Chapter 54: The Marred Statue
Svenya/Mae
The kitchen was near night shrouded when I entered. The only thing that beat back the dimness were the fires in the grates where a woman stirred a pot, however the timid flames themselves appeared discouraged as the cook clucked and coaxed the stew. Light and hope had all but abandoned this place, leaving the chill of the threatening winter. I gently deposited the tray on a table near the wash tub where it appeared the dishes were to be done.
"If you have done your duty by the arlson, Dery," the woman piped up, not even bothering to look at me directly, "you can go and scrounge something in the pantry for a meager sup. I fear the men brought little back from the windfalls in the orchard. There is such want in the surrounding countryside, probably some poor wretches from a neighboring village snuck in and scoured the grounds during the night when they saw how low their own stores fared with so little by way of crops. I dare not complain to the arl, or he will send men to search for those pitiful worm eaten apples and beat the luckless starving thieves. These will be the last. It bodes ill for the winter when we are so skinny in the Autumn."
I said nothing, though it made my heart ache to even consider pillaging from the pantry when there was obviously so little. I was not stealing from Boese in such a fashion, for he would not go without, I was stealing from the mouths of the servants. I knew that I could not survive the journey back to Herfirien without supplies, but I could not bring myself to pilfering from the people who so sorely needed it. I settled on quietly swiping a kitchen knife from among the silver to be polished and scanned the room for a way out.
Backing toward a likely door, I slipped into a corridor just as the woman added, "If you are going to see to the dusting in the great hall and the arlson's rooms, make sure to get that boy, Huwel, to help with the ladder. Berdic says it is demeaning for him to help with housework, being a guard now instead of a groom. He has become true proud in the past fortnight, hoping the arl will take him with him where-err he plans to go. Foolish boy, if the arl leaves I would have no desire to be his tail. Too close to where his arse can be kicked and that man well-nigh deserves the boots that could do it. There are so few of us now to do the chores…that be a blessing slight. Less to eat and more work leads to more cobwebs…" the woman continued to mutter as I left.
I thought of Kanara. The past week had both crawled and flew. She could tell me so little and yet she implied that there was something wrong with the porridge that had been sent to us, pouring it out the window and sharing her meager meal with me. She seemed so alert to every sound on the stairs or in the courtyard. When the meals came she would signal me to lie down and feign sleep. After Derora left she would watch from the window as the woman would cross the courtyard below. All the time there was something in her eyes that communicated the thoughts roiling within, but she could not share them with me.
That afternoon she had seemed agitated. When the familiar footfalls were on the tower stairs, instead of signaling me to lie down on the pallet she placed her finger against her lips, counseling me to silence. I was perplexed when the door opened and Derora looked into my eyes, but before she could cry out in surprise Kanara struck her from behind and causing the other woman to crumple to the floor, almost dropping the tray. In a whirlwind, Kanara switched my clothes with the ones that Derora wore and hid my hair under the unconscious woman's green kerchief in a hasty bun. Handing me the tray, she ushered me to the door, knocked and then pushed me through before I could respond or argue.
She had helped to free me and I had to make the most of this chance, but I feared for her being left behind to bear the brunt of Boese and my brother's displeasure. I found myself entertaining impossible plans in a vain hope of rescuing her, but I had to admit that it seemed hopeless. My window of escape under nightfall was not endless and I could not scale the tower and help her down with a rope. Even the idea of leaving Swidden and making the trek to Herfirien on foot seemed daunting. I felt lost and alone. Pondering these dilemmas, I was reluctant to steal into the night surrounding the manse, but I had no other options. If I did not take this chance, then Kanara's plan to help me had been for nothing.
Wandering the halls like a shadow, looking for the likeliest exit, I could not help but notice the truth the kitchen woman's had spoken absently. I need not have feared running into another servant who would not recognize me and raise the alarm of an outsider. There were fewer staff than one would have in a normal working household with an arl in residence. There were no maids or pages bustling with cleaning. There were no footmen at hall junctures or guards easily seen. Occasionally I would discern the sound of a patrolling, lone guardsman and would cower in a darkened alcove or behind a tapestry, pressing close to the cold stone walls.
The neglect was painful to behold. There were cobwebs in ceiling crevices and puffs of dust skittering across the halls with each footfall and skirt sweep. As I ventured down another hall, it was also obvious they had forgone candles in many sconces, perhaps rationing them.
These things implied want, which did not make sense. The Arl Boese had always been affluent, my father had often enthused over the luxury of his finery and the running of his manse. It would not be reasonable that the arl had fallen on hard times or had skimped on his household budgets. It made no sense and did not fit the persona of the man I had seen visiting my cell, with his velvet doublet, his jeweled ring and his fine cobbled boots.
I finally came to another broad corridor, better lighted and more kempt. Obviously, with fewer servants, those left opted to limit their cleaning to the places that were in constant usage by the arl. At the end of the hall stood one large ornate door and two smaller ones abutting in a corner. The large door implied a ballroom or a dining hall, not the type of place I would wish to be if there were guards. However, the smaller doors might lead to a study or a storage room that might have some useful items that would aid me in my journey to Herfirien.
The pacing guard only just missed catching sight of me as I quickly used the kitchen knife to lift the secure latch on the other side of one of the doors and slipped into the room. The room was a study, as I had suspected, with shelves of books with their usual musty smell. The walls were lined with bookshelves. In the center of the room was a large oaken desk, strewn with maps and scraps of paper. Notes and missives littered the entirety of its surface so that one could not see the top of the desk. There were a couple of chairs and a foot stool near a small table to the side with what looked to be the remains of a previous small meal that the servants had not the opportunity to remove. What seemed the most promising was a large wardrobe on one side of the room and a squat chest in another corner.
I managed to use the knife to wedge open the lock of the chest, knowing that it would leave signs of a forced entry, but I had not time to try and locate something to carefully pick the lock and hide that I had been there. Within I found a small purse of coins, a pair of riding gloves and a dagger in a leather sheathe embossed with a strange symbol. It was not a crest that I was familiar with but, thinking that having the dagger as a weapon or a tool, I tucked it into my cleavage without giving it much thought. The image of the hilt cresting above my breasts was near comical; however I had no other option on how to carry it and maintain the freedom of my hands, lacking pockets or a pack.
Opening the wardrobe, I found a fur-lined cloak that would certainly assist in keeping the cold at bay, particularly with the thinness of the borrowed shift that I wore. It was obviously one of the arl's, with its scarlet and brown colors that were reminiscent of the coat of arms that graced the wall over a nearby fireplace. The boar was all in red against the stark field of brown, like fresh turned earth. It should have been a sign of power and virility, but the crest itself appeared aged, some of the paint was cracked and it had a liberal coat of dust. I pulled the cloak around my shoulders and wrinkled my nose at the slightly sour smell of the wearer's body odor and a faint muskiness of an expensive perfume.
Turning my attention to the desk, I half hoped to find a map that might reveal a likely route that I could take in order to return to Herfirien. Having never ventured to Swidden before, I was unsure of how to find the Avvar trails unless there were some likely paths to the woods on the mountain slopes. Instead of finding a map to Herfirien or of the mountain forests, I found a newly drawn map that illustrated a narrow pass that cut through the mountain range to Swidden's north.
I recalled what Boese had said to me, "Yes, Lady, just beyond the Northern Range bordering the Cauldron I discovered a narrow pass that can access the sea. Ships could take you to Kirkwall or Orlais from there."
The memory was vague, but I also recalled something about him wanting to sail on the Waking Sea soon. These thoughts made the hair on the back of my neck practically itch, as if I could sense significance to them but could not entirely focus, as if I was recalling a melody but could not remember the words to the song.
I began to leaf through some of the other papers and read a brief missive that had been singed around the edges, as if someone had read it too close to a candle and it had caught…or someone had tried to destroy it and had been prevented:
"The lyrium has been received in trade. As promised, my ally has agreed to provide you with men, ships and munitions for your endeavors in Denerim. We ask that you remember our aid to you when you have achieved your aims. Perhaps our confederacy can be of further assistance to you in a way that will be mutually beneficial…"
Lyrium? Ally? Denerim? Munitions? The words were swimming before my eyes and made no sense.
"What is Boese planning to do in Denerim?" I muttered, as I sifted through some more sheets. Some of them were tallies of men and supplies and some were lists of names. There was very little in the papers indicating what they were for, other than there were large numbers of men being provided for. It occurred to me that the amounts being tallied would have cost dear and might account for the scrimping of funds at the estate or the food shortages. An army could eat like a plague of locusts if one merely counted the costs, "However, it doesn't explain about the lyrium. It sounds as if Boese is exporting it to someone, but where is he getting it from? Also, Sellose had said the Templars need lyrium on a certain level. Is it possible that it is relating to the Templars? If they are both using lyrium in trade and providing it to the Templars, that implies they are getting large amounts from somewhere. Sellose said that the Chantry provides sanctioned Templars with lyrium because they have a trade agreement with Orzammar. Could he have made an agreement with a Dwarven carta that is smuggling lyrium? Is that what is costing so much that he can't maintain the manse and a large staff? However, that doesn't explain why he would merely turn around and trade the lyrium for men, ships and weapons rather than purchase it."
The more I stirred the implications within my mind, the more questions bubbled to the surface, hissing like steam in the back of my consciousness. It made me far more uneasy…
Then I found a small envelope with a broken seal at the very bottom of the pile. The seal appeared to be a light green wax and had a strange, rearing dragon in profile. It was not a crest of one of the Cauldron freeholds, therefore I was unfamiliar with it. The message within had a beautiful, distinctly feminine hand and read:
"If you can free me, as you boast, I will consent to your proposed marriage. I need not enthrall you with promises of the greatness such an alliance will bring to you. A crown and land should be more than enough dowry to suit any man, provided he is strong enough to make his claim. However, I advise haste if you intend to act. Between the recovery of Denerim and the unfortunate loss of Amaranthine to darkspawn taint, the opposition is still weak enough that a decisive move should topple all resistance with few losses, but he grows stronger in support with each passing day. I depend upon your swift reply, not with parchment and words, but with ship and sword."
"Ship and sword?" The wording implied that this letter related to the necessity for ships and there was a possible marital alliance, but with whom? My father had implied that Boese had no longer desired to marry me because he had made another arrangement. It was possible that the Orlesian Empress might be tempted to marry, but Boese seemed fairly far beneath her. The marriage sounded like it hinged on some action being taken against Ferelden. It didn't seem entirely unlikely that the Orlesians might consider invasion and I would have not been surprised if Boese would sell his country for advancement, but the Empress would not marry a noble traitor for a country. Would she?
Suddenly a memory broadsided me and caused me to gasp. Though it had been a moon past, I recalled the attack on the knights in the forest. The image of the short knight with his sword poised above Ser Lion in a coup de grace and intoning ominously, "For the honor of Anora," haunted my mind's eye. The words had chilled me, but it had more to do with the knight's actions than the words he spoke. Now it was if I could hear the words anew and the meaning ran deeper.
The short knight had conspired with the mercenaries to attack the Redcliffe knights, but the mercenary that had threatened my life later that same day had said they had come to the Cauldron for someone raising an army. It was conceivable that the knight had been in contact with Boese and knew of his activities through his connection with Queen Anora.
It had not occurred to me then, but I recalled the deposed Queen of Ferelden had been imprisoned in Denerim after her father had tried to claim the throne in her name on the death of King Cailan. She had refused to swear fealty to King Alistair, so she remained in residence at Fort Drakon. Boese was not playing suit to Emperess Celene, he was wooing the disgraced queen with promises of freedom and the overthrow of the rightful king.
Arl Boese was not scrabbling to control the Cauldron, he wanted to be King Consort for the whole of Ferelden and he would attack the capital city with his army by sea. It all seemed to clear now!
Without fully considering my motivations for doing so, I tucked the envelope with the letter into my bodice next to the dagger. The outline felt sharper and colder against my breast than the sheathed blade. I almost wondered if the dragon with the snake-like tongue from the seal might bite me with all its venom. The words carried a poison of their own.
I began to consider my options. I had to leave Swidden, but where could I go?
I snatched up the map that showed the pass North, reasoning that I could do just as Boese had implied and board ship. If I could make it to Denerim I would be able to hopefully obtain an audience with the king and inform him of the treachery brewing in the Cauldron. If Boese planned an attack, then perhaps I could prevent them from being taken unaware if I could manage to keep ahead of Boese.
Thinking better of my chances, I grabbed the purse from the chest that I had initially balked at taking. Passage on a ship cost money and I could only hope that it would be enough. Rather than stow the coin in my cleavage as well, I found a hidden pocket in the cloak. The coins would have been difficult to maintain in my front and I had no desire to jingle with each step.
My remembered admonition to Ser Sellose and the other knights regarding their lost armor caught me in that moment, "those damn things made you jangle like Chantry bells. If anyone were looking for you they would find you with ease." I had been speaking of something else, but I absently wondered what Ser Sellose or Rian would have thought of my jangling cleavage and I was conflicted as to whether I should laugh or cry. The sweet torture of their faces in my mind, their laughter, their camaraderie, their kindness…even their implied affections so subtle made me ache and grit my teeth.
It struck me as odd, I was travelling so much lighter now than when I had first began my journey and yet I carried so much more of a weight in my heart. I was alone and yet they haunted me with their memories.
I could do nothing for Rian now and I had done what I could to save Sellose and Murchad, but was it enough? Would it ever be enough?
Saving myself was never the issue. I knew I could save myself with very little effort or end it quickly with a slice of the dagger across my wrists and worry no longer of this world. The sacrifice, the burden, was to continue living and do what I could for others rather than take the easy road, the easy escape. I wanted to be worthy of the admiration that Rian expended on me. I wanted to be worthy of the trust that Ser Grey had bestowed so grudgingly. I wanted to be worthy of those painfully pretty words of Sellose the last I had seen of him, "I have seen the grace you were endowed with…Your grace would put swimming swans to shame."
Stealing from the room, listening carefully to avoid one of the few guards stalking the halls, I managed to find a garden door and let myself outside. A well stood within a few feet of the door and I drew myself some water for a drink, unsure of when I would have another opportunity for fresh water considering that I had no water skin to carry with me and could not risk searching the manse for one. I would have to rely on what I could scrounge on my journey and I hoped that the map was correct in that the pass was not too far away.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the night, with only the pale light afforded by a slivered moon, I made out the outline of a statue at the edge of the yard. Scampering quickly, I got across the open space and crouched in the shadow that the statue cast in the moonlight, taking advantage of the cover it provided in the event there should be another guard making rounds outside. Glancing at the statue, I was startled to discover that it was a sculpture of Andraste praying. Soot and scorch marks marred the surface of the marble, indicating that the piece had survived a fire. Squinting, I ran my fingers over the chiseled inscription at the figure's feet and was surprised to discover that the statue had originally belonged to the Cloughbark Chantry. For some reason, Boese had the statue brought to Swidden to grace his garden.
Peering up at the visage, more of the damage became apparent. The right side of the statues' face had been scored slightly, as if someone had taken an implement of some kind and made shallow scratches in the rock. It seemed odd, somehow, that it was the only place the scoring had occurred. The rest of it was covered with soot and one could assume that an object could have collapsed against the statue and damaged it during the fire. The damage to the face was more distinct than the rest of the burn damage, portending something dark and unforeseen.
I found myself placing a hand upon the exposed foot of the Bride, as if I felt a kinship with the statue in our mutual disfigurement, garnered in tribulations we could not control.
"Maker, hear me…whatever grace you endowed upon a wretch like me let it be of some use. Let me fly and be able to honor the men who have so honored me…" was the hasty prayer I sighed before withdrawing, escaping from Boese's garden and entering the surrounding forest.