The Rogue's Conquest

Chapter Fifteen

Quickly Marian folded the piece of paper over and over into a tiny, flat square before she pressed it into Orana's hand. She had spent all night pondering what to write, yet still her fingers had trembled as she held the quill. "Give this either to Gabriel, or the other man, the one who came here yesterday," she said, holding her hand over Orana's. "One of them will likely be at the market this morning."

Worriedly Orana shook her head while she nibbled her lower lip. "I don't like this, Marian," she whispered. "It's not that I'm not willing to help you – I am of course – but creeping about like this just doesn't seem right."

"I know Oreo, and I wouldn't ask you if there were any other way." Marian said on a sigh. "But the Templar sentries will insist on accompanying me if I try to go myself, and for Gabe's sake, I can't risk it."

"Oh, Mari." The little elf stared woefully at the message in her hand, her usual bravado replaced by cold fear.

"Oreo, look at me." Marian cooed, as she grabbed the elf's balled fists, tightly wrapped around the letter. "I wouldn't send you on this errand if I thought even a single strand of hair on your head was at risk. Even if the Templars somehow take the message from you, it won't mean anything to them." Nothing to them, thought Marian, but everything to her. All night she'd lain awake, only to come up with the two simple words of the message: I remember. Strange to think how many things those words could mean. If the note fell into Gabe's hands, he would believe she'd taken his warning to heart. She remembered her promise to help him; she remembered all that he had done for her in the past, she remembered, most of all, that her daughter's safety depended on the rebels' success.

But to Marian herself, the concise little message meant so much more. She remembered the unmistakable tenderness in Sebastian's eyes when he'd explained how he wished to protect her. She remembered how he'd listened to her in the Chantry and, better yet, how he'd heard every word in a way she hadn't even imagined herself. She remembered his gift and the pledge that had come with it and how he refused to take any of it back, and she remembered, too, how this morning she'd tucked the cobalt blue, teardrop into the bodice of her robe for good luck. But most of all she remembered the way she'd felt when they'd kissed, the heady sweetness of it mingled with fierce passion that had made her whole body sing.

I remember. Once before, long ago, she'd believed no other man could be like Sebastian Vael. Now she was beginning to believe it again. But was she remembering everything the way she should, or only as she longed for it to be?

"Is there any other message, Mari?" asked Orana as she looped her arm through her market basket. "If I see Gabriel, that is, and not that foul merc."

"If you see Gabe, tell him to take care, and watch after himself." She said softly, thinking of how Gabriel seemed so determined to risk his life again and again. "There are many who wish him harm, though I expect he knows that already. And one other thing, too, Oreo." Marian's fingers caressed her locket. "Please ask him to tell Nova that I miss her and love her very much," she said wistfully, "and that I'll come for her the first minute I can."

"About time, too. I know when you took her to Rana's, you thought it would only be for a few days, and here it is just shy of a full month!"

"Twenty-three days," said Marian sadly. "That is all, though I swear it seems like ten times that."

"Surely by Solstice," said Orana, clucking her tongue in sympathy. "Surely we'll have your sweet miniature, home by then."

"I don't know, Oreo," said Marian, thinking of all the complications that lay behind such a simple wish. "May the Gods help me, I just don't know."

It wasn't until later, when Marian was able to retreat to her own rooms upstairs, that she felt the prickle of tears well up. She had managed to fly from the Rose without being noticed, late the night before - while she pondered her letter - to get the little blue and white tea set delivered. Xenon's urchin had brought it to her early this morning, before the sun had even had a chance to begin its rise. She had arranged the little set on a toy table she'd taken from Nova's room, placing it before the fire as she imagined her daughter would do herself. Seeing it there, Marian could almost hear her daughter's serious little voice as she offered tea to all her stuffed animals. But suddenly she could hear another voice there beside her daughter's, a deep male voice, warm and kind and tinged with the elegance of Starkhaven. For the first time, she allowed herself to picture Sebastian crouched down beside his daughter, their two heads, with the same thick, sorrel hair, bending over the tiny tea set, Sebastian somehow holding the tiny cup in his hand like a giant's. Father and daughter, their relationship undeniable; Marian had worked so hard to keep them apart, yet now that she'd imagined the unimaginable, she kept returning to the image again and again, as unable to turn away from its beckoning lure as a dwarve from his ale.

Father and daughter and mother, too, a family with love at its center and not deceit and lies, a chance to begin her life all over again.

Yet as tempting as it was to dream, she knew it was just that, a maple-sweet, idle dream that could never become reality, and alone in her cold quarters she struggled to fight back the tears stinging her eyes. Weeping could change nothing, she told herself fiercely as she balled her hands into tight fists in her lap, digging her nails into her palms to keep the tears back. Better to think of a way to solve her own troubles than to long for a man to do it for her. Better still to think of a way to bring Nova safely home than to sit here and cry by herself.

As she turned to wipe her hand across her eyes, she noticed the flat package halfway under her bed where it had slid across from the door. This time she recognized the hand that had written her name across the front. This time, too, she didn't hesitate to open the slender package, her heart racing as she unfolded the stiff paper. To her disappointment, no note slipped free, but she gasped when she unwrapped the second sheet of paper and saw the gloves that lay inside. Pale, yellow Dathrasi leather, the color of new butter and just as soft, with a delicate scroll of slightly darker silk embroidered around the cuff; she'd had no idea that Par Vollen leather could be purchased in a Kirkwall shop, or that the Qunari would ever craft such delicate works. Clearly they were intended for the finest of ladies, the kind who never raised an unblemished finger for any sort of labor, and wryly Marian looked down at her own hands, red and chapped from the extra work she'd undertaken these last few weeks, with deep seated calluses from all the years she'd wielded her staff.

Still the gloves looked to be the right size, and gingerly she slipped one hand inside. Her fingertips touched something that rustled, and with a little frown she withdrew a piece of paper cut into a lopsided heart. Across it in thick, sweeping letters was a single sentence: You hold my heart in your hand. There was no signature, not that Marian needed one as she pictured Sebastian struggling first to cut the heart freehand and then to tuck it inside the narrow gloves. As beautiful and foreign as the gloves were, it was that awkward little heart that touched her the most, and made her smile as a fool would.

He was trying to woo her. No man bent on seduction alone would ever have tipped his card hand so openly with that misshapen heart. Her smile widened with pure pleasure, and even alone as she was, she blushed like a maniac as she ran a finger lightly across the heart. She wished she could see him, now, to let him know how much this gift had pleased her. He could be anywhere in the city this afternoon, but he most certainly wouldn't be found in her room. Swiftly, before she could change her mind, she reached for her cloak, the golden one she saved for special occasions. Jamming her hands into the wool-lined pockets of the extravagant cloak for extra warmth the thin gloves wouldn't offer, and to protect the precious paper heart tucked inside, she headed down the stairs to the front door. She told herself she'd walk to meet Orana, who still hadn't returned from the market, but secretly she hoped to cross paths with a certain Templar commander, as well.

The afternoon was chilly and grey, and the snow that remained in the streets was dingy with trampled mud. Though the Templars had not even been here a month, their mark was everywhere. Every third house was shuttered and closed or simply abandoned when their owners fled. These empty houses had become the first targets of the soldiers in their endless search for firewood, and fences had been ripped up, orchards and garden trees cut down. Even the shutters themselves were ripped from their hinges, and some of the more humble houses in lowtown had even had their wood siding pried and peeled away, leaving the beams beneath exposed to the wind and snow. Ships trapped in the docks harbor stood idle and empty, with neither destinations nor crews. Their cargo abandoned, the contents either rotting, or Templar property now.

All this Marian knew, and it sickened her deeply to see her city dying by degrees a little more each day. And yet, though nothing had changed for the better in the town, this afternoon she could barely keep the smile from her face as she walked toward the market. Even the sentry who walked behind her, a Templar shadow she'd never lose, failed to dampen her spirits today.

She soon spotted Orana, trudging down the sidewalk with a boy following behind her to carry her purchases, and Marian quickened her steps to meet her. "Looks like you had good luck, Orana," she said, glancing at the packages in the boy's arms and the basket looped over the elf's. "Did you find everything you sought?"

"Nay, Mari, I didn't," Orana said sourly. "So late in the day, there's nothing left but trash, and it's priced so high you'd think the moldiest turnip is pure gold. I nearly came to tears, thinking of the sorry table we'll be setting at the Rose now. It's all the fault of the Templars, of course, may the dear Gods rot them with blight sickness."

"But you must have seen some friends or acquaintances there," Marian prompted carefully, all too aware of both the sentry behind her and the boy with the market basket. "Surely, Oreo, you found time for a moment or two of conversation?"

"Not the type you'd speak of openly, Mari." The little elf nodded and winked so boldly that Marian almost winced. "But I did see a certain brown-haired fella that grows more and more into the image of his father each day."

"Dallas?" Marian asked, shocked. She'd never have believed that Gabriel let the boy from his sight.

"Aye, one in the same." Orana nodded again as they began to walk slowly side by side. "Paid his good day's to me as his poor mama would've wished, may she rest with the Gods. But, oh, he's so thin and ragged Mari! I was tempted to bring him along with me for supper. Like one of your wretched strays, except with the fella it would be merciful charity."

"I don't believe his father would wish him to accept your charity, no matter how kindly meant."

Orana sighed heavily. "Nay, I don't believe his father would," she agreed, with pointed emphasis that stopped short of pronouncing the Vael name, but just barely. "He's a good, obedient fella, even though he looks like some wild, rough creature now. He'll do as his father tells him." Orana nodded calmly, and Marian relaxed. Dallas would do whatever Gabe told him to, including carrying her message. These days, it was probably the least Gabriel was expecting of him, and once more she murmured a prayer to keep the boy safe. "And I'll tell you one other thing about the boy, Mari," Orana continued, warming to her subject. "He's quite taken with your Nova, and always has been. Oh, I know they're only babes, but mark what I say – in time you'll have a match there, see if you don't."

"Oh, hush Oreo, don't be foolish," scolded Marian uncomfortably, not wishing to discuss exactly how close Dallas Vael was to her daughter. "Nova is only eleven years old, and I won't have you or anyone else marrying her off. Besides, I-"

"Oh, Mari, will you look at those haughty Templar bastards!" Glaring fiercely, Orana charged to the edge of the sidewalk, brandishing her basket before her at the parade of Templar soldiers that had just marched around the corner. "Look at them strutting like peacocks, so proud, like the bullying, empty headed sheep that they are!"

Marian grabbed the elf's arm, surprised by the other women's outburst. "Orana, please! I won't have you behaving like this!"

"Then scold them, Hawke, not me!" Said Orana furiously, and to Marian's dismay the bitter elf spat into the street at the soldiers' feet. "Wicked, filthy excuses for men! Why, I'd rather-"

"That is enough, Orana!" Ordered Marian sharply. "Consider the shame you're brining to me and the Rose, let alone yourself! Do you wish us all to suffer because you can't hold your tongue, in that hot head of yours?"

"Aren't we all shamed already, Hawke, having such filth living beneath our roof," declared Orana, the furious heat dripping from her words. "I never thought I'd live-"

"I told you, Orana," said Marian, her voice laced with warning, "that is quite enough."

And though Orana jerked her arm free from Marian's hand, the little elf finally seemed to hear her warning. "Very well, Mistress." She said, making Marian wince at the formal title. "If that is what you wish." Orana finished, almond eyes still blazing with hatred for the Templars.

"It's not what I wish, Oreo," said Marian vehemently as she tucked her hand back into the pocket of her cloak. "It's how it is, and how it must be."

"Gabriel doesn't think so," blurted out Orana hotly. "He told me to keep a sharp eye on the soldiers in our house, and tell him what I see. Gabriel says-"

"Since when do you have such conversations with Gabriel Vael?" demanded Marian, not caring if the sentry behind her heard. Had Gabriel set Orana to spy on her now, while she was to be spying on Sebastian? "I won't have you gossiping when you're meant to be working."

Orana's lip quivered as she swallowed back her retort. "Very well, mistress," she said again. "Very well."

Fantastic! Marian thought, another friend bitter at her, exactly what she needed. Sighing she shifted her gaze back to the parading soldiers. Inside the glove she touched the heart shaped note, and as she did her own heart jumped. The men and women now marching before her and Orana wore the brightly polished armor of Sebastian's regiment, and almost before she realized it, he was there, too, on his black stallion, with the young corporal riding beside him. His face was stern, a studied, official mask covering his emotions and his thoughts.

This time when he spotted her among the others on the sidewalk, there was no special smile, no teasing greeting, as there had been before. But still she knew the exact moment when their gazes met, and felt the heat of that single shared look across the wide space that separated them. Without thinking, she drew her hand from her pocket and raised it, not so much to wave but to reach out to him, the pale yellow glove like a small banner in the cheerless street. His gaze shifted briefly to her hand, then back to her face, and the merest hint of a smile flickered across his mouth and eyes. Only a hint, but it was enough to make Marian's mouth go dry and her heart race.

Later, she thought as anticipation soared wildly in her breast, later I will see him alone. Later he will come to me… Unconsciously she leaned forward as he rode down the street, unwilling to let him go from her sight. But as she did, Orana turned and blocked her view. Marian sighed impatiently and raised her head, intent on seeing Sebastian. But already he was gone, around the corner and from her view, and she sighed again, this time with disappointment. Then, too late, she saw the look on Orana's face before her. The anger was still there, the bitterness and the resentment toward the Templars undisguised on her sharp, exotic features. But now there was suspicion mingled there, as well, suspicion that Marian recognized and understood with a swift, sickening sense of foreboding.

Quickly she lowered her hand in the yellow glove and shoved it in her pocket. "Come along. Orana," she said curtly. "We've lingered here long enough." But as much as Marian wanted to, she couldn't make herself meet the other woman's eye.

7-7-7

Once more Sebastian touched the dagger at his waist, and then cursed his own uneasiness. Damnation, where was Marian? He could just hear her voice from the hall upstairs, trying to soothe an irritated guest complaining about the tavern's shortage of firewood. Why, in the Black Void, didn't the fool take her word for it? Sebastian muttered an oath directed to all the whining old men in the world and touched his dagger again. If she didn't come soon, he'd have to leave without seeing her. He couldn't linger in this hallway all night, especially not when Keran would soon be waiting for him below.

There! There were her footsteps, coming toward him at last. Sebastian sank into the shadows of the stairwell. He didn't intend to frighten her, but he didn't wish to announce his presence to the entire inn, either. She was on the stairs now, the ring of keys at her hip jingling a merry tune as she hurried down the steps.

"Mari," he called softly. "Mari, lass, here." Abruptly she stopped, listening, one foot poised above the step. Here between the two floors, the stairway bent and turned at a landing lit by day by a tall arched window. But now, at night, the only light came from the new crescent moon far above and the magically, lit lamp in the front hall below, washing her slim figure in silvery twilight. She was dressed simply in a thin, slip of a robe with an apron around her waist and slippers on her feet where stilettos usually were, and she'd never looked more appealing to him. But then, he thought wryly, each time he saw her, no matter what she wore, he felt the same."Mari," he said again. "Don't look so startled, lass. Who else do you think it would be?"

She laughed nervously, her hand fluttering over her breast. "Of course I'm startled, Sebastian," she said, not really answering his question. "Why shouldn't I be, when my city is at war and my house is full of strange soldiers?"

"This one won't harm you," he said reaching out to draw her with him into the shadows of the corner. "I will promise you that."

"Will you, now?" She looped her fingers into his and let him pull her another step closer, but still he watched her glance over her shoulder to see if they were overheard. "Once again, I have only your word on it, you see."

"My word is all I have to give you now," he said softly. "A trustworthy offering, I'm told, though not perhaps, as attractive as those yellow gloves." He saw how she laughed in spite of herself.

"The gloves? They're fine indeed, of course, and I thank you for them. But I liked the heart even better."

"You did?" he asked, genuinely surprised, but pleased, too. The heart had been a gamble. He'd worried that she'd dismiss it as foolish or corny. "Then you must have found the sentiment to your taste, as well." He slid his arm around her waist, gently pulling her close against his chest. But instead of curving against him the way he'd hoped, she stiffened in his embrace.

"Not here, Sebastian," she whispered urgently, looking past him to the stairs. "Someone could come and find us at any minute."

"Someone could, and eventually someone will," he whispered, turning so that she was against the wall and he was shielding her with his body. How could she wave to him in the street, before his regiment and half the city, but turn skittish when they were alone? "But not now, Marian, and not yet. All I need is a moment to talk."

"Sebastian, you don't understand, do you?" She searched his face in the twilight, her mouth pinched with anxiety. "You never will, will you?"

"Hush, Mari," he chided softly, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "I understand a great deal more than you seem willing to credit me."

7-7-7

She looked down, away from the powerful lure of his gaze. All day long she'd been imagining this moment when she'd be alone with him again, but now that he was here, really here with her, she didn't know what to say or do next. Against her will, the image of Sebastian and Nova together rose fresh in her mind, the sound of their mingled laughter echoing in her ears, all of it so heartbreakingly vivid that she wanted to weep all over again. How had it happened that the people she'd always trusted no longer trusted her, while the only man who seemed to care for her was the one she dared not trust in return?

"How can you understand when I don't understand myself? She asked dolefully, resting her hands on his chest. "How can you, when everything in my life – everything – seems turned upside down?"

"Then tell me, Mari, and I'll try-"

"No!" she cried softly. "I don't want to talk anymore. What I want – What I want – Oh Gods." She growled. Swiftly, before the moment passed and she lost her courage, she slipped her hands around his neck, feathering them into the soft hair at his nape and drew his face down to hers, kissing him with all the heat from her pent up frustrations, her glaring uncertainty's and the lust she was no longer able to deny. She kissed him hungrily, and with a desperation that was impossible to hide. Words had failed her up to now; words had tripped, caught and snared her in ways she'd never dreamed of. This seemed her final hope, to lose herself in wordless emotions and find herself in the solace that only Sebastian could offer. No matter how much she tried to deny it, the bond between them was there, and always had been.

Parting her lips, she joined with him more completely, and with a low rumbling growl in his throat he deepened the kiss, making her shiver as his hands slid along her back to curve her into his body. This was no gentle pledge, no promise; this was passion, raw and powerful, and she let herself be carried away on its current. His hands slid lower, from her waist to her hips, and through the thin fabric of her robe she could feel the heat of his caress. She dug her fingers more aggressively into the thick waves of his hair, wrapping the strands in her fist, pulling him closer, and she felt the rough ridge of the paneling behind her as he pressed her against the wall. The paneling on the wall, thought some tiny, hazy part of her consciousness, the same paneling, newly painted beige last autumn, that lined the stairway and the landing where one could stand and see both the center entry hall below and the hall to the guests' quarters above.

See, or be seen…

With a desperate whimper, Marian pulled free, her fingers releasing his hair to flutter to her mouth, the same mouth and lips that had betrayed her with such wanton ease. Over and over she'd told him how much her good name mattered, and here she'd gone and behaved like some bold, whore. "Sebastian," she breathed, shaking fingers caressing his well-kissed lips. "What you must think of me now. If anyone had come, if anyone had seen us – I've fired my staff for less!"

His breathing ragged, and eyes dark with interrupted desire, Sebastian reached for her again, before he spoke. "How could I ever think bad about you, sweet, especially for something as near to the Maker's side as that kiss?"

But Marian vigorously shook her head, backing away from him, toward the stairs. "I can't stay, I must go," she said rapidly, unable to meet his gaze as she turned away. "I've much to do, an Inn to run."

"Damnation, Mari!" he growled. "The only reason I waited for you here was to say goodbye!"

She froze, her hand gripping the railing. "Goodbye?" she echoed faintly, the memory of how he'd left her before rising. He was leaving; she'd known he would. "You're leaving Kirkwall?"

"For only a day or two, that's all. Three at the most." He reached for her hand again, this time she let him take it. But much to her relief and dismay he didn't try to kiss her again. He wasn't lying then; he hadn't come to her for that.

"Only a day?" Troubled, she searched his face for the truth. "Where could you go for only a day? And why come to tell me farewell unless you fear you may not return?"

"Because, you know, I might not. It's always a possibility with soldiers, particularly those serving the Maker in this war." He smiled crookedly, an attempt to sooth her fears, but instead it injected a massive dose of dread into her heart.

"Then your going after Gabriel." She spoke softly, the grim certainty dampening the heat she felt. "That's it, isn't it? And you won't be returning until he's dead, or in shackles?"

"Don't ask me about my brother, Mari," he said so quietly she could barely make out his words, his finger tightening around hers, "and in return I'll ask no questions of you." Nodding silently, Marian realized the enormity of what he'd just done for her. He had put her first, before his orders, his Knight-Vigilant, even his Divine. She'd heard the rumors about what Gabriel and his men had been doing; stealing supplies from the Templars, destroying and vandalizing what they couldn't steal, luring young soldiers into deserting and joining them. Of course the Elite couldn't tolerate such losses any longer, and Sebastian would be the natural one to stop it. But still the notion of two brothers so at risk from one another frightened and angered her more than she wished to admit to Sebastian.

Staring down at their linked hands, she slowly lifted his to her lips. "I know a soldiers life is always forfeit, but may I ask you to take care?" she asked, brushing her whispered words across the back of his hand. "If I ask that of you, Sebastian, for my sake will you listen?"

The front door opened, and the hallway filled with the sounds of men's voices, laughter and heavy boots stamping off the snow. Yet, though they both knew he must, Sebastian didn't draw away from Mari; nor did she release his hand as they stood there in the twilight.

"Yes, Mari, I will," he said hoarsely. "For you, sweet lass, I would do anything." Through the haze of the sharp tears that had welled in her eyes, Marian smiled, and for the first time she believed him.

7-7-7

Sebastian lowered his hand, and at his signal the men around him dropped wearily to the sandy ground, shielding themselves as best they could behind the rocks and waving grasses. The night wind from the sea was unrelenting, slicing cruelly through the men's heavy armor to settle the damp cold in their blood and bones. After the long trek across the land, Sebastian knew that what they needed most was a warm fire and hot drink, but he didn't wish to warn the rebels, not when they were this close.

At least he hoped they were close. He'd come to the Wounded Coast depending on a mixture of what he knew and what he guessed, with a large amount of intuition thrown in for good measure. The men had been carefully chosen, all battle-seasoned veterans who had been with Sebastian since his first post in Tevinter, and they had been picked not only for their skill with a bow and blades, but for their silence, as well. For Sebastian's plan to work, all the elaborate lines of gossip and spying that ran like an underground stream through the occupied city would have to carry the same word: that Knight-Commander Vael had left Kirkwall for the northern beaches, with a small party of soldiers, their goal to capture the rebels who had been attacking the outlying Templar posts.

Like all the best lies, the story he'd spread in the city was largely true. Sebastian's orders were to capture the rebels and their leaders. But instead of going north, where the rebels had always struck before and where he'd been ordered to go by Knight-Vigilant Cullen, Sebastian had circled around the city to head toward the most southwestern point on the Coast, to a place called Deadman's Cove. He could have spent weeks trying to predict where the rebels would strike next, but he was willing to gamble his career that this was where they gathered first.

And this time his risky, gamble had paid off. His men had already found the boats, weapons, and stores of potions hidden in the cave, exactly where he'd known they'd be. Later they would burn the boats, but for now he'd ordered everything left as it was, making sure his men swept their tracks from the sand before they hid on either side of the steep path to the beach, ready to ambush the rebels.

With a keen eye Sebastian studied the rocky hillside and the sweep of beach below. How many years had passed since he was here last? So little had changed that he couldn't be certain.

So little, and yet so much…

It's a pirate cave," said Gabriel with all the authority of his twelve years. "They'd bring their gold an' plunder here tae' hide it from the guard, mercs an' other pirates."

Sebastian peered through the weeds into the narrow entrance. Though he was three years younger, he knew better than to believe everything his brother told him, even about something as exciting as a pirate lair. "Ah' donnae' know, Gabe, pa said grandpappy was a smuggler, nate' a pirate. That's nah' the same thing."

Gabriel frowned scornfully. "Well what else would pa say about his own pappy? Besides, it wasnae't Grandpappy. It was Grandmammy, too, an' her first husband. He was the pirate king."

"Grandmammy?" When Sebastian thought of his Grandmammy, he could only dimly recall an old lady in a plain, white gown. Certainly she couldn't have been a pirate queen. "Ye're daft, Gabe. Why would Grandmammy hide her fortune in a little cove so far from Starkhaven? Likely all that's in that cave are dead crabs an' bats. The same bats that are in yer' head."

"Are nate'." Stubbornly Gabriel raised his chin, "Ah' bet ye're just scared, Seb. Same as our sisters. Ye're just tae' scared tae' go inside."

"Am nate'." Before he could think too much about it, Sebastian shoved aside the dead weeds and plunged into the darkness of the cave. After the warmth of the summer sun, the sand was cold beneath his bare feet, the air around him chill and damp enough for him to imagine all sorts of evil things in the shadows beyond the daylight. Something brushed against his side, and he gasped and struggled to free himself, his arms flailing wildly into sticky cobwebs.

"Quit it, Sebastian," cried Gabriel, "else ye'll murder me!" There was a bright little flash of sparks as Gabe lit the candle in the lantern they'd brought, and in its comforting glow Sebastian felt his racing heart begin to slow.

"Likely we're the first two tae' be in here since the pirates left," he said striving to make his voice even in front of his older brother. "That is, if there were any pirates."

"Oh, aye, there were, Seb, nae' mistake." Gabriel's face was wolfish in the lantern's light. "Same ones as was hung, out on the Deadman's Point, their bodies left tae' rot from the gallows for all the terrible deeds they'd done, torturing and murdering an' such."

In spite of his wish to be brave, Sebastian edged closer to the lantern and his brother's side. "Do ye' think there's any treasure left inside?"

"That's why we're here, is it nae,' dummy?" said Gabriel, holding out his hand. "Now swear, whatever we find we'll split even, Sebastian, on account o' being Vaels an' kin an' all. Swear we'll always be mates, an' that ye'll' never slit mah' throat or try other base piratical acts on account o' the gold."

Sebastian clasped his brother's hand. "Ah' swear tae' it Gabe. Ah' swear tae' it we'll be mates forever."

But forever had come to an end, thought Sebastian grimly, and a great deal sooner than either of them ever expected. He looked again to the mouth of the cave, trying to see it as a soldier and not as a lad. Gabriel couldn't have chosen a better spot to hide his boats, and only Sebastian could have found it. Had his brother counted on that long-ago oath to protect him here, as well?

Bitterly Sebastian muttered a curse to himself. What would happen here tonight was Gabriel's decision, not his. He couldn't forget that.

Damnation, but it was cold. Irresistibly his mind wandered to the warmth he'd found last night in Mari's kiss, and he thought, too, of how her eyes had grown too bright with tears when he'd told her goodbye. Tears for him. No wonder he'd been unable to tell her the same tale he'd so carefully spun throughout the rest of the city. He never wanted to tell her anything but the truth again.

And what exactly was that truth? That he cared for her, that he wanted to be with her, that he loved her? Though there had been plenty of women in his life, he'd never loved any of them, but then, Marian Hawke wasn't like the others, she was special, and with each day it was becoming harder and harder to imagine his life without her in it, war or no war.

He glanced up at the moon, gauging the time, and tugged his helm down lower on his head. If Gabe and his rebels were planning a raid tonight, they'd have to gather soon, or the night would be gone.

"Look, commander, there!" The nearest man – Knight-Captain Hunter, guessed Sebastian – pointed up the rocky path from the beach. "That has to be them, sir, I'd stake my life on it!"

Five dark shadows bobbed across the open field and in and out of the scrubby low bushes. Gradually, as the shadows drew closer, their shapes sharpened into a small group of men, hurrying with their shoulders hunched against the wind and their bows and staves slung carelessly across their backs. Sebastian smiled at that; if his men could take the mages and mage sympathizers by such complete surprise, then perhaps they could capture the rebels without any casualties on either side.

"Hold your fire, and let them come to us." He whispered sharply, his voice rough with the cold. "Don't give the bastards a chance to scatter and run." A low murmur of agreement rumbled through his men, and all around him Sebastian could hear the little cracks and squeaks of men finally strumming their bows. As cold and tired as they were, Sebastian knew the chance to avenge their fallen comrades would add a raw intensity to their fighting. "Steady, lads, steady." He cautioned, not daring to say more and risk having the rebels overhear. "Steady, now."

The rebels were almost upon them now, their hats pulled forward and their heads bent so low into the wind that they'd never see the Elite until they were square in the middle of the ambush. One man was singing – droning, really – a low, sorrowful tune that matched the rhythm of their muffled footsteps.

Steady, steady, he repeated silently, praying that none of his men would jump up too soon. His heart was pounding with anticipation, his fingers tight on both an arrow's fletching and his bowstring. Beneath the hats, which one was his brother Gabriel?

Steady now…

The second man in the ragged line caught his boot on a piece of driftwood and stumbled in the sand. His staff swinging forward heavily, off his shoulder, and as he swore and grabbed for it, he suddenly noticed the white, bone armored Templars in the rocks above him. He gasped and stammered – the only blundering warning he could muster.

Sebastian scrambled to his feet, high on a massive rock. "In the name of Divine Justinia V," he roared, "The Maker, demands your surrender!" What happened next was a blur of white uniforms and horned helms rushing down the grey rocks and over the golden sand as they launched silencing waves to dim the magic energy that swirled around them. A blur of the rebels struggling vainly to reach for their daggers, to ready their staves, or swing their bows like clubs before they were forced to surrender. The moonlight shifting through the clouds glinted off a polished dagger here, a torn shirt there, a terrified man's open mouth as he begged for mercy.

Yet in one split second before Sebastian jumped down from the rock to join the others, a movement in the distance, across the field, caught his eye. Another man, a latecomer, scurrying from the shelter of each bush to scrubby tree as he fled the same fate as his friends.

"Halt, in the name of Divine Justinia V!" roared Sebastian, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Halt now, you damned rebel coward!" Still the man ran, and Sebastian raised his bow. His orders were to take all rebels alive, but he meant to bring them, every last one of them, to Knight-Vigilant Cullen, and he'd be damned if he'd let this last coward slip through his fingers now. With that as his only thought, he zeroed in on the running figure at the end of the arrowhead and let it fly, the bowstring twanging off his armored forearm.

"Top shooting, sir," said Hunter breathlessly as he climbed up on the rock beside Sebastian. "Especially fine, sir, since the others are saying that last bastard was their leader, the one shaming your family's good name by turning rebel against the Chantry."

Without seeing, Sebastian stared silently through the smoky night.

"Ah' swear tae' it, Gabe. Ah' swear tae' it we'll be mates forever…"

Swiftly he turned on his heel. "Send two men to find the body," he said, wondering if anyone else noticed how hollow and empty his voice had become. "Knight-Vigilant Cullen will want it as proof."