Chapter 37: Brandy and Supposed Vice

Murchad Crewe

"Where are you taking that?" barked a gravelly voice, and I turned to face its source, two bowls of hot gruel in my hands.

"The prisoners have not eaten today, and we will have a long day of travel tomorrow…" the words trailed off as I stared into the stony face of the Templar who had questioned me.

The man, after a moment of silence, began to explain to me, "I'm sorry, Arlson, but our standard is not to feed prisoners until we reach Heidrunscap. The fasting during pilgrimage helps to purify the soul and prepare the vessels for the Maker's work."

"I was unaware," I smiled, offering the food to the meaty mitts of the sullen man, "it would be a shame to waste the Maker's bounty. I am certain you can find a way to dispose of this."

The man smirked slightly as he took the proffered food to a nearby tree, seated himself and began to slurp it down, the remnants running down his chin, dripping onto his armor. Part of me prayed that it rusted wherever it dripped. He apparently did not feel the need to purify his own soul through fasting. Rather than speak these thoughts, I resolved to wait until the Templars slept and provide bread to our guests.

The more time I spent in the presence of the Templars, the more I struggled to control my tongue and avoid stating plainly to them that they were cruel, bullying braggarts. Often my jaw hurt from clenching it tight. Even the manner in which Manning eyed my sister made me uneasy. The eyes were hard, but they were dark with something else now and I was often tempted to tell him to avert his gaze.

Mae had been my champion in the face of two older brothers who took joy in cruelty. However the ready rage of my sister displayed also horrified me at times. It was usually foolhardy, often adding unneeded fuel to smoking coals. It had been my belief that I could hide from the wrath until it had passed had seemed safe. Now I found myself missing her self-righteous assertions, knowing we would never be safe again if the Templars had their way.

Mae haunted the edge of the clearing. She was tired and cold, but she would not give Manning the satisfaction of admitting how deeply chilled she had become. Here fingers were nearly blue as she gently rubbed her arms, bundled in Ronan's thin cape. I could vaguely discern the sound of her clenched teeth chattering.

She also pointedly avoided looking at the captive woman and knight. It was plain that Sellose wanted to speak to her, but avoided calling out to her directly. The silence weighed heavily on her, but it was always her way to carry a burden alone and refuse the aid of others though she would readily give aid.

"Lady, you should rest yourself," Manning chided from his place near the fire, attempting to beckon her closer. The fire glittering off his armor made him glow in a manner more menacing than comforting.

Rather than answer outright, she shook her head, opting to pace the edge of the clearing, hoping the movement would warm her blood. Occasionally she would stamp to help relieve the numbness in her limbs. I would have invited her to sit by me, but the answer would have been the same. By showing no favoritism to either me or Sellose she enabled us to be ignored by these bloody minded men.

Since she would not come to me, I had to go to her, "Mae, you need to eat and warm yourself by the fire."

"I will not." She stated flatly.

"You will freeze, Mae!" I implored, though my insistence only managed to irk her further.

"Murchad," she growled low and quietly, "I will not go near a fire set by those men. In an intemperate moment they might decide to cast me on it."

The cold could not dampen the smile that came to my lips, "I doubt many of them have been accused of intemperance."

"Perhaps any who have dared were dispatched," she snipped.

"You always flouted convention, Mae. Manning near combusted this morning when you removed your cloak. He came close to shaking you."

"Part of me hoped he would strike me," she sneered, "I grow sick of his false niceties. The bruises on my arms are proof enough that he has a strong guiding hand. He is worse than father for he feigns gentility on the surface."

I pulled forth a flask from beneath my cloak which contained brandy that I "borrowed" from my father's stores, horded away for his own personal debauches, "If you will not join me by the fire, perhaps this will ease the chill. I know that the Templars would not approve of your brother encouraging strong drink, but that should bring you a measure of pleasure."

"Brandy?" she queried.

I nodded and she probed further, "Father's?"

I smiled.

She stated, "He will miss it." There was ghost of a smile on her lips as she gently took the flask from me and took a drawn out swallow.

"Careful, sister," I warned, "Were you not the one to tell me that drink dulled the wits…."

"…and make monsters of men!" She finished this statement when the burning in her throat had passed, before continuing, "Luckily I am no man and the men we travel with believe me to have little wit to lose."

"I believe Ronan said you were not witty enough to remain warm. You have not proved him wrong, dear."

"I have made my living as a fool," she croaked after taking another swig, "being witty is a danger in my profession. I would prefer silent wisdom. Besides the thought of Father being deprived of what he prizes pleases me. I would be tempted to pour it out here in the forest, but it would be a hideous waste."

I reached for the flask to take it back and she relinquished it with an air of reluctance. Her eyes seemed slightly glassy and she allowed another smile, "Thank you, Mouse."

"I have missed you, Mae." I grinned back, securing the flask beneath my cloak.

She nodded, swallowing, struggling to contain her rising emotion that she had been successfully stifling for days. I inwardly questioned my own wisdom in sharing the brandy. Alcohol had the potential to unleash baser responses and if she should lose her temper with Ser Manning, she could invite disaster. At the same time, she could not continue in this fashion. A flame cannot be stifled without destroying it.

As if reading my mind, she reassured me, "I shall behave myself, Mouse. I would not risk you or my friend or that poor woman who has been snared in our misfortune. That will keep me sober."

"You have not called me `Mouse' since we were children, Mae." I recalled.

"Do you recall when that started?" she responded, "You used to hide in the thorn thicket when Ronan or Fendril threatening you. Like a little mouse you would scurry away. I could never do that. If they came after me I would fight. At times I envied your forethought, your ability to find safety."

"But I never became stronger, Mae. Every time I ran, I grew weaker. It got to the point where the only time I felt safe was when I was with you. You protected me. At times it fills me with shame; my own sister had to protect me."

"It is not weak to run from a fight you cannot win," she argued, "I realized that eventually. My fighting only caused my aggressors to turn their fury on other people, innocent people. I ran as surely as you did. I abandoned you and Mother."

"But you came back," I insisted, "I am not sure I could have done that. Give up my freedom, even for you or Mother."

She shook her head sadly, "I am not saintly. I had nothing left to lose and I could no longer continue to live with the guilt over how hastily I left, leaving you behind to face Father's wrath. For years I dreamed of the words I spat like venom at Mother that last night. I should have taken you with me. I should never have left the two of you to Father's mercy."

"He spent his wrath in searching for you, Mae," I reassured her, "he was no worse on your leaving. He would have been as he is regardless of your choice."

"I am an ill omen, Mouse. I bring not but evil on those I strive to help."

"Not I, Mae!" I grinned, taking a moment to playfully tug a stray tress that had loosened from her braid, "You only brought me joy. Any evil we meet now is not of your making. It is vain to believe otherwise."

"Go, Murchad," she urged me, gently nudging me away from her, "I need to meditate and I do not wish those men to eavesdrop on our exchange. I have had enough of talk now. Let me breathe alone so that I might clear the muddle of my memories that you have re-awakened."

I complied with her request, giving her hair one last tug, and returning to my blanket by the fire, but I continued to watch her. The brandy had softened her countenance and she seemed to internally argue with herself, her face a varied wash of emotions as she sorted through the omnibus of her thoughts. She was so lovely and graceful in her expressiveness, at times fluttering her hands, touching the pendant at her throat with a disdainful frown or pensively twirling a loose strand of hair. She finally cast a glance in the direction of Sellose and seemed close to smiling, but it was a look simultaneously tempered with sadness and regret.

The Templars began a mass drift into slumber, as if in chorus. Within moments most of their eyes fluttered shut and their breathing became even. Some snored in long, rasping stutters. Even Manning became still and his alert eyes drooped to full lids.

Only one resisted the full of the Fade. He had been the most noticeably nervous during the journey. He glanced about as if he expected the shadows to take solid form and attack. With the escalating oddities in the Cauldron, I could not fault his fear. It made me ill at ease as well.

At this moment, Mae chose to sing. It was sweeter than I remembered and fit the sense of longing and sadness that pervaded her being since her return. It made me wonder if she sang of the man who died to defend her or if it was due to the man who sat transfixed mere feet away from where she stood, huddled with the frail woman to keep warm since the Templars shared their fire with them as readily as they shared food.

The final Templar drifted with the balm of her song, so soothing was it. He seemed like a small child finally finding rest.

When the last of the guards were safely unaware, I pulled a loaf from among the provisions, quickly bringing it to Sellose and the woman. The fear of the sudden waking of humorless Templars caused me to be quick and abrupt in my delivery, but Sellose seemed to not hold it against me.

As relieved as I was to be free of Templar scrutiny, we could not all sleep. Our band needed a pair of wary eyes, and I was all there was left. The thought of being caught unaware by those more malicious than the monsters I travelled with seemed unlikely, but tales are told of things that wander the Cauldron, inhuman things that could rend flesh.

I was not the only one who took advantage of the Templars' slumber. Mae crept to the cart hesitantly. I knew how she despised the thought of someone eavesdropping upon her in an emotionally unguarded moment, but my curiosity to hear them overwhelmed me. I wanted to know what was between my sister and the man she sacrificed her freedom to save.

Her mouth moved a moment before the sound exuded forth, as if unable to force words to meet what she desired. She settled on, "I am sorry." The words were a rasping whisper, scraping across her carefully tended scabs covering the wounds from the previous weeks.

He started, as if he had not expected her to speak, but the look on his face communicated his understanding of how those words bled my sister within. She had reached out to touch his hand but seemed to immediately think better of the action and began to withdraw, but his hand was quicker. He grasped he shaky fingers, not harshly but in a sure grip that prevented her retreat.

His action startled her and she almost struggled to free herself, but it is only the struggle you would notice with the fluttering wings of a moth while it dances closer to the flame. To do more might have alerted the Templars, waking them to resume their stony watchfulness and the moment would end, perhaps in violence.

Her face was raw with the brandy freed emotions she had denied, and there was a stumbling argument that tumbled from her lips. A reason he should have released her and rejected her, "This is my fault."

She believed it; she honestly believed what she said, thinking it was reason enough for this man to spit on her, revile her and regret having ever known her. He, however, did not believe the words. He knew better.

"Never!"

The single word was decisive, a word of a man who would not yield, so she had to yield or she would have had to fight to free herself. My sister, I suspected, had long tired of fighting.

There are worse things than to surrender to one you trust.

He pulled her into his arms, drawing her into the straw of the cart, flanked by the gentle woman who proceeded to croon to my sister and stroke her hair. Between the three of them, I was confident that my sister would not be in danger of freezing. She was safer with them than with the Templars, I suspected.

I kept alert, planning to awaken and encourage Mae to take her leave of them before the Templars became aware, but I was content. Sleep was a luxury the cautious could ill afford.

The hours passed and the camp slept, even with my best intentions I began to drift into fitful sleep, incessantly interrupted by my waking mind, trying to keep me from completely succumbing. My sister needed my eyes and senses.

A single man, however is not meant to remain awake an entire night without consequences.

I felt the threat approach before my eyes were open. Simultaneously Ser Sellose bolted upright from sleep, a single shout on his lips, "DARKSPAWN!"

The Templars staggered to their feet, half-asleep and slowed by the armor that they wore. Without a thought or a "by-your-leave" I snatched the key to the shackles from where Manning had secured them and ran for the cart as the shrieking of the Fade forsaken filled the previously silent darkness.

The click of the shackles could not be heard over the clashing. Sellose had only been freed long enough to push me to the ground as a rude ax whistled through the air where my head had only been moments before. The suddenness left me gasping as Sellose then proceeded to tackle the creature, disarm it and behead it with its own ax. Blood sprayed across me and I shielded my eyes, disoriented. Mae was the one who dragged me to my feet, forcing me to lie down in the cart before scrabbling for a large tree branch to bash anything that came at us.

I had never seen Mae physically fight with anything other than her fists. I was aware she had trained with daggers, since that was deemed far more appropriate for a woman, but she clubbed the beasts savagely. Her face was soon a mask of blood.

I had seen Fendril drill the men and watched men spar, but Fendril had never been as brutal as the monsters that fell upon us. I witnessed one Templar beheaded and another had his legs hacked off in one sweep, leaving him writhing on the ground, crying pitifully before another monster crushed his skull with a hammer.

The world was awash with blood one moment and then it was deadly still again. By that time, the Templars had managed to form ranks and defended one another. No one had bothered to defend the cart or Mae. The men were in a daze when the fiends withdrew, gaping at their butchered brethren. It was probably disconcerting to come into contact with beings far more ruthless than they.

"What were those things?" demanded the superstitious Templar.

"They were darkspawn," Sellose stated, leaning on the axe handle, breathing heavily.

Ser Manning, his blood suddenly seething with being caught unaware, came toe-to-toe with Ser Sellose, resembling a puffed up rooster asserting his dominance, "How would you know?"

Sellose countered the glare with frankness, "I came from Redcliffe in the South, or do you not recall. I have fought more of those monsters than you will ever see during your life, I would wager."

"The Blight is over, why would they attack now?" Manning demanded, eyeing Ser Sellose suspiciously.

"I do not know," Sellose spat back, "there have been raids in Amaranthine since the Blight ended too. They are not dispersing as quickly as we would have expected."

Manning countered, "But we had not had any attacks here, even when the Blight hit its peak…"

Ser Sellose shrugged and that only enraged Manning further. He bellowed, "Who unshackled you?"

"I did!" I immediately claimed, knowing Mae would probably claim it if allowed a breath.

The fuming Templar turned on me, his eyes were violent with his wrath, "You released a prisoner!"

"We needed help and he was far more alert than some of your men at the time. I stand by my decision." I insisted, though some of my courage withered at the stalk as he towered almost a foot over me.

"Never again supersede my authority!" he roared, grabbing the key back from my hand and roughly forcing Ser Sellose back to the cart and into his chains. Ser Sellose offered no resistance, I assume, because the frail woman was still in chains as I had not the time to free her.

"Is that truly necessary?" Mae demanded, furious with Manning for his harshness in his treatment of Sellose, who was probably the only reason we were still alive.

"He is marked for penance," Manning roared, "for all I know, the Maker sent the darkspawn as punishment for allowing him to live. I might have to rectify that."

"Harm him and you break our bargain!" she warned, her voice becoming dangerously low, causing Manning to take a long look at her. Her alabaster skin was speckled with blood spatters, the shoulder of her gown was completely torn away and she gripped the club she had been using in a white knuckled grip. Perhaps he saw nothing else but the straw that clung to her disheveled hair, for that is all he could question.

"Why are your tresses matted with straw?" The question was rasped hoarsely.

Neither her expression nor her tone altered, "I slept in the cart to keep warm."

"Whore!" Manning screeched, "You would debase yourself to sleep in that man's embrace? You would deface my honor to lewdly debauch in the night?"

She crossed her arms as he continued to scream into her open face. The remaining Templars stood dumbfounded, not even tearing their eyes from the spectacle to see to their dead comrades. For a time, Ser Sellose looked on darkly until he confessed, "She did nothing to deserve such insult. She slept and that was all. On my honor as a knight, I never touched her or compromised her virtue."

The man continued ranting, not registering Sellose's claims or choosing to ignore them, bellowing, "You have humiliated me in front of my men. You are my betrothed, almost my wife, and you will conduct yourself in accordance with my wishes until the Maker takes you." The accusing finger came close to brushing her chin, but the man made no move to actually touch her.

For a moment Mae made no acknowledgement. Then she laughed tauntingly, "If my Father ever led you to believe I would ever obey you, the greater fool you. I will never obey you against my better judgment. I will never follow you blindly. Even if I give you no word in response, know that even my silence defies you. You are a man who spoke of carrots and beating horses? Look long, Templar, for not even the threat of physical violence could make me obey my father. Mutilation did not make me more subservient to him. When he finally resorted to threatening others to force my compliance, I eventually ran away with the one he threatened in tow, ensuring that they would NEVER come within his influence again. Eventually you will run out of hostages, eventually you will reach a point where the escalating violence will not be enough… what then?"

The man turned purple, the rage was so deep I felt certain he would strike her and Mae would finally have her wish. It surprised me when he turned on his heel suddenly, and went to his dead men. He would not look at her, but the rage was still there, roiling beneath the surface.

It was decided that the prisoners would be removed from the cart and would have to walk. There were three dead Templars piled into the cart so they could be returned to Heidrunscap for proper funeral rites. Four of the horses were missing, whether they had run off or had been taken by the beasts. The loss of the animals meant that the Templars had to take turns riding the remaining mounts, while others walked on foot and kept the prisoners secure.

The men scrambled to gather together the camp and put as much distance between themselves and that place of death. However, even with the darkspawn attack over, the greater menace remained in our midst.

The deadly resolve of a Templar can be a fearful thing.