Brosca said, trying to remember anything Sten had said about burial customs. From what she could gather, lifeless bodies were useless and no objects for sentiment. Still, surely the Qunari must dispose of them in some way.
"Sten told me," put in Sigrun, "that they believe in doing the simplest thing with the dead. If they live near the sea, they throw them in; if they live on a farm, they put them in the field as fertilizer. They thought they would never come back here for their noses to be offended, so they just left this guy. Hey," she said, seeing Nuala's scandalized expression. "I didn't make up Qunari burial customs. It's not much different at home in Dust Town. Nobody does much with the Dusters until we stink too much, and then we're dumped in the lava pits."
"Lava pits are good," Brosca said, feeling sentimental. "Dignified and tidy. Really hard to loot the bodies afterward, though."
Meanwhile, Cauthrien and her subordinates studied all the burn marks, finding the long, raking scars of intense heat, discovering a deliberate pattern to them.
"Looks like the dragon burned a cross into the land," she remarked. "It came in one way, and then came in from the other side to maximize the damage."
People kept telling her that dragons were smart; that they had some degree of intelligence; that they were not simply dumb brutes. Cauthrien had fought against the concept as long as possible. Intelligent enemies were far more dangerous than the other kind. Still, this was proof positive that the Archdemon was capable of formulating a plan.
Bits of bone and scraps of tents remained, remainders of the fire. the survey of the site took quite a bit of time. The darkspawn had been through here later, leaving their typical trophies: rotting, flayed human heads on sticks to mark their passage. The ground had been trampled at various times, but Cauthrien felt she was getting a good idea of what had happened here. The road led away north, and there, somewhere or other, the Montsimmard Wardens had met their doom.
"It won't happen to us," she declared. "All sentries are instructed to watch the skies as well. In fact, we've doubled our lookouts. If the Archdemon comes, we'll throw everything we have at it."
Eventually the river mouth opened out into many little streams, dividing the soft marsh into a maze of scrubby bushes and treacherous quicksand. Cauthrien kept her people strictly to the narrow road. The Waking Sea finally glittered amid the trees, and they came upon the Qunari lifeboat.
It was in fairly good condition. The Qunari had pulled it up above high tide level, and covered it will fallen branches. The wind had blown some aside. The oars were inside the boat. Whatever supplies had gone into the boat were now with the Qunaris themselves, but the boat itself was quite usable.
"What are they planning to do?" Brosca snorted. "Row back to Qunari land?
Sigrun dropped her voice to Sten's bass. "If necessary."
Surprised laughter greeted her imitation.
"Not bad," said Bustrum.
The village nearby was deserted. While the buildings showed some signs of Taint, the darkspawn had come and gone. They found no bodies, which suggested that the people living here had had the sense to run when they had the chance. The lack of maintenance was obvious, but there were still docks and one very long pier extending into the Waking Sea. Beyond, in the untainted sunlight, five ships were anchored. They flew the Ferelden standard.
Yes, they were there, but out of earshot. Cauthrien ordered the company's standard bearer to walk out on the pier, waving the banner, hoping to attract attention. At length, there was some activity among the ships, and one of them launched a boat shoreward. At the helm was a handsome, dark-skinned woman with a great deal of gold on her. She gave them a wide grin and a wave as the boat drew near.
"Ahoy, Fereldans! I'm Captain Isabela, of the ship Siren's Call!"
It did not take long to find out that they had mutual friends. Isabela's ship had carried Carver and Jowan on their trip to Nevarra. She knew Fenris, too.
"You can chat with the Captain after I'm done," Cauthrien said to Brosca, impatient with her gossiping.
They talked business then. Isabela told Cauthrien that they had received Loghain's message to come to the mouth of the river. The ships at the port of Lydes were now the merchant men who were ferrying refugees out of Orlais for whatever they could get.
"There's a lot of traffic in this part of the Waking Sea," Isabela said. "I saw some Rivainni ships put in at Cumberland not too long ago. Oh! And I saw what I'm sure was a Qunari dreadnought, but I have no idea what they were up to."
Brosca was so excited to hear this, that she fidgeted, wanting to answer instead of Cauthrien. The tall bann gave her an amused look, and said, "The Qunari were looking for a relic of theirs in Val Royeaux. They roused the Archdemon, who destroyed their ship. The survivors are not far from here."
Isabela was wryly amused. "Remind me never to piss off the Archdemon."
Brosca's words bubbled out of her irresistibly. "You should watch out. The Qunari have a boat. I bet they wouldn't mind borrowing somebody's else's ship so they could go home."
"Thanks for the warning," said Isabela. "Now tell me more about this relic. Is it valuable?"
Cauthrien did not like this turn in the conversation. "To the Qunari, undoubtedly, but they're not likely to pay for it. It would seem to me that looting Val Royeaux will be a lot safer after the Archdemon is dead. Remain where you are, Captain, but do keep watch for darkspawn on shore, the Archdemon overhead... or Qunari in a rowboat."
Isabela smirked. "Problems do seem to come in threes."
At a safe distance, the Qunari watched the encounter. Karasten eyed the ships hungrily, longing for the sea, and whispered the scheme forming in his mind. The bas had found their rowboat, and thus it would be moved elsewhere, and hidden carefully. There were a number of useful ships standing off the coast. Any one of them could be put to use when the time came to return to Par Vollen.
Sten listened to his superior's plans, forcing himself to hide his contempt. It was not necessary to murder a crew and steal a ship. All he had to do was ask Bronwyn, and she would arrange passage for him — and yes, his men. There was no need to sneak and spy. His opinion of Karasten sank lower. True, it was not entirely his commander's fault: he had never had dealings with anyone but Qunari, Sten had learned, and thus the commander did not understand that even those called bas were capable of courage and honor.
How long would Karasten survive against the darkspawn? It was a matter of some interest to Sten, for he was now convinced that the men under them would likely suffer the same fate as Tallis, if this Karasten remained in command. Sten had devised his own plan for finding a way to the Tome of Koslun: a plan not relying on foolish isolation, but which instead would unite Qunari with the great alliance against the darkspawn. Karasten, as far as Sten could see, was the only obstacle. The Qun was quite clear about how to deal with inadequate leaders.
Thanks to my reviewers: FloridaMagpie, Spirally, Chiara Crawford, Massgamer45, Tirion I, Melysande, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardian, Girl-chama, imperial queen, Nemrut, Blinded in a bolthole, KnightOfHolyLight, JackOfBladesX, AD Lewis, darksky01, Fenrir666, Ie-maru, LadyMary, DjinniGenie, KrystylSky, Brenediction, Suna Chunin, Mike3207, Robbie the Phoenix, Rexiselic, Phygmalion, Jenna53, devo342, jnybot, dragonmactir, Dennis Creevy Lyssa Terald, butterflygrrl, animeman12, and mille libri.
LadyMary left me a long review, but did not sign in. Here's an answer: I think the Archdemon is insane from the Taint, but still somewhat intelligent. There is evidence that the developers originally planned to make the Archdemon's mind control a plot point—it might well be the dangling end that explains Loghain's bizarre behavior in canon. Gaider has made noises to that effect. However, they ended up not making that explicit (thus making the Archdemon not much more than a big, noisy beast). And yes, there will be a dangerous mess in Orlais after the Blight. You were quite right about Tallis. I always thought Morrigan's participation in Flemeth's plan completely irrational, and the result of years of conditioning and who else knows what. The plan itself was weak from the beginning, and depended on too many circumstances outside of Morrigan's control.