"Warden Blackwall, I can't stay."
"What's that, Rhemus?" Blackwall asked.
The boy was fidgeting, unable to meet Blackwall's eyes. "I've gotta go."
"But you were so eager to learn, to become a Grey Warden."
"Yesser, I know that. But … my family … The woods are full of Templars and mages and bandits. I gotta go home."
"Rhemus." Blackwall moved toward the boy. "You go home now, untrained, you'll just get yourself killed. Stay a few more days, let me teach you some things, so you can go home and protect your family to some purpose."
"Well … if you're sure …"
"Of course I am." He clapped the boy on the shoulder. "We'll resume our drills in a few minutes. Get yourself something to eat; can't have you falling down in the middle." He watched as Rhemus went to join the rest of the recruits, wishing he believed his own words. A few more days wasn't going to make these farm boys into fighters. He would be sending them home to get killed. But he couldn't keep them; he wasn't going to make them Wardens. He couldn't have if he'd wanted to. Most of them didn't really want to be Wardens, anyway—they just wanted to get away from the Hinterlands, flee from the broken green streak in the sky. Not that he could blame them.
Not for the first time, he wondered where in the Void everyone was. The Hinterlands were hardly an asset for Ferelden, he'd be the first to admit that, but they were under siege by the Templars and the mages … and no one was doing anything about it. No army, no Grey Wardens, no one. Had the powers that be in Ferelden and in Thedas in general just decided to leave the Hinterlands to the forces tearing the area apart, or were they too focused on the green sky to care about the people on the ground?
As far as Blackwall could tell, he was the only person doing anything out here, and the entire area was in chaos.
Over a simple dinner, thrown together by a tubby recruit who liked to eat his own cooking better than he liked to use a sword, Blackwall heard the word "Inquisition" for the first time, as the boys muttered among themselves. Apparently there was a camp of them, whoever they were, near the Crossroads, the refugee camp that had grown up in the midst of the Hinterlands, and the Inquisition people were at least helping to start straighten out some of the problems of the refugees and trying to hold back the mages and Templars from the refugee camp.
Blackwall decided to go the next day down to the Crossroads to see for himself who these Inquisition people were and what they were about. Not that he intended to be part of it, or even meet anyone involved, but maybe if he could convince himself this Inquisition was going to get something done, he could leave, get back on his own the way he liked it.
The next morning, Bridget was awakened by a soft knock on her door, and she hastily pulled on enough clothing to be decent before going to open it. To her surprise, the Inquisition's spymaster stood there.
"I apologize if this is too early," Leliana said. "I wanted to catch you before you left on your expedition."
"Well, then, you succeeded."
Leliana smiled. "I forget that not everyone is up with the birds."
"They kept us on a strict schedule in the Circle; one of the first joys I found in no longer being there was the ability to sleep until I awakened on my own. But I'm sure the Inquisition will require me to put that delight aside. Might as well get used to it now." She looked at Leliana inquiringly. "Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?"
"There is a matter that is rather close to my heart."
"What is that?"
"The Grey Wardens of Ferelden have vanished."
"The King and Queen?" Bridget's eyes widened. Everyone knew about the Fereldan monarchs, the Grey Wardens who had ended the Blight.
"No," Leliana answered. "The Queen is on a … separate mission, and the King remains in Denerim. But those Wardens who were stationed in Ferelden are gone, no one knows where. More worrisome still—when I first heard the Fereldan Wardens were missing I wrote to those in Orlais … and they have disappeared as well."
"That's … concerning."
"To say the least." Leliana's voice dropped, even though they were the only two in the room. "Ordinarily it would never have crossed my mind to imagine that they might be … involved in all this, but the timing …"
It did sound bad. "Is there any way to get further information? I assume you've written the King?"
"Yes. He knew nothing more than we do. But two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands brought me news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall who is running some type of training camp near the Crossroads. If you are going that way, perhaps you can seek him out. Perhaps he will know more than we do."
"Of course."
"Thank you. It would set my mind at rest."
Leliana took her leave. Bridget finished dressing and left the hut, searching for Cassandra, who had taken on the responsibility of preparing the party for their journey to the Hinterlands.
They headed down the mountain a few hours later. Bridget blessed Harritt for the warm, sturdy boots that gripped the snow so much better than her slippers had. It was still a long walk, and they didn't make it to the Hinterlands the first night, so they had to make a camp, Bridget's first.
She could tell the others were impatient with her, for all that they tried not to be, and she did her best not to be a hindrance. She didn't know how to put up a tent, but she could collect firewood, which she did cheerfully. They had cold biscuits and dried jerky to eat, and Varric passed around his ever-present flask. It was too cold to sit around the fire for long, so they retired to their tents fairly soon. Cassandra took first watch, and Bridget went to sleep rolled into a blanket on the hard ground, nearly weeping with weariness and cold.
No one called her for a turn on watch, and she slept very poorly, so they were all snappish with each other the next morning. Even the beautiful day and the lovely forests and fields they passed through didn't improve the mood.
Finally, with a perceptible sigh of relief, they spied the Inquisition camp and made their way up a small hill toward it. Bridget's muscles were screaming in pain after the long days of unaccustomed exercise, but she gritted her teeth, determined to keep up.
Cassandra hung back, letting Solas and Varric go on ahead. "You are doing well."
"Thank you."
"As we meet and speak to people, I think you should do the talking."
Bridget stared at her. "Why me?"
"You are the Herald of Andraste. It is you people will be looking to."
"But you're the one who declared the Inquisition. Shouldn't you be in charge?"
Cassandra smiled. "You may have noticed I am not exactly what you might call a people person. I have been told my manner can be off-putting."
There was really no good response to that, so Bridget settled for a noncommittal "Oh?"
"Yes. You, on the other hand, seem to have a much more open way about you, a friendliness that will put people at ease."
"So you won't mind if people see me as the face of the Inquisition?"
"I won't; will you?"
Bridget lifted her hand, looking at the mark. "I think that decision passed me by some time ago."
"You are probably right."
Ahead of them, Solas and Varric were waiting, and Bridget pushed on ahead, Cassandra just a couple of steps behind her.
A dwarf came forward from the little knot of tents, wearing what Bridget was coming to recognize as the armor of the Inquisition. She wore her reddish hair in an elaborate braid similar to Bridget's own. She was only the second dwarf Bridget had ever met, and was as dissimilar to what Bridget had always thought female dwarves must be like as Varric was to her previous idea of male dwarves.
"Welcome to the camp! My name is Lace Harding, and you're … you're the Herald of Andraste! I've heard the stories; everyone's heard the stories. We know what you did at the Breach."
"Please, call me Bridget." She held out a hand.
Lace Harding took it without hesitation, giving it a firm shake. "Just so you're prepared—everyone's a little nervous around mages right now, but you'll get no back talk in my camp. That's a promise."
"Thank you, Lace." It was an oddly insubstantial name for a woman whose personality had already impressed Bridget as forceful and confident.
Behind her, she heard Varric chuckle. "Harding, huh? Ever been to Hightown, in Kirkwall?"
"No. Why?" There was a faint narrowing of Lace's green eyes that suggested she already knew where Varric's comment was going, and wasn't amused.
Bridget was, rather, but she hid it.
Varric, not picking up on Lace's attempt at dampening his humor, kept going. "You'd be Harding in …" He looked around at Cassandra's slight cough, getting the picture at last. "Never mind."
"Good." Harding nodded crisply, turning her back on her fellow dwarf, leaving Varric looking at her speculatively. Bridget had the sense that most people were either charmed by him or openly disgusted, as Cassandra was, and that few people shut him down quite as effectively as Lace just had.
"What's the situation here in the Hinterlands?" she asked Lace.
"We came to secure horses from Redcliffe's old horsemaster. I grew up here," she said, looking at the countryside around them, "and people always said that Dennet's herds were the strongest and fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we couldn't get near his farm. Maker only knows if he's even still alive. We have men at the Crossroads, doing what they can to protect the people, but they're spread pretty thin."
"We can help them," Cassandra said stoutly. Bridget wished she felt as certain.
"Good. Look for Corporal Vale; he's in charge of the Inquisition forces."
"Thank you, Lace."
"Oh, don't mention it. My pleasure." Lace smiled, and Bridget gave her an answering smile before turning her steps to the path down the mountain.
At the bottom of the mountain, they came to the refugee camp at the Crossroads. It didn't look like much of a refuge at the moment; people huddled in tents and buildings while a group of mages and Templars used the Crossroads as a battleground.
Bridget felt rather than saw the look Cassandra gave her; no doubt the Seeker was wondering if Bridget would be able to fight her own people—as well as she fought anything, that is. Bridget gave the other woman a firm look. "Let's end this."
"Good." Cassandra dashed into the fray, and next to Bridget, Solas drew his staff and Varric his crossbow.
The mages and Templars joined common cause when they were both attacked, despite Bridget's calls to the mages and Cassandra's to the Templars to step down. Apparently the only thing both sides could agree on was that they didn't want their fighting interrupted.
Some of the villagers joined in when they saw that someone was on their side, and some Inquisition forces appeared from the other side of the village where they had been tackling another knot of combatants.
Walking amongst the bodies when it was over, Bridget swallowed tears. "How did it ever come to this?" she asked Cassandra.
"Over too many centuries to count." The Seeker looked sad, as well. "I believe it was too late to prevent this long before either of us were born."
Bridget shook her head. "I don't know if that's comforting or not."
"Neither do I."
A pair of Inquisition soldiers, approached, bowing to Bridget. "Herald."
"Men. We're looking for ways we can help with the situation here."
"Corporal Vale has all that information, Herald. He's over by the training grounds." The soldier hesitated. "May I … Herald, seeing you here in person … well … thank you."
Bridget blushed. "I've done nothing. You men have done all the work."
He didn't look convinced, and she smiled at him before moving toward the infirmary. Next to her, Varric muttered, "I think that smile just bought you a slave for life."
"I'm not in the market for a slave."
"Then be careful who you smile at."
She glanced at him, not sure if he was serious or not.
Walking through the camp, Bridget saw a face in the trees on the overhanging bluff. For a moment, her heart beat faster—whoever he was, the man had a dark beard and mustache and she thought perhaps he was Franko. A second glance told her that this man's beard was bushier and more unkempt than Franko would ever have countenanced, and he was shorter and broader than her friend had been. She wondered who he was and why he was watching the camp, and her. But when she looked again he was gone, and she thought nothing more of him.
Bridget turned to let her gaze roam across the groups of people. She saw one woman alone, bending over a fire on the far edge of the camp. The woman wore mage robes, but she wasn't with the healers. Crossing to the small fire, Bridget held out her hand. "I'm Bridget Trevelyan. I was in the Circle at Ostwick."
The woman stood, her eyes widening slightly. "I knew someone who was sent to Ostwick a long time ago. Did you ever meet an elf named Roric?"
Bridget smiled. "I remember Roric. Mischief personified."
"That would be him. We used to steal cookies from the kitchen when we were children. My name is Ellandra."
"Pleasure to meet you, Ellandra. I … I couldn't help but wonder how it is for you, as a mage alone, under the circumstances." Had it not been for the Breach, Bridget might have been here herself.
"Not as bad as you might think. People mostly keep their distance."
"And you didn't—I'm sorry, I need to ask. Why did you never join the rebels?"
Ellandra shook her head. "I couldn't. I had … friends among the Templars. I will not fight them."
"I understand." Bridget had never dallied with the Templars, but she'd had quite a few friends who did. "Will you be all right?"
"I will. I will keep to myself and harm no one," Ellandra said with determination.
"If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."
Their eyes met, an understanding flowing between them, of a life that had not been unhappy that was gone now, and a future that was unknowable and filled with nameless dangers.
Ellandra nodded. "Thank you, Herald."
Bridget gave her a quick smile, then turned away and headed in the direction of the small group of Inquisition soldiers. Climbing to the rise they stood on, she called ahead, "Is one of you Corporal Vale?"
A soldier detached himself from the group, coming toward them. He looked Bridget up and down. "You're with the Inquisition?" His eyes settled on the green mark on her hand and widened, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost its skepticism. "The Herald of Andraste?"
"That's what they're calling me." Bridget fought the impulse to close her hand and hide it away against her chest. The mark had to do with the Fade, but she didn't know where it had come from, which made her uncomfortable bearing it openly. Maybe she needed to start wearing gloves.
Corporal Vale's eyes went past her to take in Cassandra, Varric, and Solas. "Thank you all for your help. The mages and Templars are out of control, both of them, and our troops are barely enough to keep them back, much less do anything else to help all these refugees."
"What would be the most help?" Bridget asked.
"The people are hungry, and there isn't enough wood or clothing to keep them all warm … and winter is coming. If the war doesn't kill them, cold and starvation may well."
"Anything else?"
Vale nodded. "We've got some injuries that go beyond battlefield first aid. A real healer would be invaluable, if you can find one."
Bridget started to suggest that she could do the job, but a warning glance from Cassandra stopped her. She had a bigger task, that of finding a way to close the Breach, and no one else could do that. Bridget wasn't used to thinking of herself as being important, not in this way.
"What can you tell us about the mages and the Templars in the area?" Cassandra asked.
"The mages are up north, in Redcliffe Village, dug in and taking care of their own. Mostly if we leave them alone they leave us alone, but sometimes a few drift away, and then there are the rogue mages who don't agree with whatever the Redcliffe ones are all about. Who knew they didn't all think the same?"
"Yes," Solas said under his breath, "it's almost as though they're people."
"What's that?" Vale looked around Bridget, but Solas shook his head, looking forbidding, and Vale didn't press the issue.
"As for the Templars … they were all called to Val Royeaux not long ago. These ones left here ignored the order and just stayed. I wish to the Maker they'd gone! In some ways they're worse than the mages, trying to drag folk away, seeing a mage and an abomination in anyone who gets in their path." Vale shook his head, looking sad. "Every Templar I've ever known has wanted to protect the common fok. These men defile their Order's good name."
"What about this horsemaster?" she asked. "Do you know where he can be found?"
"Dennet; he lives on a farm to the west. Tough old fellow. Has to be, the way things are these days."
"So you do not know how he fares," Cassandra said.
"No, not for sure. Are you going looking for him?" When Bridget nodded, he looked grave. "Take care of yourself, Herald."
They checked in at the camp above the Crossroads before setting out in search of Horsemaster Dennet. When Lace Harding heard that the plan was to go deep into the Hinterlands, she looked grave, and eventually announced her decision to accompany them. "No one else in your party knows where you're going, not like I do."
"Thank you, Lace."
"Don't thank me, Herald. Er, Bridget. Not until we get there."
"I always like a confident guide," Varric said.
Lace glared at him. "Do you shoot off that crossbow as well as you shoot off your mouth?"
He smiled at her, and Bridget was struck again with surprise at how handsome he was. She had never imagined dwarves could be quite like Varric. "Those are my two best things."
"Stick to the sharp one. I'm all the mouthy dwarf one expedition needs." With that, Lace started off down the mountain, leaving Varric staring after her. He opened his mouth as if to comment, then apparently thought better of it and followed her.
Solas walked next to Bridget. "I am sorry there wasn't time to procure you a staff before we left Haven," he said. "Perhaps we can pick one up for you."
"Is it that useful?"
"Certainly. For magic, but also," he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling just a bit, "for walking."
Bridget had to agree with him there. The Hinterlands were full of mountains—or possibly just large hills—and her legs were tired long before anyone else showed signs of flagging.
"You were born and raised in Kirkwall, you said, Varric?" she asked as the dwarf reached a hand out to help her up the last few steps to the top of a hill. "That's a city-state—surely you didn't spend your days doing this much walking. But you seem perfectly comfortable."
He chuckled. "You've never met Hawke. He kept us moving. Always busy, that one. In Kirkwall, out of Kirkwall … Boundless energy. And Kirkwall has these stairs that lead between Lowtown and Hightown. Quite the workout." He looked up ahead, where Lace and Cassandra were talking animatedly. "Besides, I'm not about to fall behind and suffer through any more of the Little Dragon's glares."
Bridget smiled. Lace didn't seem overly fond of her fellow dwarf, that was true enough.
They ran into small pockets of mages and Templars as they went. Bridget was growing more comfortable with snapping into a combat-ready position at a moment's notice, even if she didn't possess the sharp ears and keen eyesight required to see the fight coming before it started.
Her combat skills were improving, as well. After one fight, Solas took her aside while the others were cleaning up the bodies and taught her a way to split the lightning as she called it down so that she could hit more than one person at once with it.
She practiced on the rocks, admiring the way the lightning sparked back and forth. Solas nodded gravely.
"You learn quickly."
Bridget smiled. "I was always a good student. My teachers in the Circle never had reason to complain of me."
Solas tilted his head to the side, studying her as though she was a new species he had encountered. Perhaps she was; maybe he had never met a Circle mage before. He looked down at her hand, the green mark quiet for the moment. "Does it disturb you?"
"I wish I knew what made it."
"Yes. I agree. While closing the Breach must be our primary goal, I would like also to discover what was used to create it." Ahead of them, the others were on the move, and they started walking, nodding to Cassandra as she looked questioningly over her shoulder at them. Solas continued, "Any artifact of such power is dangerous—the destruction it caused proves that much."
"Wouldn't whatever created the blast also have been destroyed in it?"
Solas shrugged. "You survived. What's to say that other things might not have survived as well? The artifact that created the Breach is unlike anything seen in this age. I will not believe it destroyed until I see the shattered fragments with my own eyes." He spoke with determination, his eyes fixed on the horizon ahead, and Bridget frowned.
It was as if he knew what caused the explosion. But how could he? She made a mental note to ask Cassandra about Solas, where he had come from and why he had joined the Inquisition.
"We would do well to try to recover whatever created the Breach," she agreed mildly, trying to keep her sudden questions from coloring her voice.
"Leliana's people have scoured the area and found nothing. Whatever the artifact was, it's no longer there."
"If it isn't there, surely it must have been destroyed."
"Or taken away by whoever was behind the explosion." Solas was frowning ahead of him.
Bridget furrowed her brow, trying to remember. She should know what had happened; why couldn't she remember? She had been sent out of the meetings by the head of her contingent, that much she remembered, but … why? What had she done after that? She had accepted that somehow she had survived where all those other people hadn't, but if only she could remember why …
Ahead of her, Lace stopped, calling back, "Bridget!"
She hurried her steps as best she could, her feet sore from all the walking, and caught up with the dwarf.
"This is Redcliffe Farms." Lace gestured to the fields filled with plants. Bridget recognized none of them; the only plants she knew were medicinal, and she had been plucking elfroot as she passed it and storing it in her pack. These were crops, and she had never spent any time on farms. Lace pointed at a weathered house at the top of a hill. "That's Horsemaster Dennet's house there. This area looks as though it's seen less fighting than some; I think we can have some hope that he'll still be there."
"Let's find out." Bridget led the way up, knocking on the door.
It opened only a crack. "Yes?" said a man's voice.
"We're …" Bridget halted. Shouldn't she let Cassandra speak? But Cassandra was hanging back, as was everyone else. "We're with the Inquisition. We wanted to ask … we understand you're a horse trainer of some skill, and …"
The door swung open, and an older man stood frowning at her. "Inquisition, eh? I'm Dennet. I hear you're trying to bring order back. It's high time someone did." He looked her over. "Never thought it'd be a mage, though. Redcliffe's had more than enough trouble with magic to last it another age or two."
"I didn't come to cause trouble. Just to ask about horses."
"Taking my horses isn't trouble enough?" He spoke with weariness rather than anger.
"We wouldn't want to take them! Just …" Did they have the money to buy horses? Bridget looked over her shoulder at Cassandra, who shook her head just the smallest bit. "Just to ask if you would help us."
Dennet snorted. "I can't just send a hundred of the finest horses in Ferelden down the road like you'd send a letter. Every bandit between here and Haven would be on them like flies on crap."
"And there are a lot of bandits between here and Haven," Lace put in.
Looking down at her, Dennet nodded respectfully. "Lace Harding. Heard you'd joined up with the Inquisition. They treating you well?"
"Very well, Horsemaster. That's why I brought them."
"Then, in that case …" He looked at Bridget. "You'll have mounts once I know they won't end up as a cold winter's breakfast."
An older woman stepped forward, folding her arms. "Benjamin Dennet. You won't be giving away our horses unless it's over my dead body. I'll tell you what you can pay with, Inquisition. Since the Breach appeared, the wolves have gone mad; they come after our men like ravening beasts. They've got no fear of man or fire. It's like darkspawn during the Blight, or when the dead rose to attack us, like they're possessed. You take care of the wolves, and we'll talk horses."
Dennet shrugged. "My wife Elaina. She has a good point. The farmers around here could use that help. I'm not going to bargain with it, though. If you are who I think you are, you'll offer."
What could you say to that? Bridget smiled, appreciating how neatly she'd been trapped. "Of course we will. Whatever we can do."
"Thank you." Dennet almost smiled. "Meanwhile, you'll need something better than whatever knock-kneed plow nag they gave you. Go to my daughter Seanna in the stables—I've got a purebred Fereldan forder you can have. Take care of him and he'll take care of you, Inquisition."
"Oh! Well … thank you," Bridget stammered, uncertain why she was being singled out for the gift. She hadn't been on a horse since she was nine years old and wasn't entirely certain she'd remember how. On the other hand, it might be nice if something other than her feet hurt for a change.
"While you're at it," Elaina put in, folding her arms across her chest, "a few watchtowers so our men will know what's coming wouldn't be amiss. The Inquisition's help stretch to that?"
Bridget looked helplessly at Cassandra, who nodded. "I'll see what I can do. Lace? Do you think you can survey a few good places for watchtowers, let Cullen and Josephine know what's needed and what it will cost?"
"Of course."
They said their good-byes to the Dennets and picked up the horse, a fine-looking animal with intelligent eyes. Bridget got a brief riding lesson from Seanna, but chose to lead the horse back, as no one else was mounted.
She caught up with Cassandra. "That went terribly," she said, feeling guilty at how easily she had been outbargained. "I didn't get the horses and promised all sorts of help in the meantime. And then came away with just one horse, for myself. I'm sorry."
Cassandra snorted. "Do you think I could have done any better? One word out of my mouth and they would have asked for the moon. My accent and delivery all but guarantee that. Varric might have done better, or Lace," she conceded, "but we cannot trust Varric to speak for the Inquisition—Maker knows what he might say; and Lace already has a task, which she performs admirably."
They walked along together for a few minutes. Cassandra watched her feet, her silence feeling heavier with every step. At last she said softly, almost to herself, "Did I do the right thing? What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my entire life. One day they may write about me as a traitor. A madwoman. A fool." She looked up at Bridget. "And they may be right."
"What does your faith tell you?"
Cassandra lifted her head and looked at the Breach, hovering there in the sky. "I believe you are innocent. Have I said that to you? I believe you are. I believe there is more going on here than we can see. And I believe no one else cares to do anything about it, caught up in their own squabbles, both petty and not so petty. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot and continue to argue while they burn to death." She shook her head. "But I can only guess what might be the Maker's will, and try to do what I can."
"Maybe there's your answer?" Bridget suggested. "You try to do what you can. Surely that's better than standing in the fire, complaining or not." She glanced sideways at the other woman. "You don't think I'm the Herald of Andraste?"
"I think—I hope—that you were sent to help us. But by whom? That is not mine to decide." She looked at Bridget steadily. "The Maker's help takes many forms. Sometimes it is difficult to discern who it truly benefits. Or how."
"What do we do now?"
"We deal with the Chantry's panic over you before it can spread and do even more harm. Then we close the Breach." She looked at the mark on Bridget's hand. "We are the only ones who can."
"I hope we can." Bridget flexed her hand. "This has to be good for something."
Cassandra watched her for a moment. "It is difficult to be marked by fate," she observed.
"Yes, it is," Bridget said with feeling. "Have you given any thought to what the Inquisition will do when the Breach is closed?"
"We find out who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them." Cassandra said it in a voice like steel, and Bridget remembered that she had been the Right Hand of the Divine.
"I am sorry. For your loss," she said.
"And I for yours." Cassandra walked along for a few more steps before saying softly, "If there are consequences to be paid for what I have done, I will pay them."
"Cassandra …" Bridget began. "I have no desire to put myself ahead of you. People keep looking to me, and I—"
"They look to you because I look to you. I am not a leader; I am a soldier. A sword. A weapon. The Inquisition needs to be more than that, and under my leadership it would not be. You … I can see that you are not certain how you fit in the world outside the Circle," she said thoughtfully, "and I believe that as you find your way, you will find the Inquisition's way."
"That's a nice thought. It would be good to think my incompetence has a purpose."
"You are far from incompetent. Merely inexperienced." She smiled a little. "My trainers always said, 'Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.' But I never learned to do so, not truly. I see what must be done and I do it, no running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But sometimes the circle is the right way around. You, looking for the best foothold, might see that circle where I would not. I misjudged you in the beginning—I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. If I had had my way—" She broke off abruptly. "Well. Let us all be grateful that I did not."
"It wasn't like you had no reason to suspect me. This—" Bridget held up the mark. "I'm not surprised you all thought I had something to do with it."
"I was determined to have someone answer for what happened. Anyone." She frowned. "I must admit, I'm curious. Do you even believe in the Maker?"
"Of course!"
Cassandra seemed surprised by the response. "Despite what the Chantry has done to mages?"
Bridget shrugged. "The Chantry gave me a home and taught me how to use my gifts. In a limited manner, to be sure, but it was an education such as many in the Circle would not have had otherwise. Other mages have greater cause to complain than I, and I don't forget that, but, for myself … I believe that the Maker exists. Whether the way the Chantry interprets His words today is the way they were meant to be heard is yet to be determined, but that does not make the words wrong, only those who repeat them."
"Then surely the Maker put us both on this path for a reason," Cassandra said confidently.
"Surely," Bridget echoed. "I appreciate having you to walk it with. I … should probably learn to be more of a weapon."
"That, I think we can teach you." Cassandra drew her sword. "Let us start on those bandits up ahead."