Chapter 5: Plots and Prophesies

A wise man once said something along the lines of: 'Life is comprised of long periods of boredom punctuated by brief moments of utter panic.' If I ever find that wise man, I'm going to slap him so hard his ancestors will feel it. I haven't experienced a long period of boredom in over ten years, just moment after moment of utter panic. I suppose that's my fault though, right? I chose this life after all…I think…and panic comes with the territory. Honestly, if I were bored for more than a day I probably wouldn't know what to do with myself. Maybe go back to playing the lute. I miss the lute.

Such as it is, I've come to realize over the years that these horrendous moments of panic are usually preceded by signs and omens of a dark and sinister nature. Sometimes they're so subtle that it takes a razor sharp wit to notice them. Other times they're so glaringly obvious that they may as well be road signs that say 'Death This Way.' Or…you know…cryptically worded messages from your sworn enemies delivered in overtly threatening ways. The smart thing to do on those occasions, when fate throws you an almost offensively obvious warning sign, is to change course and avoid the disaster that is looming right in front of your face. That's what any rational person would do, right? Right?

The alternative is to pull out your daggers and dive into the abyss screaming like a madman. Which you would have to be, because no sane person would ever dive into an abyss, figurative or otherwise.

Which is why, between you and me, I think I may have a problem…

Feanor stood with his hands spread wide on the table staring intently at the two messages laid side by side in front of him, as if glaring at them would help dispel the multitude of questions they raised. The messages themselves were cryptic enough, and the manner in which they had been delivered was vastly unsettling. Zevran and Quinn had returned within minutes of each other. As they recounted their stories, Feanor felt icy tendrils of fear creep into his stomach, it was not a sensation he was used to feeling. That archer could have put his arrow through Zevran's chest, and that messenger could just as easily have laid a trap for Quinn. They knew exactly whom to deliver these messages to, and knew exactly where and when to find them. The Crows had been able to crack the Wardens' security in other cities, but never in Denerim. This was the seat of their entire network, and not a single Crow had ever been able to even enter the city limits without them knowing. Until tonight, when suddenly their enemy knew right where to find two senior members of the hierarchy when they were most vulnerable. To say the sudden change of fortune was worrisome would be a vast understatement.

Feanor let out an exasperated sigh and began pacing with his arms folded across his chest. Zevran, Quinn, Brecca, and Alderas were all gathered around the table with worried expressions. They all knew what this could mean, and not a few uneasy glances drifted toward the cave's entrance, as if they were all expecting a gaggle of armed Crows to come bursting in at any second. Feanor forced himself to stop pacing and looked at the messages again. They both said basically the same thing, their wording almost identical. They announced that the Crows had recently secured a very lucrative contract, and that one of the conditions of this contract was that they cease all hostilities against the Wardens…because the client was extending the contract to them as well. Whoever it was, this client apparently wanted their target eliminated badly enough to employ Thedas' two most well-known assassin guilds, despite the fact that they were engaged in bloody warfare with each other. As long as the contract was open, the client didn't want the two factions expending resources against each other. Hence the enforced truce, which the Crows had apparently already agreed to. Buried within the letters of the twin messages was a relatively simple cypher identifying the time and place for the Wardens to meet with the client. Should they refuse the contract, the truce would be null and void. Between the lines was the implied threat that this mysterious client had access to information about the Wardens that they would pass on to the Crows, or perhaps act on themselves.

The silence in the cavern was stifling. Feanor was grateful when Zevran finally broke it so he didn't have to.

"So…trap?" Zevran asked rhetorically.

"Trap," agreed Quinn.

"Obviously a trap," said Alderas.

"I…uhm…I'm not sure it's a trap," Brecca said sheepishly.

Three pairs of eyes looked at Brecca like he was a naïve idiot, but Feanor's interest was piqued. Brecca was not the ideal knife-man, but mentally he was sharp as a razor. Feanor shot the other three men a look to silence them before they said anything and nodded at Brecca to continue his thought process.

"Well, if they wanted to outright kill us, why go through all this elaborate cloak and dagger nonsense? Obviously they already know how to get to us, so what would be the point in sending us these messages if it were all just a ruse to…what? Get all of us to go to this meeting where they can set the building on fire and kill us all in one fell swoop? Whoever these people are, they're not stupid and they have to know we're not stupid. No way would they expect more than one or two of us to go to this thing, and they could have killed one or two of us tonight if they'd had the mind."

Brecca gave Zev and Quinn an apologetic look, "No offense," he said.

"None taken," Zevran said with a chuckle, Quinn just scowled in response.

"Look," Brecca continued, more confidently now that he hadn't been shouted down. "Obviously there is some shady crap going on here, and we should be worried. But if the Crows or this client or whoever sent these things really had the drop on us and wanted to hit us, they wouldn't have bothered to go through all of this wishy-washy conspiracy crack. They're obviously good enough to at least think they can take us out quick and clean, otherwise we wouldn't be sitting here having this conversation. All these bells and whistles have done is give us a heads up to be even more on guard than usual."

The other four men regarded each other for a moment as they chewed over Brecca's words.

"I think you may be right Brecca," Feanor said thoughtfully.

"I must agree," Zevran nodded. "Any advantage they had over us has now been squandered, and the Crows are certainly not the types to throw away any advantage, real or imagined. For all they know we get these letters, sense a trap, pack up and leave. Then they're back to square one, and I think by now they've tasted enough of our steel to know that square one is not a place they want to be with us."

"So wait, wait, wait," Alderas chimed in, "Let's say for the sake of argument that this isn't a Crow plot to string us up. That means that all the crazy crack in these letters is true. There's some mysterious client out there that wants to kill someone badly enough to hire us and our mortal enemies at the same time, and thinks that they carry enough weight to keep us from killing each other in the process."

"Well apparently they do have the weight," Quinn said, "The Crows already agreed to it. They wouldn't stop this fight for just anyone, I don't care how big the payout is. There's gotta be something else going on here."

"Indeed," agreed Zevran, "The Crows have coin flowing in from all over Thedas. I cannot imagine a single bounty being high enough for them to suspend the vendetta they have sworn against us."

"We could say the same," Feanor added grimly, "But apparently whoever is orchestrating this little masquerade has something more than money to offer. Or something to threaten with."

"Say what you will about them," Alderas said, "But the Crows don't scare for anything."

"They scared for this," Feanor said, touching the two letters. "And whoever scared them seems to be expecting the same from us."

"Well frack em!" Alderas said with his usual misguided exuberance. "We're the Black-damn-Wardens! We're not gonna play along with this…are we?"

Alderas, Quinn and Brecca all looked to Feanor and Zevran expectantly. The two exchanged glances and Zevran nodded reluctantly.

"This is uncharted territory," Feanor sighed, "We're completely blind. We have no idea what this contract might be, who the client is, or what he's holding over the Crows' heads and ours." Feanor paused, gritted his teeth and made the call: "We go to this meeting. We see who's trying to jack us around, and who knows? Maybe it will be worthwhile to play their game."

The other four men nodded in agreement, but clearly none of them were thrilled by the prospect. Neither was Feanor, but he could see no other option. The Black Wardens had their hands full as it was dealing with the Antivan Crows, they could not afford to needlessly make another enemy, especially one that they knew nothing about.

"So, what's the plan?" Quinn asked.

Feanor thought for a moment. "We're going to do that really stupid thing Brecca mentioned," he said with a mischievous grin. "We're all going to this soiree together."

"Wait," Brecca said, his eyes going wide, "All of us?"

"Yes Brecca, all of us," Feanor replied. "You've been training with that crossbow? You can hit a target?"

"Well yeah but…" Brecca stammered.

"Then grab your bolts and strap in," Feanor said in a commanding tone. Brecca swallowed hard and nodded. Feanor tapped his fingers on the table and grinned. "And let's take a peek inside your chest of gadgets," he said. "I have an idea. Whoever these weirdos are, if they try to pull a fast one on us they're gonna get a big hurt. Now we've got about a two day ride to get to the spot in these letters. We'll have to leave tomorrow if we want to get there in time to case the area and…"

"You should not go."

The raspy, female voice was so utterly unexpected that all five men flinched involuntarily. They looked up from the table at the Saarebas slowly approaching them. She was taller than Quinn, all muscle and curves, and she seemed to be gliding rather than walking. Her copper skin gleamed like metal, and the characteristic horns most of her people sported had been sawed off to nubs that were almost covered by a mane of wild white hair that fell to her waist. Her eyes were an impossible shade of deep purple, and they seemed to stare right through all five men simultaneously. Brecca and Alderas stepped back as she reached the table. She looked at each of the men in turn before closing her eyes. Her head swayed back and forth as if she was nodding off.

"What is she doing?" Alderas whispered.

"She's…I don't know, shut up!" Quinn stuttered.

Her eyes suddenly snapped open and locked on Feanor's. Those eyes made him feel strange, and he had to fight the urge to avert his gaze. He could feel energy radiating from this woman like a pulsating heat. It made his skin prickle and his head swim. He had been around many mages in his day, some of them extremely powerful, but none had ever made him feel this way. He quickly glanced at the others and saw that they too seemed to be feeling the effects of her presence. Feanor forced himself to look back into the Saarebas' eyes, wondering in amazement that this was the same woman who had been sitting passively in the corner for the past several weeks.

"You should not go," she repeated.

Out of the corner of his eye Feanor saw Zevran shrug, at a loss for words. Feanor hardened his gaze and his resolve. He adopted the cold, threatening mask he wore so often, the one that made most people shrink back from him. He may as well have been staring at a wall for all the reaction it got out of the qunari woman.

"Why?" he finally asked, keeping his voice carefully emotionless. "What do you know of this?"

The qunari mage extended her hand and touched each of the letters with the tips of her fingers, an expression of concentration and what might have been pain on her face.

"They will ask you to do something you cannot do," she said, "And when you refuse your enemies will multiply, and they will be unlike anything you have faced before."

Feanor stared at her, his expression becoming even harder, more threatening, a cold anger began to rise in his chest. He felt inexplicably insulted by what the Saarebas had just said, and he had to stifle the sudden urge to lash out at her.

"You have no idea what I can do," he said quietly, dangerously, "And even less of what I've faced."

"You have killed many without hesitation," she said simply, "Even those who were unwilling victims of the monsters you had sworn to protect them from. Demons and darkspawn, horrors in the deepest, darkest places of Thedas."

Feanor felt suddenly like he had been punched in the chest. Images flashed through his mind unbidden, all the horrors he had faced during the Blight appeared before his eyes in one awful moment. And with them, other images. Those villagers, the circle mages…Connor…that poor boy…

"You have ice in your veins, Feanor of Denerim," the Saarebas continued, "But you are chained to your remorse. That is why you cannot do what these people will ask of you. And when you refuse them, the power they will bring to bear on you and your brethren will destroy you all."

Feanor felt those words penetrate him like fangs, sinking down into the core of his being. Something inside him snapped. He slammed both of his fists down on the table and snarled like a feral animal. He would have lunged at the qunari if not for the quick, strong hands of Quinn and Zevran that shot out to restrain him. Alderas and Brecca recoiled from shock, and Quinn looked desperately at Zevran as the two wrestled with Feanor. Zevran could only shake his head in bewilderment. Only he had ever seen Feanor lose control like this, and not for many years. Feanor felt deeply, but he had always been a true master of his emotions. To get this reaction, the Saarebas' words must have stirred him more deeply than Zevran could imagine. She stood there calm as a statue as Feanor raged, and not for the first time Zevran wondered if they should have slit her throat and dumped her in the river when they had the chance.

The outburst lasted only a few seconds. Feanor took a few deep breathes and unclenched his hands, backing away from the table a bit to show Quinn and Zevran he was alright. They relaxed their grips but did not release him completely. Feanor looked back across the table at the Saarebas. She had not so much as flinched in the face of a man who would have killed her

"How do you know these things?" Feanor asked, his voice quivering with residual anger. "Who are you? What are you?" The qunari cocked her head to one side and looked at Feanor quizzically for a moment.

"I am Saarebas," she said simply, and then she added sadly, "All of my kind are Saarebas."

The emotion in her voice washed over Feanor like a wave, so intense it completely disarmed him. For a moment he heard a brilliant song humming in the back of his mind. It weakened him, and he had to steady himself against the table. Around him, his four comrades similarly wavered. Zevran clutched a hand to his heart and grimaced in pain. Quinn's arms hung limply at his sides as he shivered and began mumbling a prayer. Alderas went stiff and sneered in anger, then closed his eyes tightly and turned away. Brecca let out a deep sob and wrapped his arms tightly around his own shoulders. Then as suddenly as it had come, the haze in their minds receded. The five friends looked at each other, blinking like men who had just wakened from a shared dream. They had all just seen brief glimpses of their destinies. Feanor looked back up at the Saarebas, his icy façade completely melted, his eyes pleading.

"These people," Feanor said, his voice quavering, "Who are they?"

Again the Saarebas slowly reached across the table and lightly touched one of the letters.

"The Red Hand," she said simply. Then she turned and without another word walked away. The five men stared after her in silence, all of them unsure and uneasy about what had just transpired, all of them knowing they had been touched by power. Feanor shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He looked down at the letter the Saarebas had just touched. There at the bottom of the page was a small sigil.

A red hand inside a black circle.