disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

The Seeker leaned back in her chair, her hand on her chin in thought. "You have mentioned this man Pickering several times. Yet I have not heard of him before."

The Warden snorted with derision. "Yes you have."

Cassandra paused, forcing back the flash of anger at being corrected so disrespectfully. "I assure you that with the exception of your tale, I have not heard of this man before."

Emerald eyes fixed on her own. "Yes, you have," Kathryn insisted.

Cassandra forced herself to breath in and out slowly. "Very well. When would I have heard of this man?"

The Warden gave her a cheeky grin, calculated to infuriate. "How about I continue my tale, and we'll see when you figure it out?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

With depressing predictability, Eamon objected to my stated aim of burning down various buildings of Denerim. Yes, even if there were assassins living inside. Unfortunately, Alistair agreed with his Chancellor, or at least agreed that the fires could quite easily spread beyond acceptable boundaries.

Fortunately, the pair did agree with me that the number of assassins in Denerim could do with thinning out. A point of view I suspected was most popular with people in power, but just about anyone with wealthy enemies would probably agree.

Eamon wanted to know whether or not we had the ability to root them all out. It came as a bit of an unwelcome realisation that Eamon and I had a bit more in common that I felt comfortable in acknowledging. At least I was able to fight off the assassination attempts on my life personally. He had to deal with the fact that Jowan had all but been successful, and Eamon was only walking around due to (literally) a miracle.

I pointed out that Ignacio had in fact refused to take the contract on my life. I hadn't believed his claim when he first made it, earlier in the evening. But Lucius had been most forthcoming before I'd violently ejected him from the mortal coil. The 'greedy man' had admitted to taking the contract only because Ignacio had not.

Killing Ignacio and his own Crows as well would add a layer of complexity to any plan that it did not need, and the benefit of doing so would be negligible. Sure, there'd be fewer Crows in Denerim for a couple of months, but eventually they'd be back. And we wouldn't know who they were.

As it was, knowing the identity, current location and operational methodologies of the remaining Crows would be just enough value to justify letting Ignacio live. I smiled to myself as I wondered if he'd be pleased or annoyed with that conclusion.

As for the rest, the trick would be to ensure each of Lucius' three sons were in close enough proximity to kill them all in one operation. Having to chase them individually through the city would no doubt prove beyond our limited resources.

I eventually convinced Eamon and Alistair that they agreed with me. "Right, in order to kill Lucius' sons and cripple the rest, I am going to need Pickering's help. Do you mind?"

Eamon blanched, but Alistair (who had been used as everything from bait to vanguard in my insane plans in the past) simply looked over at Pickering with a questioning expression.

The young guard/spy blinked, but nodded firmly. "Yes Commander. I am at your disposal."

I grinned at him. I liked his eager-to-please attitude. "Excellent. Let me think of a plan." I looked at the ceiling for a few seconds before returning my gaze to Pickering. "Right, got one. Take your pants off."

Instantly, I was graced with three blushes of varying intensity. It's so cute that men think that they're in charge.

"What?" Alistair spluttered.

"For my plan," I clarified, my voice calm and collected. "I need Pickering's trousers. Also, I will need a needle and thread, a small coil of thick wire, a broken dagger, my cousin Shianni, two yards of some expensive, diaphanous fabric and a couple of vials of pig's blood."

Maker, I loved doing that to people. The three expressions of stunned, uncomprehending silence were pure gold.

"Oh, and I'll also need the services of the most terrifying war hound imaginable."

"Whuff!" Thunder barked, sitting rigidly to attention.

At least my mabari was able to keep up with the conversation.

Pickering could run really fast.

I mean really, really fast.

Of course, if you've got a lion-sized hound on your heels and howling for your blood, it lends a certain immediacy to the need for speed.

He raced along a narrow alleyway, pulling down piles of crates and knocking over stalls. Somehow, despite his usual agility, Thunder managed to hit and stumble over every obstacle dropped in his path.

People stopped and gawked as he raced past. Those whose possessions he scattered in front of Thunder bellowed their rage at the young man, or at least his rapidly retreating back.

He emerged from the alleyway into one of the numerous common squares of Denerim, bustling with industrious figures at the early hour. He dodged between them skilfully, heading directly for a particular building. One with a balcony on the second level.

He leapt well, grabbing hold of the balustrade. His momentum caused him to swing wildly for a moment; enough time for Thunder to close quickly. With a shout of fear and determination, he hauled his body up and over the railing, and out of the range of Thunder's snapping jaws.

I wanted to applaud. But that was a bit difficult to do when I was in the form of a mouse, desperately holding onto the protective coil of wire sewn into one of the pockets of Pickering's trousers. I had my head stuck out just enough that I could see what was going on, but the constant bouncing and jerking was faintly nauseous.

Pickering staggered back, putting a little more distance between him and Thunder's still-snapping jaws. Panting heavily himself, he climbed further up the building and onto the roof.

Slate slick with morning dew made this leg of his trip difficult, but he managed to cross the building and slide down the other side, landing hard in a muddy puddle.

"Are you all right, Commander?" he whispered.

I reached through a gap in the wire coil and scratched his leg once, our signal for yes.

Thunder's baying drew closer. My mabari was clever enough to find a way around the row of buildings.

Staggering slightly, Pickering again took off in a run – less than a sprint but far more than a jog.

"Near… ly… there…" he panted.

He angled towards a nondescript door. The only feature worth mentioning was the beggar sitting off to one side. A lookout, perhaps?

Pickering launched himself at the door, and hammered on it with his fists. Behind him, Thunder rounded the corner and charged.

"Swordfish! Swordfish! Open the bloody door!" he shouted. "Swordfish!"

Several voices inside cursed and argued. I heard the sound of a bolt sliding back and the door inched open. "Wha-"

With a surge of strength, Pickering shoved the door open and lunged through, sprawling on his stomach. "Shut it! Shut it! Shut it!" he shouted.

Spurred on by the urgency in his voice, two men slammed the door shut, one holding it closed while the other fumbled with the bolt. There was a threatening bark and a concussive slam as Thunder hit the other side of the door, causing the two men to bounce off the wood slightly. The door held, but the hinges were definitely a bit looser in their housing. Both men suddenly had rather wide eyes.

"Creatore!" one breathed. Obviously Antivan, that one.

Once the door was bolted and Thunder reduced to simply scratching and gnawing at the outside, the other man turned to Pickering. "Who are- wait. I know you. You're one of the workers. What are you doing here, boy? Andraste's arse, you screamed out the password for everyone to hear. What is going on?" That one sounded Fereldan.

Pickering swallowed, slowly rising to his feet. "I need to speak to Lucius."

Both men stared blankly at him before bursting into laughter. "Why would Lucius want to speak to a gutter rat like you?" the Fereldan scoffed.

"Because I just killed the Warden."

That killed the laughter dead. "What?" the Antivan demanded.

"I made a delivery to the palace this morning," Pickering replied. "The Warden was there, and when her back was turned, I stabbed her in the heart and ran. I know that there's a contract on her. I want the reward."

The men shared a glance. "He's talking bollocks," the Fereldan scoffed. "There's no way a gutter rat would be able to do the bitch in."

"Perhaps," the Antivan replied, looking Pickering up and down. "But there's no dagger in that sheath. Anyway, it's easy enough to confirm. Why did you come here, boy?"

"That bloody dog chased me from the palace. I've made deliveries here. I know there's not a lot here, and I didn't want to lead it anywhere important."

Neither man looked as though they believed him. "Likely story. But it's not my place to skin you for lying. Come on then."

The Antivan glanced at his companion. "Who are you taking him to see?"

"Victor. He can decide what to do with him."

Pickering took half a step back. "What? Why Victor? I want to see Lucius! He's the one who put the contract out on the Warden."

The Antivan grinned nastily. "Well then, you'd better be very persuasive then."

Pickering was roughly hoisted to his feet and frog-marched through the backstreets of Denerim. He was patted down for weapons, but as a mouse in a trouser pocket with holes, they didn't find me.

Pickering's coughing and sudden stiffening of limbs indicated that he wasn't used to having a small creature run up and down his thigh. Some people are just so sheltered.

We were half-dragged to a warehouse, still bearing the scars of that night nine months ago. Several Crows were inside, some practicing weapon skills, some maintaining their equipment, some relaxing and playing cards. My sharp ears picked up hushed rumours of my death as they swept through the ears of the assembled assassins. One by one, group by group, they all followed us deeper into the warehouse and down into the cellars.

Pickering was starting to panic at the number of trained killers nearby, so I scratched his leg three times, telling him to wait.

Victor turned out to be one of Lucius' sons; the sadistic one. We were dragged down two levels of basement and shoved through a doorway, into a makeshift torture chamber. Three figures were being 'serviced'; two bound to the wall and one to an esoteric wooden structure. Their whimpers were hoarse, as though they'd been screaming for hours. Four other people stood around them, holding the awful tools of the torturer's trade.

One, a big man with a moustache that looked as though it was the work of several hours grooming every morning, glared at Pickering as he caught his balance. "What's this?" he demanded as a single crimson drop left the tip of the instrument in his hand. The blood splashed on the floor and mixed with the rest.

The Antivan man who escorted us scoffed and shoved Picking into the centre of the room. "This piece of dog shit claims to have killed the Warden."

"I did!" Pickering blurted, keeping in character quite nicely. The three pitiful wretches in the room looked up hopefully at that.

"Really?" Victor said with a dangerous leer. "You. Go get Sal and Alberto. They need to hear this." He turned back to Pickering. "Well my little man. Tell Uncle Victor how you killed the bitch, yes?"

With an audible swallow, Pickering said, "I made a delivery to the palace this morning. The Warden was there, with her bloody dog. She turned away from me, and I stabbed her. Right in the heart. And then I ran."

"Straight to my warehouse," the Antivan grumbled as he left.

Victor sneered at Pickering. "Perhaps I should test your story, yes? Maybe you have a different one to tell after an hour on the rack?"

"No! It's true!" Pickering wailed. Whatever the tone in his voice suggested, he wasn't trembling. I was impressed.

"Help our guest into a chair," Victor snarled.

"No! Wait!" Pickering shouted as three torturers approached him, all grinning wildly. One reached out and grabbed his arm, but Pickering pulled away. The other two surged forward, grappling him.

I held onto the coil of wire with my rear legs and leaned out of his pocket far enough to sink my teeth into one torturer's hand. He yelped and let go at the sudden unexpected pain. I scurried across Pickering's shirt and bit the other one.

That one cursed in Antivan, but let go too.

"What's this?" Victor demanded.

"The little bastard's got a rat," one grumbled.

"It bit me," the other whined, holding the minor wound out for Victor to see – a bit hypocritical, given his profession and three victims in the room.

"You keep a pet rat?" Victor demanded.

Pickering swallowed. "A mouse. I'm training her," he said, sticking to our script if I was discovered before the three brothers all made an appearance. "I'm teaching her to fetch keys and things."

Victor's face grew sly. "Really? Show me. Sit in that chair," he said, indicating something that looked more like a birthing stool with shackles. "If your rat can get the key off this table, I won't skin you."

Pickering glanced around at the other three torturers, and then at the door as though gauging if he could make a run for it. Given the two guards at the door narrowed their eyes at him, he turned back to Victor and nodded slowly. "Al- all right," he said.

Tentatively, he sat down on the chair. One of the torturers roughly grabbed his arms and locked them in place. He then slugged Pickering across the face. "That's for your bloody rat biting me," he snapped.

"Rennie," Victor mock-chided. "That's no way to treat our guest. If his rat can't get the key from here," he put a key on a table on one side of the room, "then you can do a lot worse."

Pickering looked down at me, still clinging to his shirt. He gave a couple of meaningless whistles. Clever boy.

I scurried down his body and across the floor. He kept whistling different sounds, presumably in an effort to make them believe that I was being directed by him. For realism, I paused twice and stood on my hind legs and sniffed at the air. I'd seen mice and rats do that before.

It was the work of a moment to scurry up the table leg. Once on the table top, I ran over and started dragging the key back. I pushed it off the table and ran down the leg again.

Victor looked a bit surprised. "Hmm, not bad. I might buy this rat from you." He turned to face Pickering. "Or I might just kill you and take it, yes?"

I dragged the key across the slick floor over to Pickering. I managed to get a strong grip in my mouth and carry it up to him.

"Good girl," he whispered. He fumbled with the key a bit, but managed to use a single hand to unlock one of the shackles. Once that hand was free, he unlocked his second hand.

"Well, it looks like you could be useful after all," Victor grudgingly admitted. "How long does it take to train a rat to do that?"

Pickering shrugged, scooping me back up and putting me back in his pocket. "A few months, I guess. And she's a mouse, not a rat."

The idea of having trained rodents able to pilfer keys seemed positive, and a couple of the guards at the door began making plans to capture some and experiment. My little show had soothed Victor's sadistic impulse for the moment.

The guards at the door stepped to one side, allowing another man entrance. The family resemblance was vague, but there. He carried himself like a warrior, with scars of varying ages worn proudly on his bare forearms. "Victor, have you heard?"

"The Warden bitch?"

The newcomer nodded. "Word is she's dead. Killed this morning."

Victor jerked his head towards Pickering. "This little rat and his littler rat claim to have done it. I was just about to find out how."

With startling intensity, the new arrival stepped over and stared into Pickering's eyes. "You killed the Warden?"

He nodded. "Stabbed her in the back."

"I am Sal," the man introduced himself. "Victor here is my brother. I would know everything."

Nodding, Pickering began relating the scene we staged carefully. Shianni, her back doused with pigs blood and decorated with a dagger hilt, had been laid out with her face towards a wall. All those who saw her body would see nothing but a slight elf woman with scarlet hair in blood-stained mage robes.

Once enough people had seen her to start the rumour mill going, Alistair would order that she be laid out under a thin, partially transparent sheet in the chapel, far enough away from gawkers that they hopefully wouldn't notice that Shianni's features were a bit different from mine. Or that the 'corpse' was still breathing. With any luck she wouldn't have to scratch her nose or anything.

"-and I ended up chased by her dog."

Sal nodded. "I see."

Victor glared at Pickering. "He led that bloody dog to one of our warehouses."

"A warehouse is a small price to pay for her death, Victor," Sal replied soothingly. "Father has been avenged."

I presumed that the third brother was this Alberto who had been summoned. Hopefully, he would arrive soon and I could begin slaughtering them.

A rail-thin man, stepped into the room. I presumed that this was Alberto, but he looked nothing like the other brothers. "Sal?" he asked in a cultured voice and a light Antivan accent. "Thoughts?"

The sadistic maniac's brother turned and nodded respectfully. "Sounds legitimate."

The thin man did not seem to take that at face value. He sat down on one of the disgusting pieces of torturing equipment and placed the tips of his fingers together, as though he were at the high table at the palace. "Give me the details," he said, his voice quiet and modulated. Despite his light frame and cultured mannerisms, this had to be Alberto. And if so, then he was the real brains of the three brothers. And as such, the most dangerous.

Pickering's story was related again, and he simply listened. He asked no questions, indeed, he made no move whatsoever.

Once the story had finished, he hummed a short beat. "Send someone to the alienage."

My heart started beating even faster than the hundreds of times a minute that was normal for a mouse.

"The alienage?" Sal questioned.

Another short hum. "Yes. The Warden has a cousin there with similar hair. She was considered as a potential hostage. Were I the Warden eager to fake my death, I could use her as a decoy. If the cousin is in the Alienage, then we reward this man."

Victor turned to one of the guards. "You heard Alberto. Go!"

That was it. I erupted from Pickering's pocket and leapt to the ground. With a shimmer, I turned back into an elf and while everyone stared in shock, unleashed a wave of concussion magic.

Not all the Crows were stunned, however. Sal and one of his Crows managed to keep their wits, though they were still surprised at my appearance. As they drew weapons, I dropped a paralysation glyph over them.

That caught them. I quickly drew Pickering's sword from the sheath on my back and my dagger from my hip. "Here," I snapped, pressing them into Pickering's hands. I took Spellfury from my other shoulder and readied it.

Alberto shook his head and collected himself first. Rather than draw a weapon, he shouted an alarm. Outside the door I could hear more shouts and running footsteps. I raised my staff and pointed it at him. With wide eyes and expecting horrible magic, he focused entirely on me, he missed the real danger.

Pickering's sword took him low in the belly. My comrade wrenched the wound larger and tore the blade out, spilling entrails onto the floor.

One brother down.

I blasted the pair of Crows behind us with lightning, setting them dancing and jerking, with no control over their bodies. That pare were not the most dangerous, but being attacked from all sides was a recipe for disaster. By clearing the enemies behind us, I could concentrate on one direction. "Finish them," I shouted, pointing at the twitching Crows.

Pickering didn't verbally respond, but he followed my direction quickly. I took stock of our position as he slit throats. The two of us were in a room with several Crows, but once Pickering had finished his grisly work, there was only a blank wall, some furniture and a pair of hanging prisoners behind us.

It was a precarious position, but not unrecoverable. I began casting one of the nastier curses I knew.

Suddenly, every Crow in the small room surged into action. Sal roared a challenge and drew his blades. So did three other Crows. Victor bolted for the door, screaming for help.

I dropped the curse on one of Sal's guards. Using such a powerful spell on a weaker target was a tactic that always confused Alistair. The spell was vicious, but it worked most effectively when cast on weaker opponents.

The victim stiffened slightly as the spell took effect, eating and dissolving his body from the inside.

Pickering met Sal's charge with his blades, but it was obvious the young spy was outmatched. The Crow swung, thrust and parried with sharp, precise moves. Each action forced Pickering to respond in a different way, causing his guard to move further out of alignment. From just a few seconds observation, it was clear to me that Sal was easily a match for someone of Zevran or Nathaniel's skill.

Trusting that Pickering could handle him for just a few moments, I sent a powerful bolt of arcane energy at my first victim. As my magic tore him apart from the outside, the curse ate him out from the inside. I judged the curse had almost run its course, and shot a shard of elemental rock at him, sending him flying away and into the Crows grouped at the door.

With a muted cry, he exploded in a shower of dark purple gore. While I'd seen it quite often before, the stench was not something you could get used to. Entrails smelled horrible.

The Crows, who had managed to recover from their shock and were mounting a descent offence, suddenly found themselves flattened by the horrific blast. Worse, they were now labouring under the same curse as their unfortunate comrade. This was not the clean, elemental magic of battle. This was the sort of malignant sorcery that was the stuff of nightmares. If any Crow escaped me today, I wanted them to piss themselves at the thought of fighting a mage.

The shockwave did not reach Sal, however, and the Crow had Pickering at his mercy. He stabbed down through Pickering's forearm with one short sword and forced the limb away, while he thrust low with the other.

Poor Pickering was stabbed in the belly, almost exactly as he had done to Alberto moments before. He fell back, landing on the floor, clutching at his stomach.

Clenching my teeth, I dropped a cage of force around Sal, crushing him. He screamed and screamed as the magical filaments constricted around him.

Unable to help Pickering directly, I dropped a vial of a potent healing concoction onto his lap, hoping against hope that it would be enough to keep him alive. Fortunately, only one other Crow was up and fighting in the room. Those outside were struggling enter the room through the doorway blocked by bodies writhing in agony as their organs dissolved.

Still, that wouldn't last long. I froze the last one and then conjured a magical glyph near the doorway. The imbued magic of the glowing inscription would repulse those who tried crossing it. One of Matthias' barrier spells would have been more effective, but I couldn't take the time it would take to cast it. But the makeshift 'barrier' glyph should buy me some time.

I looked down and cast a field healing spell at Pickering. The blood flow from the wound slowed, and then stopped as he drank the healing potion. He wouldn't be taking part in any more combat today, but he'd live.

Sal was still screaming in agony. I stuck the tip of Spellfury into his throat and blew his head off. That was very, very satisfying. And it was also the second brother accounted for.

The man I'd frozen shook the frost from his skin and backed away. "Crossbows!" he shouted.

"Shit," I said helpfully, and dropped a magical paralysation trap at his feet.

The resulting explosion blew me off my feet.

I sat up, blinking with a mild ringing in my ears. "Andraste's arsecheeks," I swore to no one in particular.

"Commander?" Pickering said, his voice week and reedy.

I leaned on Spellfury as I rose to my feet. The magical blast had shredded the Crows at the point of origin. I looked more closely.

The epicentre was my repulsion glyph.

Ah. I once told Fergus that I sometimes wondered what other weird and wonderful magical effects existed out there, waiting to be discovered by the unwary mage. Note to self - don't stand near a glyph of repulsion when a glyph of paralysation is cast on top. Addendum – take the very first opportunity to try it out on some other enemies to observe and document the effect, rather than experience it.

I shook my head and dropped another vial of portable healing on Pickering. "Drink that once the first has gone down," I said, probably a bit louder than usual. I still couldn't hear properly.

"Yes, Commander," he said, wincing at the pain in his stomach. "Sorry, I wasn't good enough to keep him from getting me."

"You did fine," I said. Through the open door, I saw Crows raise projectile weapons at us.

Without even taking the time to swear, I dove behind the chair Pickering had been shackled to as the first volley shot through the door. Fortunately, they targeted me alone, giving me time to drop a magical field of force around Pickering, a layer of protection that should last long enough for me to clear the crossbowmen.

Even crouched behind cover, I could position spells at a distance. As the bowmen argued among themselves as to which of them was going to approach the doorway for a clearer shot at me, I called forth a blizzard of ice and snow, placing the localised storm through the door in the next room.

Maker's breath, I loved my staff. The powerful enchantments along its length magnified my spellpower enormously. Screams and shouts echoed throughout the basement as the Crows afflicted by my spell froze solid.

With no arrows or bolts coming through the door, I felt it time to begin to advance through their ranks. I cast a couple of spells to boost my protection, causing my skin to harden and my body to fade slightly as it partially left this plane.

The next room was still in chaos, as my localised storm pelted assassins with ice and snow. The sound of doors slamming echoed down the corridors, giving me hope that all the people I needed to kill would come to me and save me the hassle of chasing them down.

I made sure the frozen Crows in the room were dead before moving on; backtracking along the path Pickering and I were dragged along just minutes ago.

A group of about eight men, including four who carried staffs, rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor. Of the mages, two of them wore robes, the other pair wearing nightclothes. They stopped advancing on catching sight of me. One gasped and screamed, "It's the Warden!"

I summoned my magical strength and began casting a spell. The four mages also began waving their hands through the prescribed motions of spell casting.

I was quicker. I thrust Spellfury towards the ceiling and flooded the area surrounding the four mages with an expanding ring of anti-mana. The mage-killing spell ripped their mana reserves from their souls, causing four truncated screams of agony, followed by four dull thumps of corpses hitting the floor.

The fact that one spell from me could drop four mages caused quite some discontent among the remaining Crows. I gave the ones who looked the most frightened a bright, cheery smile before calling down fire on their heads.

I'm not sure what freaked them out more; the ease with which I killed their mages or the happy grins I gave them afterwards.

Being terrified of someone puts you at a serious disadvantage when fighting them. Ordinarily, it should have stretched my abilities to slaughter a nest of Antivan Crows by myself. But most were pissing themselves in terror by the time they caught sight of me, and didn't know how to fight a mage with no magical backup. An untenable situation.

By the time the building had evacuated itself and my rampage was complete, I had twenty-one dead Crows, including Sal and Alberto. Victor had managed to escape. That was a bit of a bugger, but I reckoned that I could track him down easily enough.

Pickering was on his feet by the time I returned to the torture chamber. Oddly, he had somehow built up a bit of a rapport with Victor's three victims. Though they were Crows, they claimed to have voiced an objection to the open contract on me. I wasn't sure I believed them, but the story was reasonable.

I found it odd that Kylon and his men (who arrived with a trio of panicking templars who had sensed the vast expenditure of magic under the street) would have orders to let any Crow go. But Pickering somehow managed to ferret the three wounded Crows away from the law. I suppose as a spy, he had some leeway in how he conducted himself.

According to Pickering's new best friends, there had been twenty-nine Antivan Crows in that cell this morning. Well, thirty-two, if you included Lucius and the two Crows guarding the treasure room I killed the previous evening.

With twenty-one corpses and three torture victims accounted for, that left five escapees; one of whom was Victor.

I left the exasperated Captain Kylon with the headache of what to do with the uncovered nest of Crows. I found a private spot and shifted form. My mabari shape had excellent olfactory clarity, and I was soon able to locate Victor's scent. Fear tended to put an edge on your odour.

I trotted along his path, dodging the admiring pats and whistles from street kids. The attention didn't particularly bother me; I was an attractive bitch, after all.

Victor's path initially fled straight, but after a few blocks began to meander about. He backtracked a few times, and even cut a false path at one point. Had I been tracking him as an elf, I might have been fooled by the decoy path. Even a well trained hound might have had trouble. But when combined with a reasoning brain, the nose was more difficult to trick than the eyes.

As it was, his path led me to a place I should have guessed. I shifted into the form of a mouse, and ran along the same path I'd taken the evening before.

"We need to join forces and kill her now!" Victor's voice echoed through the building. It seemed that recent events had shaken the bully. Enough to render his caution shot to pieces.

Ignacio's soft tones were far more difficult to hear. "Oh? Why is that, Victor?"

There was a short spluttering sound of disbelief. "What? She just killed Alberto and Sal! She destroyed my father's house! She killed most of my Crows. All my mages. She will come for you too, you know."

I struggled through the last knothole and into Ignacio's rooms. He sat at a table across from the sadistic torturer. Two of the Crows who escaped the fire stood behind him, in front of two of Ignacio's own men.

The soft-spoken assassin sighed. "Three times now, the Crows have been approached to arrange an accident for the Warden. The first time, she somehow recruited the man sent. Odd, I thought, and very insulting. Second time, she killed the men sent to take care of both her and the traitor. So, there is an open contract on her. But every Crow who tries to kill her ends up dead. So I thought, Ignacio, you need to know more about this woman. How did she get so strong? Exactly how powerful is she? So, I cancel contract and try hiring her. It works, because she needs money for fighting the Blight. What sort of woman is she? I find out. What motivates her? I find out. What scares her? I find out."

"What are you blathering about?" Victor demanded.

Another soft sigh. "Victor, perhaps you should stop being Victor so much and start being Alberto a little more, yes? I find out more about the Warden so that I know what to do next time someone wants her to have a little accident, yes?"

"Fine," came the gruff response. "What did you find out?"

As Ignacio continued his exposition, I scurried into the far corner, deep in the shadows. I judged that I could transform back into my base form in a crouch and still be hidden from view.

"I find out that when the third person wants her to have an accident, it is a very good idea to let her know that someone wants her to have an accident. Do you know that the person who wanted her gone is dead? He lived in a tower on a lake surrounded by guards who controlled the only boat. And he is dead just weeks after asking me to have her killed. Coincidence? Perhaps so. But the Warden is not someone I want to be fighting, Victor. Soldiers who travelled with her say she uses spells big enough to destroy an army just to kill a few darkspawn."

Victor spat and cursed. "Bloody mages."

"Not just a mage, my friend. She does not react the way a normal person does. Loghain tries to kill her for a year, she recruits him into the Wardens. Your father annoys her, so she kills him. You and your brothers say, 'open contract', and she burns down your house and kills everyone inside. Victor, you need to know this. She is insane. And she is more powerful than you, or me. Maybe even all the Crows."

How sweet of him to say so.

Victor didn't seem to agree. "But-"

"No, Victor! No 'but'. It is simple, yes? Threaten her, you die. Threaten her friends, you die. Threaten her Wardens, you die. Threaten her country, you die." Ignacio's voice started increasing in both tempo and volume. "Archdemon, dead. Darkspawn, dead. Crows, dead. Rendon Howe, dead. Tevinter blood mages, dead. Orlesian bardmaster, dead. Dragon cultists, dead. Bandits, smugglers, bounty hunters, dead, dead, dead." Ignacio paused to regain his breath. Once composed, he continued in his usual dulcet tones. "And Lucius, he comes to me to say he has accepted the contract on the Warden. He says that Ignacio has made a mistake by saying no. And I say to him that he is a silly man. But he just looks at the gold and he smiles, and does not listen to Ignacio. And I say that he is a greedy man."

"My father did what he thought was best!" Victor exclaimed.

"Lucius did what Lucius thought best for Lucius - that is all. Your father, he takes gold and then sends only a few men to kill the Warden. Sends men with no mages and no templars. Does Lucius even know the Warden is a mage? He should, but it looks like he does not. Or perhaps he wanted his men to fail? Why? No, something is wrong, and now he is dead."

"So he didn't send enough of the right men. I get it."

"No, you do not. You do not understand even now. You send a man to kill the Warden; you have a dead man and a distracted Warden. You send ten men to kill the Warden; you have ten dead men and a very annoyed Warden. You send every man you have to kill the Warden; every man dies and the Warden comes and kills you too. She is too tricky and too ruthless and too unpredictable to kill in a fight. To kill her you need to be different – less like Sal and more like Alberto. You need to befriend her, get close to her, gain her trust and then slit her throat as she sleeps. No other way will work."

"Then we need to…"

"No, Victor. Lucius made a mistake by taking the contract. He threatened the Warden, and now he is dead. Perhaps we are all dead. Who knows? Depends on if the Warden will listen to reason."

Victor suddenly sounded hopeful. "Will she listen to you?"

Ignacio sighed, and I could hear the frustration etching his tone. It was like a school teacher unable to explain a simple concept to a student. "She listened to Ignacio before. Perhaps she will again. Perhaps not. But I think that it does not matter for you."

Victor paused, suddenly sounding very nervous. "Why?"

I could almost hear the vicious grin on Ignacio's face. "Because she needs you to be dead, Victor. Lucius takes contract, and Lucius is dead. You and Sal and Alberto put an open contract on her. So now she needs you dead. Crazy, yes, crazy like a fox. If she lets you live, then others can take contracts. But if she kills you, she makes sure everyone is much too scared to put a contract on her again. No one will."

The sadist scoffed at that. "The Crows won't stand for being threatened like this!" he declared, his voice wavering despite his bravado. "We do the threatening, not the other way around."

Once again, Ignacio gave a little sigh. "Yes, they will. And why? Because she shows she can kill Crow Masters, and this makes other Crow Masters a bit nervous, yes? Lucius had lots of guards. He dies. You and Sal and Alberto have lots of guards. You die too."

"I'm not dead yet!" he declared. "I can go back to Antiva and bring back more than enough men to kill one bitch."

Ignacio leaned back in his chair, apparently giving up on convincing him. "Enough men? How many? How many do you need since that if she wants, she will walk right past your guards and kill you in this room?"

I suppose that's my cue, as Leliana would say. As Victor derided that statement, I transformed back in a crouch and dropped a paralysation glyph on the group. As one, they stiffened.

I rose and stepped out of the shadows. Without a word, I walked over to Victor and drew my dagger. I pressed the needle-sharp point into the side of his neck and opened the artery there with a delicate flick.

From the rapid squirting, his heart was absolutely racing. Blood arced across the room in short, powerful pulses. Victor's eyes revealed fright and disbelief as the life behind them faded.

And that was the last brother. It's so satisfying to finish something.

I turned to face Victor's guards. I recognised both of them as being from the dungeon beneath Lucius' house. Torturers who deserved no mercy, and should be killed in as graphic a manner as possible. I raised my hands and froze them in place, then shattered their bodies with different spells.

"I have a special loathing for torturers," I said easily, as frozen crimson shards clattered around the room. Ignacio was going to have a pretty big clean-up bill. I stood still, staring at Ignacio until the spell holding the Crows in place ran its course.

Victor was still not quite dead, and he clutched at his throat, vainly trying to stem the flow. He babbled something about gold, but I didn't bother listening.

Ignacio swallowed, but did not move except to signal his guards to stay put. "I was expecting you, Warden. Just not quite so soon."

I turned to the guards in question, who looked as though they were about to wet themselves. As slowly and as clearly as I could, I said, "Get. Out."

They bolted, colliding in the doorway in their haste to depart. Once the door had slammed shut, I spent a few moments erecting a barrier across the whole room rather than just the doorway. It was one of Matthias' spells; cancelling out sound as well as preventing passage. Ignacio and I could speak without anyone overhearing.

"Obviously you were not expecting me," I said with a snarl. "Unless you are in the habit of blurting out how you plan to kill people when they're in the room."

He winced. "An intellectual exercise onl-"

"Save it," I snapped. "There is only one reason there are any Crows left alive in Denerim today, and that's because Alistair and Anora both think that it is better knowing who you are. Eamon wants you all gone, and after listening to you describe how you'd kill me, I'm inclined to agree."

He swallowed, proving himself bright enough not to object. "I see."

"But, I am a loyal subject of the crown." I paused, thinking a bit before clarifying, "At least, I am when it doesn't inconvenience me too much. And so here you are - foreign assassin under the protection of the Ferelden crown." I looked down at Victor, who was burbling and thrashing about on the expensive carpet. "Do shut up, man, I'm trying to have a conversation here."

Ignacio tilted his head to one side. "Fate has a sense of humour, it seems."

I hummed a sound that could be taken for agreement. "So, this is how it's going to be. Once we finish our little chat, I will walk out of here, and you get to continue pretending that you're an Antivan merchant with an unhealthy fascination with fatal accidents."

The Crow Master frowned. "I don't understand."

I grinned nastily at him. "You get to live, and even continue to conduct your business, but there is a price for your ongoing existence. If you so much as hear a rumour of anyone attempting the life of Alistair, Anora, Eamon or their families, you go to Eamon. Send an assassin as a messenger who will 'get caught', if you need to maintain the fiction that you're trying to kill them."

Ignacio drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I see. That cannot be all, however."

"It is not," I confirmed. "A couple of people are going to apply to join the Crows in the coming weeks and months. Take them in and train them. If they need to disappear for a while every so often, you'll look the other way."

"Wardens, I take it?"

"Not your concern. Just know that they will not turn on you. Eamon is unlikely to ever accept the idea that your services are useful, but Anora is a lot more pragmatic. She will probably employ you on occasion."

He slowly reached up and rubbed his chin. "Is there any room for negotiation?"

I stared at him in silence.

He got the point. "Not that anything needs to be negotiated. It all sounds very fair."

"It is. Very fair. One last thing. I will need the services of a couple of your assassins at Vigil's Keep for a few months. Have them ready to leave with me in a week or so. Volunteers only, mind you; and I guarantee their safety. They will be well remunerated for their time."

I got a nod, but his expression indicated that he wasn't expecting to receive too many applicants. "Is there a reason the list of protected clients does not extend to yourself?" he asked with care.

I let the most insane grin I could muster grow on my lips. "If the Crows decide to take another contract on me or any other Fereldan Grey Warden, I. Will. Burn. You." I leaned forward, staring straight into the assassin's eyes. "I will burn your heart out of your chest, Ignacio. I will rip your skin off and use it to wipe my dog's arse. I will turn every Crow in Ferelden to charcoal. I will take ship and destroy every cell I find on my way to Antiva. And I will burn that whole country to ashes to get every last one of you."

Ignacio's calm, business expression suddenly looked a little fragile.

I leaned back, and continued in a friendly tone. "So, by all means, take a contract on me. Take one on any of my Wardens. Maker, take one on my dog, if it pleases you. I won't give you any warning. Or mercy. Or show any restraint. And at the end, the Antivan Crows will be nothing but a memory."

Again, he swallowed, but gave a small nod. "I understand."

"Good."

I snuck back into the palace, trying to avoid the shit-storm my actions had kicked up. I stopped by the infirmary, looking for Pickering. I wanted to make sure he was all right; battlefield healing and elfroot-salves, even the incredibly potent ones I made, were no substitute for competent healing.

Pickering wasn't there, but an old acquaintance of mine was, gliding between the occupied beds. "Petra?" I almost gasped.

Petra looked up at me, and gave me a chilly nod of greeting. "Warden Kathryn."

Her tone made me pause. "You're out of the Circle! I didn't know that Alistair requested a mage for the palace."

"His Majesty," she replied, emphasising his title, "was kind enough to offer employment to any mage with healing talents."

I looked around. "Did you examine a young man by the name of Pickering? He'd been wounded in the stoma-"

"Yes," she snapped. "And you don't need to bother checking up on him. I've made sure your superficial healing efforts were corrected."

I frowned. Even Wynne hadn't been so abrupt with me. Well, except for that time in the forest, but she deserved what I'd said to her. "What's the matter?" I asked.

She glared at me. "For two months, I've been living here, helping people. Some of them are terrified of mages, and it takes a long time to convince them that we're not monsters. And then you turn up, and all of a sudden everyone is scared again!"

I just shook my head, turned and left. I was tired, hungry and exhausted. Getting into an argument would not help matters.

And besides, she was right. I was scary. I'd long since come to terms with that.

It was mid-morning by the time I got back to my quarters. The place was in an uproar. More than one person took one look at me as I wandered along the palace corridors and gasped in shock.

A guard had been stationed near the door to my quarters. She saluted my approach and told me, "Commander, the Teyrn of Highever is within."

I nodded and entered, noting that Fergus was sitting at the desk. He rose to his feet at my entrance. His face was etched with fatigue, but he seemed relaxed.

I nodded to the guard. "Thank you. That will be all."

She nodded, saluted to us both, and left.

Fergus stepped forward, looking me over. "Kathryn," he greeted me. "I hear you've had a busy night."

I covered my mouth and fought back a yawn. "It has been eventful, I'll admit. Why are you here? I thought you were planning on overseeing the final furnishings at Highever House."

He pursed his lips. "Yes, well, I heard a terrible rumour that you'd been assassinated in the middle of the night. My valet felt that I needed to hear the news immediately, and woke me in the early hours of the morning."

I blinked. "Ah," was all I could think of to say. I hadn't thought about how people apart from the Crows would react to the news of my death.

"Ah indeed," he repeated dryly. He turned and poured a cup of tea, and carefully set the cup in front of one of the chairs. "As unlikely as the news sounded, I decided to come to the palace to check its veracity. Here, drink this. I found it in a cupboard at Highever House."

"That's nice of you," I replied, accepting the cup. "Thank you. I really need this." He nodded, and we sat down. I took a sip. The tea was heavenly. "What is this?" I asked.

"Highever Honeygrass. It was my mother's favourite."

I took another sip of the hot, delicate liquid. "It's delicious."

"Thank you. Now tell me Kathryn, why in the Maker's name would you start rumours of your death?"

I sighed, placing the cup back on the table. "I went to see a man about why the Crows took a contract out on me. Using information he gave, I found the Crows that took the money. A little bit of unpleasantness later and the survivors spread the word that they'd pay anyone who managed to kill me."

He pursed his lips together disapprovingly. "But why did you create such an elaborate scene?"

I rubbed at my eyes, keenly feeling the long, long day. "Because I wanted the remaining leaders to be starved for information. If details were scarce, and someone appeared telling them that he'd killed me, then the leaders would all come to him to get the full story. Once assembled, I'd step out and take care of them."

He frowned a bit at my weary rambling. I probably wasn't making much sense. "I think I see. It explains some other things."

"Explains what?" I asked.

"The other rumours I heard."

I stared at him, but he was having far too much fun at my expense to simply give in. "Fine, I give up. What were they?"

He grinned. "Well, I've already told you the first one. That you were murdered in the palace."

I took another sip. "And the other rumours?" I prompted.

"One was that being killed annoyed you so much that you went looking for revenge. There were many others, but mostly variations on that theme."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to think through the fog of fatigue. "I'm not really functioning at my best right now, but I'd say that there's a logical fallacy or three somewhere in there."

He chuckled softly once again, clearly enjoying the conversation. "Yes. Although, I certainly wouldn't put it past you."

I grimaced. "You're vastly over-estimating my abilities."

He sipped at his own tea. "Possibly. Would you care to explain exactly what happened last night? I mean, I left you here in your rooms a few hours after dusk. Did you just decide that you were so bored that you needed to go out assassin hunting?"

I frowned. "I just told you."

"No, I want the details. I know a bit more about the Antivan Crows than most Fereldan citizens. My first wife was from an Antivan merchant family. I'd like to know how much trouble you're in."

I blinked. "Ah. Okay, I went to confront the Antivan Crow Master I knew during the Blight about the assassination attempt back at the Vigil."

Fergus raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"And he claimed that he was approached by a representative of Knight-Commander Tavish."

Fergus all but leapt from his chair. "Tavish?!"

I nodded. "Yes, but he also claimed that he turned the contract down. And that he sent me a message about the approach."

"Did you get the message?"

I shook my head. "No, and I've no proof that he sent it. But a few weeks later, Tavish fell down a flight of stairs, so look at it from his perspective. He believed I got his message and acted in my usual, predictable manner."

Fergus seemed to consider that for a moment. "Okay. I can see his point."

I couldn't help but smile. "Yes. Well, Tavish's man wouldn't take no for an answer, and approached the other Crow Master in Denerim, who did take the contract. After leaving my old friend, I went and had a chat with that one, confirmed all the details, and killed him."

"Of course you did," Fergus sighed, channelling Alistair quite nicely.

"His sons got annoyed, and put out an open contract on me. One of Alistair's spies found out, and warned me. We planned a bit, then went and killed nearly all the Crows in that cell."

Fergus stared at me. "Anyone else and I'd think you were lying. You? I think you're keeping some of the more unbelievable facts from me." He shook his head. "You know, my first wife's family were closely allied with a cell of the Crows. Aren't you at all concerned about reprisals?"

I shook my head. "Not really. The remaining Crows in Ferelden are all terrified of me now. And I went back to the first Crow Master and told him that if another contract was taken out on me or my Wardens, I'd burn Antiva to the ground to get them all."

"You can do that?" he gasped, suddenly pasty-faced.

"Of course not!" I retorted. "But he doesn't know that. So that's that. I've spent the night killing assassins, and I'm really tired, so I'd like to have a nap, if you don't mind."

He frowned. "There are more polite ways of requesting a guest leave, Kathryn," he said, radiating disapproval.

I waved that away. "Blame it on my upbringing."

He didn't like that, but rose to his feet. "Would you at least do me a favour?"

"What's that?"

"Warn me before you go on another murdering rampage? I was quite worried about you."

"You'd probably tell your brother, and he'd just want to join in and take all my fun."

He shook his head, but I could see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Get some rest, Kathryn."

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers – MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardi an, Pintsizedpsycho, Nightbrainzz, hopelessromantic34, MB18932, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Alifangirl21, Hydroplatypus, CunderJenn and Ie-maru.

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