Through A Cloudy Looking Glass

by OldDDGuy

What if a group of people found themselves on Thedas, but they knew little or nothing about it. How would they adapt? Would they? What if they were able to defend themselves with modern weapons, but nothing else? Would they be able to make things better or worse? Rough language, some adult situations.

13. First Blood in the Hinterlands

Warning, this story deals with complex issues. Although not written to be for "mature" audiences, it does deal with some topics which might be considered in that category; however, the descriptions and actions are not more mature than DAI displays during gameplay. Nothing underage happens, but it might cause some discomfort. Please be aware. Some content is based on historical norms of conduct (Marriage at what is now considered the onset of puberty was the norm until only very recently is an example). These uncomfortable facts are included to make the story more authentic.

The language, particularly those epithets you may find offensive, is there for a reason; they are true to life and used every day. The question you should ask is, why? The answer is not as simple as you might believe.

First Blood

Revelations and Utilization

Four women sat at tea enjoying a late breakfast in the new apartments above the infirmary. The flats had been built for the Companion women; it gave them more desperately needed privacy. It had larger rooms, offering room for more spacious living and grander vistas through large windows, though none quite as large as the one in Samantha's quarters.

From her window, Sam had a picturesque view of Haven Lake and the Frostback mountains beyond, a view she had discovered, much to her surprise, with which she had fallen in love. In her mind, the only thing that marred it was the soldier's camp just below her rooms. However, right now, the women watched the Inquisitions soldiers and Companions troops exercise.

'So many changes, so swiftly. What a disaster.' Leliana went round and round on the thought while focusing on the snow buried peaks across the lake, all through the enormous single pane of glass, the largest she had ever seen even in Val Royeaux. It had been an experiment she knew, and it was the only success in twelve attempts, a little wavy here and there, but she could not help but marvel. 'So many changes.' Finally, she heard her name.

"Leliana!" Josephine was trying not to shout, but Leliana's mind was far away; Josephine was considering getting up out of her chair and shaking the woman to gain her attention.

Leliana started from her trance to full attention; luckily, she was practiced at tea, startled though she was, she did not spill a drop, thus avoiding yet another disaster. "I am sorry, ladies; I have been preoccupied with our situation. Please forgive me. What did I miss?"

At any other time, the company gathered around the little table might have been something to remark on, in and of itself. For there sat Sister Leliana Cousland the Left Hand of the Devine Justinia V, Reverend Mother Giselle of Jader, Lady Josephine Montilyet Ambassador of the Inquisition, and Senior Professor Samantha Marie Turpids of University of London and Harvard University. In many ways, the women were so different yet the same, intelligent, educated, driven, and haunted by their personal demons.

"Well then, what do you suggest, Dr. Turpids," although she used the title out of respect, it made no sense to Leliana, who had inquired about it and its meaning from the other Newcomer academics. It seems that Doctor was a title given to a healer, any academic, or possibly both and most mysteriously might be given to someone for merely donating enough coin to an academic institution. Still trying to understand, she had concluded that it was meaningless and also very pompous.

"Can you provide us no insight into the mind of Commander Gray?" Josephine wanted desperately to find a way to broach the subject of assisting the Inquisition; if nothing else, the disastrous demonstration had proven to everyone how powerful their weapons were.

"I have no idea." Sam put down her tea with a heavy sigh. "I have never understood men in general, and I have no insight into the military mind at all."

Two days had passed since the incident. Certainly, Commander Gray's injury was unfortunate. Still, the Herald had refused to leave his side, delaying a critical mission to Val Royeaux – it was as if the entire Inquisition was held in some sort of limbo. Yet, the Breach was still in the sky!

Since the accident, Cassandra had taken to her rooms; she was so angry when she emerged, she went directly to the combat dummies and destroyed three of them before Cullen stepped in and told her she had to replace two for every one. She then took up an ax and started on trees; she made a total of ten before Cullen intervened again, telling her to speak with the Herald, which to Leliana's knowledge, had not happened yet.

"Forgive me for saying so, Dr. Turpids," Josephine started before Leliana could, "but that is not terribly helpful. Can you provide no insight?"

"Our soldiers are soldiers because they choose to be. Only a few nations force individuals to spend time in their militaries. Commander Gray's nation, the United States, does not have conscription. All of them volunteered; their perspective is different than mine. I think most of them volunteered for the military after 9/11…" Samantha was about to go on with her usual lecture-style when she realized that her students had no idea what she was referring to.

"Oh yes, you do not know what that is, do you. Let me see; their nation was the victim of a devastating terrorist attack which killed thousands…." Samantha looked from woman to woman. Again, she saw surprise. "Yes, well, let's come back to that in the future, shall we? It has no real bearing here anyway."

"The real difference is I am an internationalist." She could see no comprehension in her audience, but she was in full lecture mode now. "I am an academic, you see. A professor, a chaired professor actually at London University in Great Britain, and a guest professor at Harvard in the US. If you ask most academics, they would say that they are above nationalism with their allegiance only to academia. Hence without a national identity, academics see no need for any military. However, although I may have once shared their opinion, recently I have seen a world without their protection, and I have changed my view."

She took another sip to collect her thoughts. 'It is not very good; I will have to discover how they prepare the leaves.'

She carried on, "At best, I believe most academics would see the military as a tool—something to protect society from the threats in the world, like large dogs to chase off wolves. At worst, they would see them as the problem, a manifestation of humanity's worst impulses. I do not believe that now, it seems humans are all too capable of being beastly without any organization. Still, an organization seems to be necessary to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Samantha waited to see if anyone would interject. No one did. They tried to comprehend a world so peaceful that its intellectuals could envision a formal military absence.

"To me, they were a necessary evil, something one needed in dangerous places. Although most of our world is largely peaceful, there are still large areas that must contend with violent groups. But from where we academics live and work, those areas are far away and hence easily ignored. It was not until we were in the desert that I realized how evil people could be." Her hands were shaking as she sipped her tea, so much so she put it down.

"We were traveling toward our destination, a newly discovered temple, when we came upon that car … we came across an act of barbarity, a vicious crime of brutality on helpless … a helpless …" tears began to fall; they had been through so much she had not allowed herself time to feel, "it was a whole family - slaughtered for no other reason than they were there. John insisted we stop and bury them. The woman and her children. It was dangerous for all of us" Sam paused to breathe, "at any moment, dozens or even hundreds of bandits could have attacked us, but the children, we could not leave them like that. It was horrible."

Leliana passed Samantha a silk handkerchief, her eyes showing sympathy in the act. Samantha wondered if Leliana thought she was weak. Giselle's eyes showed greater compassion; whether it was for her or the story's victims was not clear. Josephine simply listened and did not meet her eyes.

As Samantha blew her nose and dried her tears, the women of Thedas looked at each other in surprise at Samantha's emotion.

'For all its troubles, their home must be a world of joys compared to Thedas. Such emotion for strangers.' Giselle took a deep breath as she sipped her tea, 'Perhaps we are simply too jaded to feel any more for the other.'

Samantha had mastered herself enough to continue, though tears still flowed. "The men had already started the work before he ordered it. They said nothing, but I am sure that they secretly hoped the bastards would return. They have all seen too much and have been able to do so little." Another small sob left her lips.

Again, the Inquisition women shared meaningful glances, Josephine gave Samantha a fresh handkerchief.

"If you want to know how to use these men, give them something to do; it may sound trite but a cause, a wrong to right, that sort of bullshit. They are not the kind of men to sit idle. Let them do what they do best; give them a mission. They genuinely wanted to find the men who killed that family; I can only imagine what they would have done if they had."

"Perhaps the Hinterlands bandits?" Josephine asked, "It is close by, and I have several reports from Corporal Vale that the bandits are causing a great deal of trouble, slaughtering many refugees; perhaps these men could deal with them?"

"An excellent suggestion, Josie." Leliana pondered the possibilities. "I think I will have a chat with Commander Gray's second. Eric, I believe, is his name. Since the commander is - indisposed."

Josephine took this moment to ask a question, "You said something I do not understand, the victims of this crime were dead, and you buried them?" Josephine voiced what would have been a common question anywhere in Thedas.

Samantha must have looked confused; she looked from woman to woman, trying to understand the question. "Yes, most of our dead are buried, some cultures use other means like cremation as you do, but that would take a great deal of resources. Why do you ask?"

"The dead can be more easily possessed by spirits to then trouble the living. Do you bind or imprison the dead as the Nevarran's do?" Giselle looked sympathetic but also skeptical. Both Leliana and Josephine watched intently.

"No, we don't. Yes, most of our dead are buried. Some are kept in stone crypts or mausoleums, but spirits do not possess the dead, at least if they do, they do not walk around and bother the living." As all the Companions did, Samantha continued to try to understand how different Thedas was from Earth.

"Strangely, the idea of the undead is a common theme in entertainment. We call them zombies, but they do not truly exist. From your question, I assume they do … here?" Samantha asked, hoping desperately that the answer was no. Her fear must have shown clearly on her face as the others looked back and forth between themselves; Giselle took Sam's hands in her own and gently replied.

"I am sorry to say that they do; in fact, the village of Crestwood has sent many messages begging for assistance. Their dead are attacking them even as we speak." Mother Giselle spoke gravely but with compassion for the clearly frightened woman sitting next to her. "Don't worry, my dear, we know how to deal with them. We will send help as soon as we can, but yes, spirits can inhabit the dead and use their bodies."

"How in the world did these things happen? I have heard of something called a Blight; what is that? I have also heard of creatures called darkspawn, monstrous creatures that I am told are associated with a Blight but are also separate from it, but what are they? Where did all this come from?" Samantha was adrift and frightened, looking from face to face hoping someone might help her find safe footing. She had been trying to keep up a strong front for her people, but it was hard to continue, and she could understand nothing about the most fundamental things of Thedas, and everyone looked at her as if she was stupid. "Is there a book or something I can read?"

Mother Giselle turned fully toward Samantha, "No, my dear, no books, but it is part of a story that came to us long ago, and it is called the Chant of Light." Giselle smiled her warmest, trying to reassure the woman as she had any young child just waking from a nightmare in the fade, continuing to hold Sam's trembling hands. The reverend mother took a deep breath and began.

Josephine began to clear the tea, trying to be as quiet as possible, for Mother Giselle had a beautiful voice.

Leliana felt the chant flow over and through her. The Chant connected her to the other women of the room; one day, she was sure that Samantha would know that feeling, at least she hoped she would. Finally, Leliana finished the last of her tea, returned Josephine's beautiful smile along with her teacup and saucer, then turned back to her contemplation of the mountains across the lake. As the Chant soared, her gaze traveled to the peaks which reached high above Haven then followed the ridge up toward what was once Andraste's last resting place.

Fun at the Grand Forest Villa

Paddy lay wet and cold under a rock outcropping on a ridge high above a cluster of buildings. Officially it was called the Grand Forest Villa, but frankly, Paddy thought it did not look all that grand, forest yes, and indeed not a villa.

"Damn thing looks more like a gigantic gazebo than a villa." He could not help but think of some of the villa's he and Kelly had visited when he was lucky enough to score a short assignment in Italy. They had used the time to reconnect after a particularly long tour in which he had been wounded. The Old Man had helped him score the goodwill tour, and Paddy and Kelly had managed to score their oldest on that trip, in an authentic villa on the Med.

It was so beautiful that he could see the brilliant white stucco walls and red tile roofs as clearly as if he were there.

'That place had walls and even a few romantic firepits and beds, real fucking beds.' As much as he missed his wife Kelly, it was the beds he missed right now.

"Not straw in a bag!" That last gripe was almost loud enough to be heard if it were not for the constant rain that had been falling for the last forty-eight hours.

All this and his eyes never left the thermo, no movement anywhere inside. The 'bandits' had sentries both fixed and moving, but moving sentries you can set your watch by are as useless as none at all.

He noticed that the rain was starting to lighten up; it was a relief, but losing the lightning wasn't. Paddy was doing overwatch from a rock shelter just north of the villa. Two straight days of rain had soaked him to the skin, and the chill wind was only held at bay by the thick bearskin of his overcoat. He was hidden behind and below a large bush at the mouth of a small cave at the top of a solid stone ridge due north and slightly above the villa. A clear line of sight to the top floor but not much below that other than the main gate. He was not completely happy with the position, but nothing was ever perfect. He was alone, which he did not like much either; usually, Hollywood or LJ would spot for him, but they were busy doing the breach, and there wasn't anyone else to do it.

Two long days of riding to get to Master Dennet's farm in the Hinterlands; he assumed that the locals had not named their home the Hinterlands, who would? Who would name their home ass end of nowhere? It took another half day to ride to the camp outside of the raider's outer defensive positions, Echo team was being kept a secret till they hit the villa, so Harding and her scouts had to reduce the outer defenses making way for the assault on the villa proper.

Before they could take the villa, Paddy had to get himself into a good spot; he took two of Harding's best scouts and packed up Kelly with a couple of mags and an AK-103 just in case he got into a firefight. He loved Kelly almost as much as the woman she was named after, but like her namesake, once you got her going, she got hot, and your body paid the price. He didn't name his AK; that was a tool; it would be fucking weird.

Before they left, Eric had given a "mission briefing" about this little field trip.

"These bastards are raiding the supply caravans, and they have deliberately hit Inquisition troops, just helpless refugees, they kill the men, rape, and pillage, then steal everything of value and run back to their home base. Our job is to take that base away from them, gather as much intel as possible. Red thinks they are mercs working for someone; our job is to neutralize them and, if possible, find out who is paying the bills." He turned from the hand-drawn map of Ferelden, the first time any of the group had seen a map of the place; Paddy tried not to think of it as home, his home – was with Kelly and the girls on the other side of a mirror.

"That is the official shit; here is what I think, they got a problem they could handle, but they would lose people. We are not Inquisition, not yet anyway, and we are an unknown, John got fucked up, but they want to see what our shit can do, what we can do with it. I plan to show them, John is still out cold, getting better, but it will be a couple weeks before he is on his feet. Soon, the Herald is going to someplace called Val Royeaux, the local power's capital. Red wants us ready to go the hour after she leaves. Pack up, and if John wakes up, this is on the down-low; I want him focused on getting healthy. Any questions?"

"I got a few, but number one is how many?" Hollywood was never one to stay quiet.

"Don't know for certain, probably 80 to 120 according to Harding." Eric had not finished the thought when hands went up; he ignored them. "Six maybe seven, I would rather go lighter. Just in case this is a complete shit show. Leave as many for John as possible. Paddy, you are a go regardless; we will need you. I will pick the rest by dinner time – oh, and thanks to those who go - for volunteering." He smiled his best panty-winning smile and walked out.

"Echo six, you set?" The soft sound of rain had muffled the nightly sounds so much, Eric's voice through the headset startled him.

"Echo six, set. Clear, no hostiles in view near the entry point." Paddy's reply was mechanical; it was strange how easy you fall back into old habits. The comms were working again, although the batteries had been flat. It took a little time to bring them back up, but their solar chargers were working. Lucky John had insisted on those as well. Originally Paddy had cursed the Old Man's insistence on bringing so much shit, backups to backups. He would never bitch again.

"Delta team, set. Awaiting signal." Scout Lace Harding's voice broke through the silence after Erics. Paddy could not help but smile; she had acted like they were using blood magic when they showed her the comms but had fallen head over heels with them once she understood it.

'I have to remember to ask her if blood magic was as simple as it sounded.' Paddy thought as he put his thermo headset down to scan the villa for the four-thousandth time that night.

"You mean you can talk and hear each other?" Her face was a mask of both awe and complete disbelief.

"Yeah, these work over a couple of clicks but not much farther." It had been difficult to explain the distance measurements to Harding, she thought of walking, or horses, maybe bow shot distances. Distances like miles were for birds or dispatch riders, with long delays, but not distances you could gauge by eye. They finally had to do what they seemed to be doing with everything, using their tech. They used their laser range finders and marked out some distances, which caught Harding's imagination.

They had done that on the trail down to the Hinterlands as she called it; it was worthwhile since Paddy had to confirm his dopes, and they ate fresh ram he took at 600 meters - much to the utter shock of Harding and the other scouts. The dopes needed to be buffed a little, but he was a pro and was ready in no time. The gravity difference was significant; bullets went much farther and straighter than he was used to. Not really an issue for Reagan and Riley, but it was a real issue for Kelly. She now shot further and flatter, and that took a few rounds for Paddy to adjust, rounds that would not be replaced any time soon, although he did have more of them for Kelly than for the girls.

So here he lay, tucked under a thick bush with water running down his entire body. He needed to pee and was not hot on the idea of peeing in the stream that trickled by him. As usual, he was waiting for the balloon to go up and some asshole to get in his way. Kelly was prepped and ready as always, as was usually its namesake; the woman Paddy dreamt of every night and wondered every minute of every day whether he would ever see again.

The crackle of the comm brought Paddy back to the present. "Echo six we're set."

"Echo one, wait for the next flash," Paddy replied,

"Roger, Echo Six," Eric responded.

From his position, Paddy could see that everyone in the villa was bedding down; his first target was the sentry just inside the gate, probably trying to stay dry. Paddy had a decent view, the rain would not obscure the targets, but it did keep them inside out of his line of sight. It did have one blessing, Paddy was sure he had a zero on the leader and his lieutenants, who seemed to be having a meeting on the top floor directly in Paddy's view, but first things first—getting Eric and the guys in position.

If the rain was good for something, it was thunder.

Flash…" three … two … one …"Paddy counted while zeroed on the gate sentries forehead.

Kelly and the thunder sounded at once. The gate sentry slumped with a nice, neat hole in his forehead. It was a clean shot; unless someone checked on him soon, it was unlikely anyone would notice he was dead.

"Echo, you are clear," Paddy spoke into the comm; it was still a little weird to use them here; back home, it was normal, but somehow on Thedas, it seemed – wrong. He could not explain why, but it did feel wrong.

"Roger, Echo Six. Moving now." Eric's reply came through clear; as familiar as it was, it still felt odd somehow to hear people on the comms. Given how much trouble they had had in Iraq with the same equipment, everyone thought they wouldn't work.

That was just one of the things he was worried about; right now, he was happy to be relatively dry, sure still wet but somewhat out of the rain so his optics were clear anyway. He centered on the leader; at least he acted like a leader; he had been talking and gesturing with his hands for twenty minutes, while the other four just sat and tried to look attentive.

Paddy zoomed out to watch both the leader and the guys, who were working their way up the path toward the main gate. Staying in shadow, they cut between the outer tower and the villa's main building; hence would be out of sight for several seconds. Unconsciously Paddy shifted a little; he was pretty saddle sore, the pain reminded him yet again of the trip and how much he hated horses.

The two days in the saddle, a short distance maybe thirty or forty miles as the crow flies, double that on the ground. It took two full days to get to the Dennet farm.

'How the fuck did the Herald make that ride in one night?' Paddy felt his buns twitch, and the tendons between his legs ached, let alone his skin. Blisters on blisters. Harding had helped, as did Mrs. Dennet. He had gently rubbed the salves in, and the natives thought it was all funny as hell, but none of the Companions did.

The worst was the half-day to get to the villa area where Harding had tracked the mercs. They seemed to have holed up there waiting for instructions which Harding and her people would make sure never came. During the night, it rained steady, and it was then that Eric told Paddy to head up onto the ridge and find "a good spot" to setup. Perfect spots were usually hard to find, so Paddy was used to making do with what he could. He took a shit and a good pee, then grabbed a canteen and headed up into the mountains with a couple of Harding's scouts. They would watch his back while he climbed the cliff to get close to the villa.

The weather and his Irish luck held, he would have to skirt pretty close to the villa's outer watchtower, but the weather helped him there too. Lightning and the general misery of being out in the rain had caused the raider lookouts to hunker down and watch from undercover. Unfortunately for them, that meant they could not see the route that Paddy took. The amount of grumbling from his guards was enough to have Paddy consider sending them back to Harding with a nasty note, but he knew he needed them.

He was glad for the bearskin coat, decent camo as long as you stayed out of bow range. He had already shot two more bears where this one came from; this place was lousy with them. Everywhere they looked, there seemed to be either a wild ram or a bear. A huge exaggeration but for a city boy from the Big Apple, it sure seemed that way, as far as he was concerned, bears should be either in the Bronx Zoo, the Yellowstone National Park, or on the National Geographic channel, but not wandering through the camp while you are trying to take a nap.

Eric and the boys were now cresting the ridge heading toward the back of the villa; Paddy checked to see the head man sitting at the desk, the meeting seemed to be breaking up, and the lieutenants were packing. Just then, there was another massive flash of lightning; its thunder would be perfect for dealing with some of the leadership if Eric was in position.

"Echo one; I have a shot." Paddy was looking for permission.

"Roger, take it." Eric's reply was not standard, but he knew how little time he had.

Just then, a vast rolling thunderclap occurred, and Paddy started the battle in earnest. Kelly was loaded for effect now, and the 168-grain hollow point entered the big man's forehead at 2100 feet per second, roughly twice the speed of sound on Earth. The bullet entered the leader's head slightly to the right of where he was aiming; the supersonic shockwave liquified the bone, brain, and blood along its path and exploded the back of the head, filling the air with a pink mist of blood and tissue covering the men behind.

'Dope was off, probably the wind. At least the range is correct.' He watched the men try to scatter behind the dead leader; one must have caught the bullet in the stomach since he was down and clutching his gut already; Paddy could identify the center of mass and sent him to his beyond. The other three took this as their cue to exit but did not make good decisions – fortunately for Paddy, not so much for them. If they had hit the ground, they would have been behind the stone railing and would have had cover, but they decided to run. Five more rounds and they were down as well; a couple were not as clean as he would have liked, so a follow-up was needed. He hated to waste his precious ammo, but it was necessary.

Paddy did not move from his position; if he did, he would lose any targets of opportunity before he could reposition. From this position, he could hear the AKM's. Eric had chosen to use them since they had more ammo, and they hit harder than the 5.56 of their standard M4; Paddy had chosen the newer AK-103 because it was more accurate and lighter.

"Room clear." Eric's voice was first in his ears.

"Bottom floor clear," Sanchez reported. Paddy could hear Eric's voice in the background.

Next came LJ. "Stairs clear."

"All towers clear, Echo 6. You got any movement?" Paddy could clearly see Rodeo and Hollywood each on top of a separate tower.

Paddy thought, 'How many times do we tell recruits, never clear something alone?' Hollywood was starting back down the small tower when Paddy caught movement. A woman with two daggers suddenly appeared from thin air; Paddy didn't have time to call out, he fired. She went down less than a half dozen feet from her target - Rodeo.

"Damn it, you guys, stay together!" Paddy shouted into the mike. "This is not an exercise."

"Alright, mother, we are all fine." Eric's voice came through as a retort; he was not happy either. "Everyone sound off; Hollywood join up with Rodeo at the north tower. LJ and Sanchez with me. I think they are all done.

"Echo six, thanks, Paddy." Hollywood's voice sounded shaken, not his normal jovial response. "I have no idea where that bitch came from; I could not see her."

Paddy could see an occasional flash then heard the report; the party really started when the mercs headed out the front door.

It was a target-rich environment or would have been if they had been a threat. A bunch came running out into the Inquisition's waiting arms dressed in their underwear or less. Paddy had not seen so many nearly naked women since his frat days back in college, but there were far more men. Clearly, Harding needed lessons in counting.

"All clear, Villa is secure." Eric's voice sounded strained. "Harding, where the fuck are your people? We need mop up in here; check everywhere. I think some went out the back toward the cliff face."

"Echo one; we got them cleaned up. About a dozen went that way; we are chaining up the rest now." Harding was getting this comm's thing pretty well. It was the Companions who broke protocol, and she stayed with it.

"Meet up on the top floor near the leader's office; we need to gather intel." Eric was topping the stairs, and Paddy was ready. He had hit most of the lieutenants, none of which had moved, but he was not sure if they were dead.

"Echo one; I do not know the status of the hostiles on the top floor; watch your asses." Paddy thought he had killed them all but wanted to make sure they were on their game.

He watched through his scope as the team checked each body. They then swept the whole level as Inquisition troops entered the front gate; all the mercs were sitting and shivering in the cold, hands tied behind their backs. He wondered if they were headed for the hangman's noose or worse. He quickly scanned those sitting in the rain and mud; most were men, of course, but he could not get past the women; why were they doing this? Just sit by while refugee women were raped and the men slaughtered? He thought women were better than that. He hoped they were camp followers, not participants but the attacker on the tower was a woman. He shook his head. He remembered women with explosive vests in Iraq and Afghanistan, but he thought they were not given a choice, someone holding their families to force them to do it. Maybe it was the same here?

"Echo one, top floor clear." Eric's voice broke in on Paddy's musings, it carried the relief that Eric felt, but Paddy was not relieved. His job was to kill anyone who suddenly appeared. Luckily, they didn't appear. Eric and Harding collected all the documents they could find, two trunks full and most importantly a key – question was to what door?

Eric mustered everyone; Paddy stayed up in his spot to watch, just in case. It would be about now that a troupe of hungry dancing bears would make an appearance and disrupt the little party.

Harding took the lead as Echo team watched; she interrogated each of the hundred-plus prisoners; by early morning, she had compiled a list of fifteen of the worst offenders, the ones who had committed most of the atrocities from murder to rape. The rest were just regular mercs trying to make a living and not lose their self-respect. She allowed the ones she decided were innocent, or less culpable, to dress, beginning with the women. When they were all dressed, she had them bound one to another and then to long ropes trailing behind the back wagon.

She gathered the fifteen worst in front of the villa below where she stood near a prominent point of rock.

"Each of you has been accused of murder, and worse, every one of you has been identified by at least three of your companions for these crimes." Harding, though small in stature, looked huge with her hands on her hips, staring down each of those accused of murder before her. "Have you anything to say in your defense?"

"We had our orders and our gold." The self appointed leader of the band of beasts spoke; his voice registered no shame or contrition. "We had orders to keep people out; if we had some fun, what business is that of yours! We ain't perfect; some of the lads may have gotten carried away, murders and rapists we may be, but you got no right to judge us. We follow Andraste; we ain't filthy heretics! Wiping the ass of a false Herald!" The last spat out with as much invective as he could muster.

"So, in your mind, Andraste condones the rape and murder of the helpless?" Harding's voice was as cold as the peaks of the Frostbacks. "Perhaps you should have paid more attention while hearing the Chant of Light." She took one step forward, her voice low and steady but loud enough to hear in the hush of dawn's first light. "As to judging you; as Ferelden seems unable, the Inquisition will. Hang them."

An hour later, Paddy, once again on horseback, turned in the saddle to look back at the villa.

The much-diminished group of bandits made a slow exit from their erstwhile headquarters as they trudged behind the wagons toward a very uncertain future. Above the villa now flew the banner of the Inquisition.

Down the hill rose the happily burning pier of the two dozen sale swords who died in the assault. It blazed high in the early morning light; soon, fifteen corpses would be taken down and added to it. It would take a great deal more wood, the wood Harding had forced the condemned to chop before their hangings. A heavily armed detachment of Inquisition soldiers held the villa now. They found the supplies and valuables stolen from the refugees. Hopefully, Corporal Vale can return it to the survivors.

Paddy turned back toward the long string of forlorn faces of prisoners setting out the long trip back to Haven.

"Fuck, it is going to be a long ride home." Eric was looking back as well, but at Paddy. "You did some good shooting back there. Thanks for being a great mother."

Paddy just nodded but also noticed that Eric was trying to find a comfortable spot to sit in the saddle as well. 'Eric's ass was as angry as mine.' Paddy thought with some satisfaction. 'Misery loves company.' The column had started now; both followed Harding, who managed to ride while reading the papers recovered from the villa. The woman was amazing, 'Kelly would just love her to pieces.' The thought darkened his mood again.

"A very long ride…." He didn't have to add the silent home. He caught himself, but he couldn't help but call it that now. 'Kelly, girls, please forgive me.' A tear rolled down his right cheek, the one each girl had kissed the day he left for Iraq.

Where, Oh Where Have My Little Ones Gone?

John sat up on more pillows than he had ever seen before. "Women really love their pillows."

The fluffy mountain actually made the bed less comfortable. He exhaled hard and tried to relax into the soft mound that so many of Haven's women had built, sacrificing their comfort. That accomplished, he decided to stretch a little and lift his arms over his head; it had seemed a good idea until he felt the sutures pull.

'Nope, that isn't going to happen.' With a squeak of pain, down again flopped his arms. He was sure his little utterance was soft enough no one would hear; he did not count on elven ears, much to his embarrassment.

"Master, are you alright?" Gliril entered without so much as a knock. Modesty was not an issue at this point; she had already seen everything there was to see. With the bandages and injuries, John was as helpless as an infant, and Gliril had insisted on taking care of his every need, and he had no doubt that she had meant every need. He was able to forestall that effort but to be honest, it had been a while, and his body would have betrayed him had she touched him if it had not been for Sam and Mother Giselle, who had rescued him and, at least in his mind, Gliril. He was not responsible for what his body did when he was unconscious, right?

"I heard you call out. Do you need assistance, some Elf Root?" The look of concern was so adorable on the young elf's face, John could not repress a smile, but she was so enthusiastically helpful he was worried about her as well.

"No, Gliril, I am fine, just a twinge when I tried to stretch. And for the fourth time, please stop calling me – Master, you can call me John, Gray, anything but Master." He looked toward the window and the sounds of men and women working out. 'Master sounds too much like a bad porn movie.'

"Has anything been heard about the Herald and her mission?" John had been told that the Herald had gone to Val Royeaux, the capital of the major local power, one that is the capital of that nation and housed the seat of the main religion of Thedas – the Chantry. Both forces were at best neutral to the Inquisition, if not outwardly hostile. He was positive the Chantry was hostile, given his own experience. He was worried.

"I have not been told, Master. I suspect that everything is going well, Master." Gliril smiled with the emphasis on each word. She saw the look cross his face, one of worry and something else?

John just looked at her and sighed, defeated.

"Would you like me to ask, Master?" She did her best to keep her face neutral; she did not want him to see that she noticed his concern.

Lounging around was not high on John Gray's to-do list, not before and indeed not now. He could hear the guys down below his room pounding the dummies, Cullen yelling instructions, and the guys responding. What caught his attention was the voices, or rather the absence thereof. He had spent a great deal of time with his team; he thought he could identify each of them by their voices; he was missing some. Specifically Eric, Little John, Paddy, Hollywood, Rodeo, and Sanchez. All of them could be busy, but Paddy? Paddy had a fascination with edged weapons; John could not imagine him missing out on some swordplay.

Hell, John remembered when Patrick "Paddy" McCarley had shown up at BUD/S with a giant sword, a claymore, he had inherited from his uncle. A hero NYPD detective who died on 9/11. The reason Paddy had joined up. It was not regulation, but given the times, the Navy made allowances. John thought it had to be a replica until Paddy's father had assured him it was real. Paddy was the last of his name; Kelly had confided in John that she was trying for a son, she made him promise to bring Pat home safe – John meant to keep that promise. Paddy threw a fit when John told him that he could not take the sword to Iraq, but he suspected it was deep down in a cargo carrier anyway.

John was sure that Paddy would somehow 'find' or 'make' one, and there was no way he would miss out on learning how actually to use the damned thing. He snorted a laugh, then groaned in pain. 'Hell, I will probably have to put him in a sack to keep him away from it.'

"Gliril, where are Eric, LJ, Paddy – I don't hear some of the guys down there. Do you know where they are?" Gliril tensed when he mentioned the names; she recovered quickly, but it did not go unnoticed.

"I would like to speak with Eric. Could I ask you to go look for him?" Something told him that he would not like the answer to that question. The elf girl did not immediately respond as she usually would but was silent for a moment or two.

"I will go see if I can find out what he is doing, Master. Please accept my apologies." With that, she quickly left John's room before he could ask more questions.

"Well, what was that all about?" John's back itched from his neck down to his ass crack. That was never a good sign.

He managed to very slowly work his way up to a sitting position. He was not in his regular room but the recovery area of the surgery. He was covered but not by much, only a heavy shirt almost long enough to be a dress, one of Gliril's work he suspected, and not one of his kit, over that were decent homespun sheets and several thick blankets. "Hey, I wonder where my clothes are; I have not worn one of my t-shirts in days." It struck him that when you were sick, you didn't know what was going on; when you were getting better, you didn't care, but it was a good sign that you were well on your way to recovery when you noticed what you were wearing and eating.

It had been four days since the disastrous demonstration. John lifted his nightshirt; for the first time since waking up the day before, he wanted to see the damage. His abdomen was covered in bandages and from his waist to his chest, luckily no lower than the waist, not that it would have mattered if it had he might as well be a monk. There were no bleed-throughs, though; it did not smell like infection - good. With everything that had happened, he had experienced and seen; he was impressed with the medical abilities of the people of Thedas; magic certainly had its uses. Injuries that back home took weeks of hospitalization and dozens of surgeries – they accomplished with a few hours of magic and a tray full of potions.

John knew that José was impressed; the man had been simply gushing; John thought that he was undoubtedly in love with their abilities and techniques, and he was sure that José was smitten with at least two of Mother Giselle's healers. "Good for him. Hopefully, he can be happy." John wondered if he could get up and find some pants when the door opened.

It was a good thing that the room was more spacious than his own space in the other building, for in came Leliana, Josephine, Giselle, and Samantha, followed closely by servants lead by Gliril. They placed chairs and a small table, upon which Gliril set a tea service with a steaming pot, a tray of delicious cookies, and little jars of jam and honey. What every was happening, John was certainly not going to be happy; he was sure of that.

"I am happy to see that you are feeling better, Commander." Leliana's smile was beautiful, and he was sure that it was far more beautiful when she meant it. "We must speak of things…. Has anyone spoken to you of Templars or Therinfal Redoubt?"

"Yes, and no. Where are my people?" John was in no mood to be friendly; he noted Josephine's slight tensing, Sam's tightened jaw, and a deeper amusement in Lady Nightingale's eyes.

Hidden in the Hinterland

Harding was growing tired of the bloody and bloodied messenger; although not tattooed nor wearing the gear everything else about him screamed Carta. She had been asking him questions for the better part of a morning, and he had not answered even one.

Her tent was down in a small depression over the hill from the larger camp. The camp that housed the main force of Inquisition soldiers and scouts; it was a fairly large force, but the mercenary prisoners swamped their numbers. The group of prisoners had expected death, no trial, no chance of redemption, just a hangman's noose, or merely having their throats cut. They were humbled when instead of execution, they were fed and clothed.

The treatment meant they more than willing to provide information; they were paid to harass the refugees and had no interest in killing innocents, and had no idea why or who was paying. They just wanted pay; the Blight cost Ferelden a great deal, great swaths of farmland were destroyed, many had no other options but a criminal life or to sell their blades.

The papers were telling; Harding now knew where the problem lay but still no idea of who or why. That would require yet another visit from the Inquisition to the headquarters of those paying the mercenaries. After a little proper persuasion of the scouts and messengers, Harding should be able to find the location but was having a little difficulty.

She put a bag over the merc's head and stepped out of the tent; she felt she was not doing her job. Although she did not prefer this part of it, she was not afraid of it. Eric, Hollywood, Rodeo, and Paddy were waiting for her.

"I know he knows something, and I want to know what he knows." She told no one in particular as she wiped the blood from her gloved fists.

"We need to find out where this key belongs before they get suspicious and ready for us," Eric whispered.

"I know, but you are not getting anything out of him," Hollywood added, none of them had any issues with a little pointed questioning in an emergency, but this was only feeding the merc's ego.

"I have an idea; give me a minute," Hollywood whispered in Eric's right ear. Eric always got a bad feeling when Hollywood had ideas; something fun always happened, but he was tapped out, so he just nodded.

Hollywood grabbed Rodeo and Paddy, and the trio left the tent and headed up over the ridge. Eric grabbed a bucket of water, Harding pulled off the hood, and he threw water in the bloody face of the bound dwarf. He just smiled back and spat blood at Eric, who didn't even flinch at the assault. 'We need a bigger bucket, some rags, and a board…'

Hollywood came back in a few minutes, dragging a prisoner, a young woman, behind him along with Rodeo and Paddy acting as guards. "Bring that piece of shit out here." Hollywood's voice was not the gentle tenor it usually was but was harsh with an edge of death in it and loud enough for the defiant dwarf to hear.

"Grab an arm Harding, let's take this piece of shit for a walk." Erick grabbed the arm opposite of the dwarven scout; Harding cut the rope that bound him to the chair, they hauled him to his stiff legs, and he half-walked half-drug outside to face Hollywood.

"Listen, you fuck! We gave you a chance to do this easy, now comes the real shit." Hollywood held up his phone, "See this ass hole? This is a Soul Ripper, I use this, and it rips your soul right out of your body."

The dwarf messenger looked skeptical, but Eric thought he saw a hint of fear for a brief moment.

"See this bitch? She kindly volunteered to help our little demonstration." The young girl looked terrified at what Hollywood described. She started to struggle with all her strength, but Rodeo and Paddy held her fast.

"Please, in Andrestre's name, I am sorry! Please! I thought you were going to rape me…" Tears were pouring from her eyes, "Please, miss, don't let them do this to me!" She was imploring Harding now, "Please, I am begging you!"

"Too late for that shit now." Hollywood lined up the screen, Harding started to object, but she saw Eric shake his head and wink; the Carta didn't see it; his full attention was on the terrified girl.

"Three … two … one", Hollywood counted down; the girl struggled with all her might. Then the flash, she managed to break free of her tormentors; grabbing for her breast, she screamed at the top of her lungs, then crumbled to the ground, flopped like a fish for a second, then was still.

"Ancestors protect me!" The previously cocky Carta crumbled to the ground.

"See this asshole!" Hollywood held the screen for the dwarf to see, a photo that captured the girl's horrified and anguished expression, "This is her fucking soul. I have it now, and I can do anything with it I want. I can destroy it forever if I want to, or torture it for as long as I want."

The once defiant dwarf was now a portrait in terror himself; his eyes were wide and wild, he had lost control of himself completely, the smell of urine growing as swiftly as his fear.

"I will tell you anything you want; just keep that blood mage away from me!" Even as he screamed this plea, Rodeo and Paddy drug the body of the girl off over the ridge.

"Mage, that is enough." Eric looked at the now groveling dwarf at his feet. "However, if we find he tells even one lie or keeps anything back, we will give him to you." Eric paused a moment, then smiled his cruelest smile down at the dwarf, "After all, we wouldn't want the girl to get lonely – would we?"

Eric signaled the nearest Inquisition guards, "Harding, please allow our guest to provide you all that he knows."

Harding signaled the guards to secure the yammering dwarf in the chair again, and she set the third guard down with pen with ink. "Now, I want names and locations, and if I find anything has been left out, I will peel your skin off and make you eat your balls - before the mage gets his fun, understand?" Her voice was sweet and terrible. "I will be back in a moment. I will check every word you give and your fate if you lie."

Eric had expected Harding to look for him, so he did not reenter the tent; besides, he was concerned about Hollywood. The Inquisition guards were looking at him with much the same expression as the dwarf had, and he, indeed all of them, were given a very wide berth.

Harding grabbed Eric's arm, pulled him down to her face. "You did not tell me he was a blood mage!" She hissed into his ear. Eric had to control his impulse to laugh.

"He is not. That was a trick." Glancing around, he signaled a smiling Hollywood to lead and for a frowning Harding to follow.

As he suspected, the girl was sitting with Paddy and Rodeo just out of sight over the ridge. Her clothes were ripped and filthy now from rolling on the ground and dragged. She was looking sheepish but rather hopeful and proud of herself.

"She looked like a great candidate; she was just a camp follower. Her brother was the adventurer who died in one of the early battles with the Inquisition." Hollywood's voice was gentle. "She said she was from someplace near Denerreb…"

"Denerim," both Harding and the girl corrected.

"Denerim," Hollywood corrected, smiling at the girl. "I told her what to do, and she did it." He held his hand out to her, and she stood. "You did it well." He turned to Harding and Eric, "I promised her a job with the Inquisition. These guys are all going to trial; she does not have to. In fact, if we separate the hard cores out, most I think are just trying to find a way to survive."

Harding spoke up, "I don't have the authority for that…"

"For what? We just found a refugee who needed a job" Eric turned to Rodeo, "Find a shroud; we need to get this body out of here. Paddy, we have a couple scouts going to the Dennet camp, right?"

Paddy returned Eric's grin as he realized what he was planning and ran off to find the scouts who were tasked with getting fresh supplies. He passed Rodeo as he returned with a bundle of cloth and some twine.

Harding was as gentle with the frightened girl as a mother with a child. "Don't worry, we will send a note to Mrs. Dennet, she is very kind and will look after you. I don't know if the Inquisition will take you in, but I know she will." She helped them bind up the girl in the shroud; Hollywood reassured her she would be fine; they just wanted to get her away from the others.

They laid her over a packhorse and told the Inquisition soldiers to keep it safe, that they would answer to Hollywood if anything happened to the package; word must have spread because they looked as terrified as the dwarf.

"Take it to the Dennet farm as quickly as possible," Harding wrote a quick note and tucked it into the shroud, Hollywood kissing the girl on the forehead unseen by the guards.

"I will be there as soon as I can. Keep quiet and stay alive; it will take a couple of hours to get to the farm; Mrs. Dennet will take care of you." He whispered to the frightened girl.

The scouts arrived to take charge of the pack animal and its cargo. Hollywood turned to them as they arrived.

"Keep this package safe, it is precious, and you don't want to piss me off." Hollywood finished securing the package as comfortably as possible. "It is delicate, and I might want to put her soul back if the dwarf is helpful. Go as quickly as possible, return just as fast."

By evening they did return, and they carried a sealed note from Mrs. Dennet. Harding was happy for the break. Apparently, the dwarf took the instructions to give up everything, had been taken far too literally. She found herself taking dictation for the dwarf's biography. She finally lost patience and demanded the location of the door, which fit the key. He was all too eager to provide it, as well as a description of the hideout, its extremely limited amenities, and questionable ale. Also, he included a cryptic warning about darkspawn; Harding was not happy about that.

"Darkspawn, what the fuck are darkspawn?" Eric asked as they walked together away from the tent to get some air.

They both noticed Hollywood reading the note the scouts had returned, not worrying about the seal.

"Hey, you pile of druffalo dung that was meant for me!" Harding snatched the note from his grasp; the tone of her voice did not reflect her harsh words. He had a very self-satisfied look on his face, and she did return the grin.

H.

Packaged delivered, good condition - considering. Gratefully, awaiting pickup at your convenience.

E.

The scouts brought back reinforcements who took charge of the prisoners and marched them toward the Crossroads, leaving Eric and his crew with about a half dozen Inquisitions scouts who followed Harding.

"What's the plan now?" Harding looked around Eric as he scanned the rough map of Ferelden, the best map Harding had ever seen, but one that Eric found barely passible.

"Well, if this actually to scale, and halfway accurate, and there are no other unmarked obstacles, then we should make the lake where the hideout - by dark if we keep moving." The tone of Eric's voice made it clear that he was not impressed with the quality of the cartography Inquisition had.

"So, I suppose your maps are so much better?" Harding liked the Newcomers, but their constant superiority was starting to wear thin.

Hollywood just showed her his phone; it still had the last commercial-grade maps and photos from the birds overhead at the Temple. It started as a low res view about a hundred klicks wide, then he zoomed it in, over and over until you could see the trucks they had used, then further, the entrances to the mound, and finally fuzzy images of men moving the cargo carriers.

"Maker that … that, what kind of magic is that?" Harding's eyes kept switching back and forth from the device to the face of the man holding it; her expression showed she expected him to start doing – something, at any moment, what exactly she expected him to do she could not imagine.

"It is not magic, Harding; it is technology, machines flying many miles up in the air." Hollywood tried to explain as she saw Harding's head shoot up and search the deep blue sky.

"Forget it, I will try and figure out how to explain later, but right now, we need to move up this valley; from what your talkative friend told you, the entrance to the hideout should be here…" Eric pointed to the base of a cliff at the eastern end of the lake, "its about a klick from this camp. Far enough to not be seen by the camp, but close enough for them to keep an eye on us."

"If we come up this way, then …" Eric turned to Harding, "Can you get word to that camp?" He pointed to the map. "Let them know to be on alert for bandit stragglers trying to get by them toward the Crossroads? We will bottle them up, at least on the surface."

"I will send a bird to the Crossroads, and they can tell them." Harding was already writing on a small scrap of paper while heading for the small number of birds that had come up with the relief troops.

"Now we just walk, and keep your eyes open, that valley…" Eric looked directly at Hollywood.

"I remember, we should have been more careful." Hollywood and Eric both lost in the memory of friends lost in deserts far away.

The sun's arc was well into the afternoon as they had worked their way north through the narrow valley, always looking for the next ambush; the ambush that kills you is the one you stopped anticipating. It slowed their progress, but slow progress was better than none at all.

It was deep, not wide, but the valley floor was easy to travel and led directly north from the villa to the paymasters' hideout. It was fortunate they came that way; they discovered an as yet uncharted rift with some real bruiser demons.

Harding saw the look on Eric's face, "Don't you dare say a thing, not one thing." She smirked at him as she marked the location on the map they had reviewed earlier.

"We can't do a damned thing with it; even if we waste ammo on the demons, we can't close the mother…" Eric just glanced at Harding, "the rift. My mother taught me to watch my mouth around ladies, especially those who carry daggers." He returned the smile she gave him.

"I think your mom and my mom would have gotten along just fine; both would have drunk tea and talked about how disappointing their children were." Harding chortled quietly.

"Mine certainly, but I honestly doubt that yours would be," Eric responded, picking up the binoculars and scanning the area directly north of them.

The day passed quickly, and the travel was uneventful except for the occasional bear. The Newcomers expected an ambush behind every boulder, fallen tree, or crumbling ruin. They were justified when, out of nowhere, a small group of stragglers mercs tried to attack the Newcomers, probably because they did not see any obvious weapons. It was a quick, deadly mistake.

Finally, they found the entrance behind a waterfall of all places. Eric sent Rodeo and Hollywood up, with Harding leading the way. They approached as quietly as possible; Harding gave the signal, then the boys did the rest. It was clear the three guards could hear nothing over the sound of the waterfall, not even the six deep barks from two suppressed H&K MK23 pistols.

Harding searched the bodies; her actions made it clear she thought she was dealing with vermin.

"What did you call them?" Eric whispered while keeping an eye on the camouflaged wooden door.

"They are Carta." Harding was used to the Newcomers asking childish questions like 'what is a Carta' and 'what color is the sky.'

"Before you ask, Carta is a gang made up of casteless dwarves and are lower than dirt." Harding was a surface dwarf; she did not bother with the whole caste business, she knew she was considered as casteless as this filth, but she felt herself part of the merchant class of surface dwarves and could not care less what the Orzammar dwarves thought of anything.

"They are thugs and have no respect for anyone, not even each other." Harding's voice indeed showed her contempt. "Now, if you are through asking silly questions. Let's go clean this rat's nest out."

She stood, made sure her quiver was full, and her daggers were loose and ready. She pulled her helm down and headed for the door.

"You heard the lady boys, let's go." Eric led, following Harding through the door.

Where Oh Where Can They Be

"So let me get this straight…" Commander Gray was now sitting fully up, filled with enough adrenaline that he could no longer feel the stitches trying to work their way loose beneath the double layer of bandages that surrounded his torso.

"You send my people out on a mission with no idea what they are facing and who?" He desperately wanted to get out of bed and stomp around the room; he felt he was disadvantaged in the argument because they were standing, and he was flat on his back. 'Worse, I am wearing a God damned nightgown no less!'

"Commander, please calm yourself; you are not well yet. Please!" Josephine was trying desperately to control the conversation; she was not particularly happy with the situation either. She had expressed her misgivings several times but had been overruled by Leliana and Cullen, who desperately wanted to address the mercenary problem troubling the refugees. Mother Giselle had been particularly insistent that something must be done immediately.

"Enough, Commander!" Mother Giselle spoke with an edge that none of the other women had ever expected. "How dare you! Helpless unarmed people die every day because of those bastards, and we did not have soldiers to spare. Therefore we asked your men for help! I assume you would withhold that aid; why? Because you treat us as children!"

"Yes, your weapons are powerful, but…" Giselle's voice softened again to her usual relaxed tones. "Have you not seen the devastation of the Temple? Your weapons did not cause that damage, whatever did - was of Thedas."

"I came to your Eric, and I brought him the problem of the bandits who were killing and looting the refugees." Giselle held John's stare with equal intensity, but his softened hers did not.

"I appreciate your desire to protect your men, but they are soldiers; they need to be doing things, useful things, not waiting for their leader to either recover or die." Giselle stood and walked to the door. "I asked Sister Leliana for assistance, we spoke with Samantha, together we went to Lieutenant Eric, and he readily volunteered as did all those who went with him."

"Ladies, I suggest we allow Commander Gray to rest." Mother Giselle announced the end of the meeting, stood to lead the small group from the room, all but Sam, who remained seated. Leliana paused at the door.

"Your men acquitted themselves well, extraordinarily well, actually. They took more than one hundred prisoners, with little loss of life and no loss of theirs. Now they seek to destroy those whose coin brought the butchery. Maker be with them, they do not know what they face, but they knew that when they took up this task, and they did so fearlessly – you should be proud." The spymaster turned and left, leaving John and Sam alone.

"I know you fear for them John, you worry about all of us. I have learned that life is short and cheap here. I also know you are the kind of man who would try to change that; I saw that man in the desert. Your men are like you, and they went to try to do just that." With that, Sam left closing the door.

Leaving John the feeling he had somehow been measured and found wanting. Worse than in first grade when the Mother Superior had caught him looking into the girl's bathroom, it was not the punishment that had stung. It was the look of disappointment. Luckily, the blood seeping through his bandages gave him something else on which to focus.

Breaking Valammar

"Well, that was some doorbell!" Hollywood commented to no one in particular.

Rodeo had taken the shot; he was the best with a pistol at range, the shot that killed the lone lookout at the midpoint of the bridge. Unfortunately, without the waterfall, even the muffled report of the suppressed 45 ACP was enough to alert the occupants of the underground hideout.

"Lucy, I'm home." Sanchez's Cuban accent was horrible, which made the joke even funnier and more inappropriate.

Harding just looked confused, which made them all laugh, very quietly.

"I will explain later, Harding, if I can." Hollywood responded, "In the Maiden over an ale."

Harding then smiled back and blushed furiously.

They watched the guards take up positions near rubble at the end of the bridge and at the top of the crumbling stairs that lead up from the bridge itself.

"Well, we are not making any progress here. What is this place?" Eric asked as he scanned the levels of stonework across the crevasse that lay between them and their apparent objective, for he could see nothing on this side of the bridge. Eric glanced through a break in the bridge stonework, the crevasse was perhaps 50 yards across, but its depths were well beyond eyes sight. Anyone unfortunate enough to fall into that void would have a long time to think about the sudden stop on the way down.

"No idea; it is dwarven, that is for sure, probably a trading outpost this close to the surface." She pointed down the crevasse. "Those are the Deep Roads, dwarves built them centuries ago, used to cover all of Thedas, even beyond it, they say. I have never been down there; I am a surface dwarf, no stone sense, I would get lost in a heartbeat. It doesn't matter though, they would not let me down there anyway, not that I want to. The whole place is full of darkspawn." She shivered.

"Okay, I have heard that term before; what the fuck are darkspawn?" Rodeo asked, with Sanchez nodding in agreement.

"I can't describe them; you have to see them, and if you do, kill them, kill them dead, then kill them again," Harding said all this with a look of dread that was palpable. But whatever you do, don't get their blood on you. It carries blight disease – the blood itself is poison." Harding explained as frankly as if she said it was a sunny day.

"Okay, good to know." Eric looked around the guys who had a collective look of 'What the fuck!'

"Look, I don't understand it. You should ask a priest, maybe Giselle can explain it to you. All I know is that they carry disease and that they hate all life." Harding looked very uncomfortable with the whole discussion.

"You have to promise me something; if we have to fight them, they might try to capture me alive…" Harding could not look at any of the men with her, "… promise me you will kill me before that can happen." She looked directly into each man's eyes, and her eyes sparkled with determination and fear. "I don't want to talk about why right now, but promise me you will kill me. Promise!"

Something in the sincerity of her words cut deep into all of them, giving their imaginations fuel.

"I promise Harding; we will all be dead before they can get to you. You have my promise." Eric held her gaze, but every head nodded.

"Well, now that this touching moment is over, can we please get to work? I need to piss." Sanchez was scanning the far rock face; it was carved in layer upon layer of what he could only describe as buildings cut from the living rock. Perhaps two cuts above the level of the bridge but uncounted more below, dropping out of sight. There were bridges across the void at different layers deep below them; he hoped they would not need to venture down into that inky blackness.

"I will go first…" Harding was preparing to move forward when Eric put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her down.

"I intend to keep my promise." That was all Eric said to her; his hands began speaking for him.

At once, Sanchez, Hollywood, LJ, and Rodeo moved forward, and Harding watched. She had never seen them work together like this, yes she had watched some of their dance in the villa, but she had not had such a good seat to watch the dance. At that moment, she thought that she was alone; Paddy had disappeared, her men had stayed near the door to block anyone from escaping that way.

Eric looked back at her and pointed to his ear; it was then that Harding realized that she had forgotten what they told her to do with the little sliding thing on her box, she slid the small switch, and suddenly, she could hear the whispered information going between the team members.

"I got three hostiles behind cover at the top of the stairs, two more on the bridge landing and to the left." Harding recognized Paddy's calm voice. "I am in position, I can give cover for you on the three, but the other two are behind stone cover."

"Roger, Echo Six." Hollywood was leading the four men now; Harding realized that Eric had stayed behind for her to protect her. That would not do.

"Eric, you need to be with your people; I will be fine." She frantically whispered to her protector.

"I need to protect my sniper and their backs." He loosened his AK and his pistol.

"I can do that; you need to lead them!" She was insistent; she checked her daggers and her bow.

Eric reached behind his back and she heard the sound of metal on leather.

"Here." He handed her his backup pistol, "My momma gave me this for my birthday a couple years ago." He checked the chamber; it was loaded, nine rounds of 9mm hollow point.

Harding looked at the weapon then him; Eric just shrugged. "Yeah, I guess momma wanted her son to come home."

He handed it to Harding, "You know how to use a crossbow?" She nodded yes, "This works the same. Don't point this at anything you don't plan to kill and never put your finger on the trigger until you are ready to kill it. Is that clear?" Silently and solemnly, she nodded her understanding. "Well, this is a lot louder than a crossbow; point it like one, squeeze the trigger, it will jump in your hand and there will be fire and a hell of a noise. There are nine shots; if we get overrun, get out of here."

"Echo Six, if this goes south, get Harding out of here, is that clear?" Eric was looking into the young dwarf's eyes. 'I plan to keep my promise.'

"Roger. Echo one." Paddy's disembodied voice replied. "I am set."

"Roger. Echo six. I am moving up." With that, Eric was gone.

Harding watched him work his way from cover to cover until he was beside his men at the last piece of debris before the landing.

"On three, one … two …" The men stood, from above and behind her; Harding could hear the bark of the weapon Paddy had used at the villa; it was louder than she and expected and found herself covering her ears. She watched each of the Carta guards fall as they tried in vain to fire arrows at the humans assaulting their positions. Even as compact as they were, the bows they used required them to expose themselves, which gave Paddy all the time and target he needed. The Carta archers had three choices, stay hidden and thus become useless to the defense, try and fire an arrow and thus be picked off one by one by Paddy, or the third, run as fast as possible. There were three; when the archers' leader was hit in mid-chest by Paddy's weapon and the cloud of blood and gore exploded behind him, the other two archers chose option three, dropping their bows and running as fast as they could away from the carnage.

That left two sword-wielding dwarves on the left side; their fates were sealed as the five Newcomer men broke cover behind the fallen column and charged the stairs. Eric led the way, and both the Carta soldiers charged him swords held to swing, but neither had the opportunity as two bursts from Eric's weapons exploded in the chests of the dwarves.

That left Harding in an awkward position; she had promised the Nightingale not only to lead these men but to report back to her how they performed and, if possible, learn as much as possible about their tactics. None of which she could do while crouching behind a boulder here.

"Echo one; I am moving up." Harding took her bow in hand.

"Delta one, stay where you are." For all that running and now climbing the stairs, Eric did not seem to be out of breath even in the slightest.

Fortunately, Harding was already moving. She watched men driving down the landing, and they were paused at the first door; Hollywood was covering down the way they were going, Eric was checking the door, Rodeo and LJ were covering Eric, and Sanchez was scanning and protecting the way they had come. The difficulty was none of them had any experience with rogues' ability to stay hidden in plain sight. Harding was and perceived more than saw the ripple in the air, the shift in color of the stone behind the assassin as he or she worked toward the group of men – her men.

She broke into a run, she had little time and shouting or the radio would not give them the ability to see what she had learned to see. She was a small woman, dwarves are not known as sprinters, but she swiftly covered the ground; after all, it was made by and for her people. The shifting shape was almost to her men, they had no idea their danger, and she had no time. The form was too far ahead of her to use her bow, and her daggers were worthless. The ripple shifted from the wall to the broken railing. Harding realized it was trying to get behind Eric and Rodeo; the assassin could kill at least one of them before Harding could intervene and the others could react.

She felt more than heard the sound; it was shattering, like the loudest thunder she had ever heard, it occurred twice, and it was done. The assassin's momentum carried it forward a few feet to fall facedown a half dozen paces behind the Newcomers; Harding looked down at her hand, realizing she had used the weapon that Eric had given her. Pure instinct had taken over, and she simply pointed the device at the center of the shimmer and squeezed the trigger as she would a crossbow.

The device seemed to jump in her hand; a small explosion which in other conditions might have shocked her went essentially unnoticed, such was her desire to protect her friends. She continued forward before she realized she had moved her index finger yet again; this time, the shimmer was gone, and the assassin lay dead on the ground. From the blood, the first shot must have struck in the center of the back; the next appeared to enter below the helmet as a shower of blood and bone from what once was a face.

That is when she noticed that Newcomers had their eyes on her now, it seemed an eternity but was only a moment.

"Good shooting for a newbie, now can you get this fucking door open? I didn't bring any explosives." Eric was fiddling with the door with some discarded wire and a stick.

"Get out of the way," She tried to hand him the noisy black device as if it were a venomous snake.

"Keep it, you might need it, and obviously, you can use it." Eric looked closely at the dead body as Rodeo rolled it over to check for a pulse, from the ugly mess that was once a tattooed face of a woman, a pulse that would not likely be found.

"Damn, don't piss off little Harding. She will hurt you." Rodeo could not help but smile at Harding's back as she worked on the door, which in turn caught the last of the smile over her shoulder as she worked the door, returning it in kind.

Something further might have been said except for the click of a lock, glancing at Eric, who motioned with his head for her to move out of the way, as he shouldered his rifle, a word she had only learned since the villa.

Harding scrambled out of the way, around the corner, grasping the pistol Eric had given her, searching for more assassins or darkspawn or archers or Maker knows what else could be down here in this pit.

"On three," Eric whispered, taking up the center position for the breach. "One … two … "

Doors are kill-zones in any breach and entry, they are a necessary evil in any action inside an urban area, but they also get you killed. Funneling forces down to an access point only as wide as a single man means everyone must pass through a doorway in single file regardless of the number of troops involved.

Eric kicked the door open with all his might and immediately moved into the room; there was movement to his left, years of experience had taught him to recognize a threat in an instant, sometimes he was wrong and unarmed people died, a hairdryer or cordless drill look identical to a handgun and people die because the decision time is a heartbeat long. This situation was no different, the pocket of dwarves in this room was small, but all would have been more than happy to stick a knife in any of them; the team's AK's denied them that joy. Four bursts from three rifles left four dead, no time to search but scan the room; it was secure, now on to the next.

They searched and killed as needed from room to room, leaving the bodies until they finished the level; finally, they came to the last door. Harding grabbed papers in every room they cleared, not even looking at the contents. Some rooms were empty; others had every sign of being rapidly abandoned. Some had personal belongings of far more dwarves than they had yet encountered.

The last rooms were empty with fresh food laid out on tables uneaten.

They finally ran out of doors to open and found themselves at the top of stairs leading down and turning to the right and out of sight, but although they could not see it, they could hear the sounds of battle from below them. Shouting and some screams, voices of dwarves they had become familiar with, but also a sound that more closely resembled at tortured bird or cat than a voice.

"Darkspawn!" Harding, for the first time, looked terrified, dropping to her knees behind the parapet, "Maker, those are darkspawn." She looked back and forth between the men who had ducked down with her; they scanned all around them as if the shadows would attack, 'If they only knew what the shadows could hide.'

"I can go first. I can …" Harding offered, she knew she was able to hide in shadow, and she also knew that her companions could not seem to hide in total darkness.

"Not going to happen, Harding. Can we kill these … darkspawn creatures?" Eric was checking his AK, his pistol, and his fighting knife. The others did the same.

"Yes, they die pretty much the same; I have never seen them before or fought them…" Harding was actually trembling; Eric had never seen her even flustered, now the little woman was shaking.

"If we get cut down, you run, you run as fast as you can and block this place. Tell John to blow the doors and seal it forever." Eric froze her with his eyes; his face was grim, even dark, more so than she had remembered even from Gray Wardens; she looked from face to face of the others, the same fierce determination, no fear, just intent. "You understand me?"

"Yes," Harding whispered, trying to sound braver than she felt. Everyone hated darkspawn, but the whispered horrors they visited on women were beyond description, and death was preferable.

"Alright, I will lead, keep her in the middle until … we can't." Eric double-checked his gear as he stood. Shouldered his rifle, together they started down the stairs, weapons sweeping the spaces; they came to a stop in a bend of the stairs above the final landing; stopped not for some physical barrier, no they were halted because of the sight before them.

Days later, John asked them all to describe what they saw; none of them could give a description that did justice to the truth. To a man, they said that the creatures resembled humans, two arms, two legs, torso, a head - all the parts you would expect but none of them were right – twisted, mutated, deformed, but all with a single-minded determination to kill. Something out of a bad zombie movie, except these things, were alive – if you could call it that.

Their after-action report was cold, just facts. The stairs curved around a promontory of rock ended on a curved landing at the stairs' base. The wall opposite them, the west wall, was solid. However, there was a large closed door immediately to the right on what they thought was the north wall. To the south across the landing, opposite the door, was the end of yet another bridge which extended over the void.

The creatures must have come from the other side of the chasm, for the landing end of the bridge was blocked by a wall of crates protecting a dozen dwarven archers, each sending arrow after arrow back across the bridge toward the advancing creatures. A handful of the creatures were rushing headlong toward the makeshift wall heedless of the storm of arrows; they swung swords and axes, some with shields and armor, most with a collection of random bits they had probably scavenged from their victims.

As Eric and his men seemed to be unnoticed by either the darkspawn or the dwarves, the Newcomers watched as one of the creatures fell a half dozen arrows in its chest, its companions lept over him and carried on only to have the last falling feet from the barrier. The dwarven bowman focused their fire on the darkspawn archers who were well back on the bridge. Eric could identify three creatures using bows, each randomly hurling arrows that generally stuck into the crates. The arrows shafts were as thick as a man's thumb, luckily the dwarven archers were better at their craft, and the final darkspawn archer fell.

Eric did not allow them time to regroup. He signaled, and the men formed a line, all rifles raised pointing at the dwarves. Harding kept cover behind the heavy stone railing.

"Do not move, hands in the air now!" Eric shouted with as much authority as he could put into the command. They were in their firing crouched, LJ and Hollywood to his right, likewise Rodeo and Sanchez to his left with Paddy a couple of steps above and behind them and Harding behind cover acting as rear guard.

The dwarves were dressed like the Carta fighters they had seen at the entrance; each stared in dumbfounded shock at the new threat; clearly, they had just bought a moment's relief from the darkspawn.

"Sodding … who are you, what are you!" The apparent leader took a step forward, reaching for his ax.

"Inquisition! Don't do it; you reach for that, and you are dead." Eric made his intentions clear. Hollywood glanced at him and actually smiled. Eric knew that a step had been taken; he had identified themselves as Inquisition, an action that could never be retracted.

The shoulders of the dwarves slumped. They were covered by sweat, and the archer's quivers were nearly empty, as were their eyes. The body language of the dwarves showed that they have been fighting continuously for hours, if not days; they were exhausted, and this new threat was more than they had bargained for. Eric knew a defeated enemy when he saw one, and he was looking at one now.

"Drop all your weapons and move back against the wall." Eric's voice was calm, level, and commanding.

"You sodding fools, the darkspawn will be back. We have been fighting them all morning; I wish those fools," the leader nodded toward the door, "would finish whatever stoneblind foolishness they are doing so we can get out of this pit."

"Move back now, drop your weapons! Now!" The dwarves did nothing but stare and freeze.

"More darkspawn!" A dwarf close to the crates pointed and yelled, pointing toward the bridge.

Eric glanced over his left shoulder; he could see another wave of darkspawn moving fast across the bridge. "Paddy, if you have a shot, take it!"

Paddy answers by swinging his AK-103 toward the coming threat. It was fifty yards at most, well within the accuracy range of the rifle, he flipped the switch to full auto aimed for the torsos of he guessed a dozen of the creatures and fired.

The sound of rifle fire was utterly unknown to the dwarves and the darkspawn alike; both froze in astonishment - good for the dwarves, bad for the darkspawn. An entire magazine of 30 Chinese-made 122-grain copper-jacketed steel-core bullets were more devastating than the M4 pills in the Haven demonstration. They effortlessly punched through darkspawn armor, tissue, and bone leaving fist-sized gaping wounds in their wake; often exit one darkspawn only to enter the next one. Paddy took full advantage of the over-penetration; he was as good with the AK as he was with his rifles - the darkspawn began to fall. The last one died before the first one face planted into the bridge's flagstones, a quick mag change, and he was ready for the next group, which luckily did not come. All could see the heat waves drift upward above the smoking barrel, like smoke rings, in the cloying humidity of the cavern.

While the dwarves watched the slaughter, Rodeo and Sanchez moved forward down the stairs and toward the barrier to get a shot at the darkspawn before they could breach the fence. The dwarves were more than happy to move away toward the wall behind them and to put the humans between them and the darkspawn.

From their new position behind the makeshift barricade, Sanchez and Rodeo swept their rifles' sights over the bridge from behind the improvised wall over the heap darkspawn bodies; nothing moved they returned the muzzles to the dwarves. Eric, LJ and Hollywood never wavered in their attention.

"Keep an eye out, and a steak dinner says there are some playing possum." Eric never took his eyes off the dwarves as he shouted up at Paddy, who was above and behind him.

"Possum?" Harding asked with apparent confusion.

Rodeo snickered in dark humor. "It is an animal who defends itself by playing dead." He glanced at the contorted figures of the darkspawn laying across the bridge. "They punch big holes, but I have seen people fight through with several hits; my guess is that at least some of those things are too."

Harding looked almost as shocked at that as the whole tableau of dead darkspawn.

"Paddy, keep an eye on that bridge." Eric had his full attention on dwarves. "Kill anything that comes this way."

"Alright, turn around, get down on your knees facing the wall. We will tie you up, then you keep quiet, or we will leave you for them." His head nodded toward where the origin of the darkspawn.

Luckily, Harding was a scout who always seemed prepared; she had just enough horsehair fishing twine to bind the prisoner's right hand to left foot face down on the stone.

"Alright, you all stay down, and if you do - you live, if you don't, I will either throw you over the wall, or I will let those things have you." Eric's voice was cold, and all knew he meant every word. "Am I clear."

Mumbled affirmations came from those whose only view was that of the stone they lay on.

"Harding, check the door, see if it is locked," Eric ordered, and Harding did, of course, it was, and furtive glances from the prisoners indicated which dwarf had the key.

"Sodding traitors…" Being bound face down made relieving him of the leather cord and key around his neck easy. Harding carefully and quietly turned the lock as Eric, Hollywood, and stood above and behind her.

Whispering in her ear, "When I say, open the door. Then get back and close your eyes and cover your ears." As he prepped the M48, they were precious, probably only a half dozen between them, and would not be replaced, but he had no idea what was on the other side and didn't want to join the ranks of the darkspawn on the bridge.

Harding did as she was instructed; Eric gave the nod, Harding opened the door. Eric tossed in the grenade, then Harding pulled the door nearly closed again.

The heartbeat between the grenade leaving his hand and the resulting detonation stretched on forever. The sound that passed through the door was more of a soft thump; Eric looked shocked, Harding shrugged, "We like our privacy."

The door was shoved open, and Eric entered, followed by Hollywood and Rodeo; Sanchez and LJ stayed with the prisoners, and Harding followed because she wasn't explicitly told not to.

"Inquisition, everyone stay down," Eric shouted into the room, which still had a cloud of rapidly clearing smoke with the heavy smell of ammonia and the tang of metal in the air.

"Clear left!" Hollywood shouted as he moved left. The response of "Clear right!" Rodeo called out while Eric advanced down the center of the room. He scanned left to right and walked toward the low dais. The area seemed to be both a sleeping and work quarters with a couple of tables. It was dotted with prone, moaning, and writhing dwarves.

Harding watch in awe, she remembered and reported back to the Nightingale was that the three men seemed to move as one, each knew their job so well that it was done without communications, Hollywood knew to cover left because he was on the left, Rodeo did right, and Eric went straight up the middle. She simply did her part by repeating the orders Eric gave in the secret Carta language as best she recalled it. Most surfacers think that all the dwarven languages had died out in favor of Common, but that is not true; dwarves just used their languages and dialects amongst themselves. Many of the groups and castes had created specialized languages for their use.

"Hands away from weapons! Facedown, hands behind your backs!" Eric walked forward, sweeping the area before him; there was nothing but dwarves lying on the floor holding their heads, most moaning in pain, seemingly oblivious to the orders; some complied; others simply seemed not to hear.

From the back of the room, Harding shouted Eric's translated orders. Not that it mattered much, the dwarves she could see were out of the fight before it had even begun. They were no threat, all now writhing on the floor, holding their ears, many bleeding between their fingers, some from bleed from their eyes and noses as well.

"Room seems clear." Eric told the team, "Everyone stays down, and no one will be hurt. We will render medical aid, but everyone must stay down." Harding translated in a flat, emotionless voice; she was as stunned as the other dwarves.

'What was that?' Harding wondered what it was caused complete incapacitation without killing, whatever it was, she was certain she did not want to be on the receiving end of it. She had heard stories about an accident in Haven, but this?

She could see Eric was at the dais now, looking at papers. Rodeo was far to her right, checking the wounded and removing weapons; Hollywood on the far left checked an unmoving dwarf. For Maker knows what reason she saw out of the corner of her eye yet another shimmer. A shimmer was the best she could think of to describe what she saw. She did not hesitate this time either; in the brief time since Eric had loaned her the small black device, she had discovered the three dots on the top on its top; she had assumed it was for aiming much like a crossbow. She centered the middle dot on the distant shimmer and squeezed the trigger, she was more familiar with the jump the device made, and she was ready this time using both hands to hold it. She squeezed again and again did so until the trigger no longer worked, and she thought she broke the device. Luckily the blood-spattered shape hidden within the shimmer fell to the floor and did not move again.

"Holly fuck Harding!" Eric heard the bark of the pistol behind him and then saw the body drop only a couple paces away. "Damn girl, that is the second time. Where did she come from?"

"All in a day's work, Lieutenant, just doing my bit for the cause." Harding was quite proud of herself, and she had learned something about the Newcomers as well. They had no idea that some could cloak themselves in shadow; that was a good piece of information; wherever they came from, they had been trained to trust their eyes and believe what they saw. Good to know. She would report it, but she hoped it would never be used against them. She had grown to become very fond of these men.

"Let's get the whatever we can and get out of here; I don't want to be here longer than we need to," Harding spoke; she managed to gather some rope; dwarves always have rope and lashed the wounded together. "From the looks of them, they are all mostly surface Carta, high ranking from the looks of their clothes; a couple look like Orzamar Carta, why by Andraste's dimples they are doing up here, who knows. Sister Leliana will be incredibly happy we made their acquaintance but first we…"

"We got company coming!" Sanchez shouted through the open door, just as the now-familiar sound of Paddy's AK flowed through. "Looks like they decided to bring friends, lots of friends. Hope you all made extra dip!" With that, he was gone, and a second rifle could be heard. Moments later, it was silent; Sanchez shouted, "We are clear for now, but I don't want to stay here; there were a lot more of them, and they are testing us."

"Harding, gather up what you can, get everything you can. Rodeo, Hollywood, try and get the prisoners ready to move." Eric raised his voice to address the injured. "Listen up, we don't want to kill you if we don't have to, but I will be damned if I am going to let my people get killed to save you. Get on your feet, and we will escort you out, but if it becomes between you and my people – we leave you for the darkspawn. You got that?"

By this point, the dwarves recovered enough to respond; some moaned, others nodded, and others simply lay there.

"Hey, they got oil lamps, right?" Hollywood pointed out the obvious "Oil lamps means flammable oil and a can of it around somewhere. They burn their dead here, so let's help them out."

They got a couple of less injured dwarves to help volunteer; Paddy carefully headshot the corpses to make sure they were; a couple jumped more than they ought, so clearly playing possum was a darkspawn game as well. Now everything was dead on the bridge save the lucky dwarves who gingerly drag the corpses to the center of the bridge, doused with oil, and set alight. This charnel scene stopped the attacks and bought the time they needed. It took precious time, more than it should have, but they managed to get the stunned dwarves out.

The look on the Inquisition scouts' faces holding the exit was extraordinary as the line of dwarves came toward them. At first, they thought their lives were over, that Harding and the Newcomers had died in the assault; it was only when the first of the Carta captives could be seen did they understood. The dwarves were marched two abreast, the lead pair's hands bound in front of them if they fell, a rope around their necks joining each pair, and as the dower troop passed, it was clear that yet another rope lead from neck to the hands of the dwarf behind, and so on, thus making them a sort of dwarven centipede. This was Harding's idea; it forced each dwarf to keep his mind on his footing; if one fell, it brought down the one beside him and in front of him. Each would rely on his neighbor to behave and made escape impossible.

As they left, Harding turned the key, locking it.

"You know we are going to have to go back; you know that, right? To stop up that darkspawn hole?" Harding looked directly into Eric's eyes as she pointed out the obvious.

"Ladies first." Replied Eric as he put the key back inside his vest in a secured pocket.

"Now, about that pistol, here his how you change mags…" Eric began to explain the Shield, as the last of the Inquisition scouts fell in behind them and wonder what they missed and thanked Andraste they had.