Chapter 40: The Dangling Banner
Svenya / Maerwynn Crewe
"Damn Templars."
"Damn Templars."
"Damn Templars."
"I hate Templars."
My hatred kept me warm, as did my trudging.
"Damn Templars."
"Damn Templars."
"Damn Templars."
I surrendered my horse when Manning forbade me from riding with the woman, Letha.
I had argued that she was so small; it would be no burden on the horse to carry the two of us. She was so frail looking, and her pale blond hair was so fine that it bordered on being thin. Swaddled in my cloak, she looked like a child, unsure, wide eyed, and nervous. I worried whether she could manage to walk so far for another day. We were meant to part company the following day and, from what I remembered, Heidrunscap was another half-day journey, so they would reach it before nightfall of that day, provided no other hardship befell us.
"She is to be tempered by the journey. It prepares her soul for the work of the Maker, just as one beats down the dough to prepare it for baking, so must she withstand this. It enables her to be transformed by her penance, fitting her for a place at His feet. It is a long journey for the unrighteous to reach grace," he spoke, but the tone was sneering.
"It is queer that you make an analogy of baking when I doubt you have ever done something so rewarding." With that I stopped my horse suddenly and dismounted, "Considering how little grace I have and beatings do not seem to work in preparing me either, it would benefit me to walk to achieve so noble an end. The woman can take my place on the horse and I will walk some of her penance."
"You misunderstand me," Manning hissed, grabbing the horse by the reigns, jerking them painfully so that the poor beast whinnied in discomfort, "she will not ride."
"Then you will understand me, if she does not ride then I shall not ride. I have walked rougher roads than this without the luxury of a horse. The Maker will judge between you and me, Ser. Be wary, like your brethren on the cart you may meet Him sooner than expected." I stated.
He straightened and glared down at me haughtily, "Was that a threat, Lady? Such talk is dangerous for the ill-tempered."
"Merely an observation," I clarified in evenly, "for death comes for us all. We live in uncertain times and the Maker sends for some sooner than others."
"That He does," he allowed sourly.
He then galloped to the head of the procession, dragging the poor horse I had been riding in behind his soot black charger: the perfect beast to bear a hollow harbinger of death. Murchad glanced back at me uneasily, but I shrugged and gestured to him that he need not worry.
I took the woman by the hand to both reassure her and keep her close to me. None of the other Templars would dare to bother her in my presence for fear that I might interfere and draw more wrath from their commander. Those that followed concerned themselves with vaguely herding us, keeping us near to the middle, and watching the edges of the road for signs of more darkspawn.
"You sell yourself far short of your worth, Lady," came a soft chiding near my ear. I nearly jumped to find that Ser Sellose had maneuvered himself to walk at my elbow, his chains jingling slightly.
For once I felt oddly flustered, "Pardon?"
"I have seen the grace you were endowed with, for very few of Ser Grey's sparring partners could maneuver with the same level of grace that you possess," grinning suddenly, he added, "I have also had the pleasure of dancing with you. Your grace would put swimming swans to shame."
I disreguarded the compliment with a laugh, "Perhaps you have seen too few swans or mayhap have confused them with geese, your Majesty."
He chuckled, "I am a knight, not a fool. I can tell the difference between a swan and a goose. Swans wear masks, geese do not."
I smiled ruefully, "Perhaps you only knew me as a false swan then, for I am masked no more."
"No, Lady, the mask does not make the swan. It is only a trapping. The swan is what is beneath the mask." He insisted this, his eyes troubled when I glanced at him.
"Do not trouble yourself over such delineations, your Majesty. You speak as a Fool would, and that is my calling, not yours. I cannot allow competition in so narrow a field," I smirked.
"Have we been reduced to squabbling over calling? If we must discuss calling, my graceful Fool, then why call me so formally now? I call what is mine and you call what is yours."
"Then I would be silent, for I have nothing to call mine, save for sodden, stained plumage." I retorted, scanning my clothing that had been torn in the morning struggle. One of the other Templars managed to find a rough tunic in the pack of one of his fallen comrades to throw over my overly exposed skin. It offered more protection than I had previously, though it was still thin, "And these pinions belong to a dead man."
He offered, "If I had anything of worth, I would offer it to you freely."
"So you offer me chains," I scoffed, hooking a link from his shackles with my index finger and giving it a playful jingle as he kept pace beside me.
"You will never have chains with me, for I would sooner liberate you than enslave you," these words were devoid of the previous teasing.
"You are truly a rare bird, your Majesty;" I half-smiled, "for many men I have known would only strive for the opposite."
"Then we are a pair of rare birds. Birds travel in flocks for safety and lone birds do not last long. I will protect you and you can protect me. We will equally divide the care of the chicks between us until they are strong enough to fly without our aid," he nodded toward the woman whose hand I held, "Speaking of which, this is Letha. We had not a chance for proper introductions before."
"From where do you hail, Letha?" I asked, turning a smile to the woman, but she only shook her head, clamping her lips tight, refusing to answer.
My brow furrowed and Sellose explained, "It is better that it not be discussed on this road. I have discovered much amiss here in the Cauldron."
"There has been much amiss for a while," I sighed, trying to give Letha's hand a gentle squeeze, but her own hand began to grip mine tighter. It might have been painfully so had she been stronger, but her fingers trembled slightly. I could only assume that she had been the recipient of some of the unpleasantness that my father created and it made my chest tight.
"What of the rest of our flock? There was one old eagle with a sharp beak that I was particularly interested in. Did he fly back to Redcliffe?" I ventured quietly, hoping not to draw the Templars' attention, fearing they would discern what we discussed.
"I believe you are referring to a griffin: part eagle, part lion," Sellose offered lightly, "if that is the case then no. He flew north as well. He is being accompanied by an old owl, quite a wise bird she is and keen of eye."
My breath caught, for I had an inkling of who he referred to, "Why did you all feel the need to fly to me? I only cause people to be snared…"
"No," he barked the interruption, "you carry far too much on your shoulders to claim every calamity."
"You chide and yet I suspect you carry no less," I retorted, mildly annoyed.
Sellose was both balm and injury to me. I felt responsible for his predicament, and yet he would not allow me my share. Ser Lion would have readily outlined my failings, without malice but with a sense of necessity. Bruna would have shrugged her shoulders and refused to argue. Rian would have quietly withdrawn to appease me, though his eyes would state he believed otherwise. Sellose, stubborn, wordy, witty, he would argue. There was no surrender in him and it challenged me to weariness.
"Forget what I said previously, you are a ptarmigan," I groaned, "you are rare only in your stubbornness."
He raised an eyebrow, "Are they so stubborn?"
"They refuse to admit that they do not fly well, so they prefer to walk to hide their failing," I explained tersely, "a ptarmigan is also believed to have discovered a treasure too heavy to carry, but he refused to leave it. Instead he rolled it slowly until he could bring it to the open."
"I think you confuse patience with being stubborn," he disagreed, "some treasures are worth the effort to obtain."
"What treasure do you hope to obtain here," the demand was perhaps harsher than intended, but I was weary, cold and uncomfortable. At this point Sellose's words made me uneasy; his whole manner spoke deference, compassion and odd humor in the face of hardship. His behavior had not really changed since I had met him, but now it seemed to rub me raw, as if without the mask I no longer had a shield against the irritation or I lacked something to callous me. Everything was too sensitive.
"I assure you, Lady, I will inform you when I discover something I wish to claim. I will call it my own in distinct terms."
"Just do not expect me to help you to carry it," I shot back.
He smiled, "Has the swan become so proud now, Lady?"
"I am neither Lady nor swan. You overstep yourself, Ser!" I was becoming angry, unreasonably so, and I could not seem to control it.
"I had thought that I was keeping equal steps with you. Had I overstepped I would be ahead. Here I am. We ptarmigans walk well, or so you have stated." His old teasing was back, whether it was meant to pacify me or it was one of his shifting moods. I refused to look at him further and ignored him pointedly.
We walked this way for a number of hours, side by side, with me refusing to look at him. Even without looking I could feel him, hear his distinct tread on the dirt. Even in angry silence, his presence was safety and welcome. I tried to ignore it by fuming about the Templars, muttering my personal mantra, "Damn Templars," over and over with every step. In truth, I felt like damning myself. Perhaps I already had.
Eventually chastened words sought me out, "Svenya, I had not meant to hurt your feelings or your pride. It has been so long since I could talk to someone as openly as I speak to you, and perhaps I have loosened the reigns on my tongue too far. I will curb it if only to earn your pardon."
It wrung a sigh from me, with a final muttered, "Damn!"
"Was that meant to be directed at me? Have I strayed so far that I am to be damned?" he implored, a smile tugged at his lips though he strove to remain somber.
"If either of us is to be damned, that is my honor," I clarified, "I would not damn you. The Templars have amassed all the damnation I can muster. I can spare you none of it."
"That is a relief. I do not think I could carry the burden of your damnation and a treasure."
We were interrupted by Letha pointing to a point ahead on the road and stating, "Crossroads."
Sellose perceivably went white, "Are you certain, Letha?"
She nodded, her eyes were certain and there was no cowering to her in that moment. Sellose left my side and went to her opposite side, hastily taking her hand so that we formed a little chain, Letha linking the two of us together.
"What does it mean, Letha," Sellose questioned her uneasily.
She looked up at him and suddenly her face seemed empty, devoid of emotion. It was disturbing how she seemed to feel nothing, "It is the time. It unravels carelessly despite my intentions." Only then did something akin to regret creep into her face, "I am sorry, Friend. This is meant to be. I am to be lost again so that I might be found. I am to be a link between. The road goes in many directions; I could not predict where the journey would be drawn, only that the path would fork."
"What is she saying?" I begged, suddenly feeling a sense of rising panic. Holding Letha's hand, I could feel a strangely building hum that made my back teeth buzz and ache. There was more to this and I vaguely recalled some of the old superstitions about crossroads.
Crossroads were places where the barriers between the Fade and the waking world were thin. The Avvars would never camp near a crossroads, for things wandered that might find you in such places. With how strong my dreams had grown in the past month, the thought of being in such a thinned place seemed frightening. Somewhere ahead something tugged much like Manning had tugged the reigns of my horse behind him. I felt the oddest desire to dig in my heels and fight the pull, but there was no choice. The course was set.
We continued to walk until we indeed came to a crossroads, but I could not have predicted who we encountered there: Ronan and a detail of at least five soldiers.
I could not hide how startled and uneasy his presence made me, "Ronan? Did Father send you?"
"Father?" he scoffed, "Father is too enamored with his own petty plans and feels secure enough in his lordship over me that I need not ask his leave. He believes that I am surveying the land to the west and ensuring that the peasantry is solidly under his boot."
"Should you not be about your business, then?" I asked sarcastically.
"Believe me, dear Mae; I am about my business since I have so aptly completed his. Since I had his task in hand I decided to reward myself with a lively jaunt. It was pure chance that led me here in time to meet your retinue," his mocking tone belied his words.
"What are you about, Ronan?" demanded Murchad, his words a bizarre combination of impatience and wariness. He knew as well as I that this boded ill. While Fendril had been brutal, Ronan was cunning and far more dangerous because of his ability to maneuver around obstacles rather than plow through.
"I could ask you the same, little Brother. You were so eager to take my place as liaison and curry favor with Arl Boese. Your clumsy attempts at strengthening your position might accidently unravel all my work that has taken me weeks to arrange. Surely you can see that I could not allow that." He smiled, revealing the teeth behind his lips.
"Stop playing cat, Arlson," growled Manning, "I have had enough of treachery and double speak. At least dealing with your Father and Boese was straight forward. I begin to weary of your wheels."
Ronan approached Manning's charger and gently patted the horse's side with mock affection, "Yet my Father and Boese would keep you collared like a mabari, serving their delusions of grandeur. You chafed at their secular bent, while your goals are divine. I understand you far better than they. Is this the thanks I receive for my pains to liberate you? I can see that you have had unforeseen issues," he gestured to the cart holding the bodies of the Templars who had fallen to darkspawn, "perhaps that is what has soured you to our little ruse. No matter. We must move forward, brave Templar."
"What are you talking about?" I demanded.
My scheming brother cast a glance in my direction, "Is she not everything you hoped for, Ser Manning?"
"Hardly," glared the Templar.
"Then you shall hardly mourn her. That should be a comfort," Ronan teased, "and both of our ends will be met. You shall achieve a sense of immortality and save the world from its divine misjudgments."
The Templar "harrumphed," visibly irked, but not arguing.
"I repeat, `what are you about, Ronan?'" Murchad reiterated again, his tone becoming angry, but his eyes bespoke panic that I prayed Ronan could not read, it would only encourage his cruelty like a fox that could smell blood.
"As I said before, I am about my business. You will be about your business, but there will be a slight alteration of the arrangements Father has made. You will go to Heidrunscap and you will have the opportunity to examine the operations there quite closely." He turned his head to address the guards accompanying him, "Take him down from his steed. That beast need not carry him any longer."
The guards came forward, roughly pulling Murchad from his horse. For a moment he was startled, but he then began to struggle against them. It took three of them to subdue him and they clapped him in irons. On seeing him fight their hold, I threw myself onto the nearest one's back, beating the guard with a fist about his ears until yet another guard peeled me off.
"Have you gone mad, Ronan?" I blustered, thrashing like a fish on a hook as the guard circled his arms around my shoulders, pinning my hands helplessly to my sides.
Sellose too tried to come to our aid, but the remaining Templars subdued him, wrestling him to the ground. Ser Manning dismounted impatiently, drew his sword and held it to Sellose's throat, only then did he still. Manning commanded with an air of satisfaction, "Cease your struggling, Lady, or it will go badly for your pet."
I looked at Sellose, stretched upon the ground by hard hands, the sword close to his windpipe, and I remembered Rian, how he so readily threw himself into the fray to defend me. I could not bear to witness another murder such as that and I sagged, feeling boneless in the hard embrace of gauntlets.
"You have grown accustomed to dealing with my sister, I see," chirped Ronan, still watching the tableau unfold, not laying hands on anything other than Manning's horse, "Though I realize that you have no wish to be parted from your bride, I will escort her the rest of the way to Arl Boese's estate and ensure that the state of our affairs have not been altered by unforseen circumstances. You will escort my brother, the woman and the pet to Heidrunscap."
"Father will not take kindly to you interfering," Murchad warned Ronan, shaking off his guards haughtily, but no longer struggling. He jangled his shackles for emphasis.
"Well, I am in no danger of Father finding out from either of you," Ronan again grinned with wide jaws, "For the sake of curiosity, Manning, what befell your men?"
"Darkspawn," Manning stated flatly.
Ronan's eyebrows arched, "Indeed? How curious considering the Blight is so long over. No matter. Manning, after you have reached Heidrunscap, I want you to send word to my father, Arl Crewe, about the attack. Make sure to inform him of my brother's untimely demise at their hands."
"Are you mad?" I exploded, almost pulling away from the guard who held me.
"Mad? No. Eccentric perhaps, but madmen rarely have plans such as mine. They lack vision." He drawled this in a leisurely manner.
"What about me?" I demanded, "How will you prevent me from sending word to Father?"
"In the house of Boese, you will hardly have an opportunity," Ronan explained, "past that, there are other things planned that should occupy your time. However, I believe we have dawdled long enough."
"Agreed!" Manning exhorted. He signaled to his men to form ranks and gather Murchad, along with Sellose and Letha. Letha looked confused and slightly scared. Sellose snarled at one of the Templars who tried to grab her by the elbow. My knight was rewarded with a hard blow to his ribs, causing him to gasp and go to his knees before another Templar roughly dragged him back to his feet. Murchad allowed himself to be lead, though his face was angry.
"Wait!" I shouted, "At least allow me some form of farewell to Murchad."
Manning snorted, but Ronan allowed, "How touching. Who am I to refuse?" He nodded to the guard to release me and I stumbled forward slightly, grasping Murchad to me in a rough embrace, feeling the cold chains through the thin fabric of the tunic I wore.
"Find a way to slip free and run, Mae." He whispered.
"If I run, they will execute you." I hissed, the tears prickling in my throat and making the words hoarse.
"We are dead anyway," he argued, but I shook my head.
I sobbed into my hands and covered my face as I drew away. Turning my attention to Manning, I went to my knees before him, gripping his breeches at the waist and pleaded, "Please, spare my brother. I beg you. The Maker offers blessings upon the merciful."
"As you said, Lady, at times the Maker sends for people sooner than others. He has been chosen to fill penance, surrendered by the righteous." Manning asserted, visibly pleased at my being driven to my knees and humbled before him.
"Can nothing soften your heart?"
Manning boasted, "The Maker made me close to steel. I cannot be swayed when I have seen my duty."
I returned to my feet slowly, throwing myself into my Murchad's arms once again, seeming to stifle my sobbing into an open palm and pulling back reluctantly.
Turning to Sellose, he tried to smile, tried to be comforting in the only means afforded him, "Be well, Lady. Save a dance for me."
My eyes welled up again with scalding tears, but with it seethed a sense of defiance. I turned to my betrothed and he gazed back with a near smug expression and in response I remarked evenly, though my words lisped slightly with emotion, "I believe that I should bid you farewell, Ser. The Maker alone knows when we will meet again."
"It will be soon," he smiled, satisfied in what he perceived to be my wilted state, spurred by the thought of losing my brother.
"Until that time, allow me to leave you with a gift to cherish and hold close to whatever heart you possess," and the words had hardly been uttered when I threw my arms around Ser Sellose's neck, kissing him passionately, lips parted.
For a moment, Sellose stiffened, startled, but it took him a moment to realize what I was doing, and he grabbed my waist, holding me close. My fingers twined into his short hair, holding his head still so that I could have full access to his mouth. If we were all to die, I would give myself completely to this one thing. He had hoped to liberate me, but in this moment, I strove to liberate him in this one action.
The kiss did not last long, for we were promptly rewarded with a roar from Manning. He sprang forward and wrenched me away from Sellose by my hair. The force of it threw me to the ground. He leaned over me, gripped me by the chin, the metal of the gauntlet scraping me, and raved, "You have pushed me beyond patience. You are not worthy for the honor I wish to bestow. You are fouled! You are defiled!"
He drew his hand back to strike and Sellose tried to get to us, but he was restrained by three Templars, who had drawn him away on seeing our display. Manning's eyes had grown dark, near black, but it was as if somewhere deep in their recesses a blue light gleamed, like a burning coal with a hot flame. In that moment I was certain he would kill me.
"Hold your hand, Templar," proclaimed a strong, ringing voice, causing all to turn and examine its source. Letha stood straight, her features seeming to glow and her arm was raised, pointing an extended finger directly at Manning. She was no longer quaking or cowering, but her voice commanded attention and all were stunned as she continued, "You have broken the compact, perverted the calling and sullied what you claimed to serve. You trespassed upon the Maker's seat. You have infected what the Maker has created, poisoning it as surely as you have poisoned yourself. The fire which you dream of wielding will consume you. What you have glutted yourself with will call to those who darkly desire to feast, and you will be enthralled. You shall be shucked, and cast away, for you have cast away the gift that was freely offered to take what you had no right to possess. Heed me, for this is the harbinger of your destruction. The message can only be altered by you."
For a moment Manning gaped at her, stunned, but he recovered and charged her, grabbing her by the throat. I staggered to my feet, attempting to clutch at his arm to try and force him to release her, but he swatted me off, dazing me, and shrieked, "False prophetess! Harlot! Sinner! Defiance of me is defiance of the Divine. You must be made an example of; you must be raised so you may be seen by all! You are not worthy to be cleansed in flames, but will be left to rot. By Maferath I will see it done!"
Murchad and Sellose were restrained by Templars, but they kept fighting, kept struggling until they were beaten into merciful unconscious, unaware of the horror. Meanwhile Ronan gripped me from behind on both shoulders, forcing me to stand by and watch as I squirmed, cursing him and Manning.
Manning called for a rope, tied a hasty noose, and slipped it around her neck. Letha did not resist, but stared him in the eye until he spit on her. Throwing the other end of the rope over a low lying branch, he pulled on it, hoisting her into the air as her feet kicked in the breeze. Her face flushed pink before becoming paler, shifting to a bluer tint, the veins throbbing as she gasped around the rope slowly strangling her.
Somehow I slipped from Ronan's embrace and threw myself onto Manning's back in wild desperation, boxing his ears, scratching his neck, anything to get him to drop the rope; anything to save the fragile woman who was slowly fading as she dangled.
I did not see who struck me, but I fell back hard, hitting the ground, there was a sickening crack. The world softened, becoming shiny at the edges as I looked a moment into the tree branches, saw the outline of Letha swaying, a limp banner of shame. My eyes stung and it all went dark.