Chapter 25: Strange Bedfellows - Out of Hiding

The afternoon rain had subsided leaving a crystalline night of pure clean air and freezing cold. They were miles past Lothering, making up time by using a hunter’s trail through the Hinterlands that Duncan was familiar with. The camp was well-established with two logs set around a rock-lined fire pit. Once the tree needles had been brushed away to prevent accidental fires, the clearing was ideal. Trees provided a partial break from the constant chilled wind while an ample flat space remained for their tent. The Imperial Highway rose only a half mile off, so with this route they would be at Ostagar by midmorning.

Huddled before the fire, Raviathan shivered, his breath visible like the smoke of a sleeping dragon. The makeshift poncho was helping, but Ferelden’s cold had a way of penetrating through the warmest of furs. Fingers numb beyond feeling, Raviathan had to concentrate on watching the needle so he didn’t prick himself. Keeping his eyes on the flashing needle, he asked, “Duncan, how do you evaluate recruits? What do you look for? And would you give the pot a stir?”

“This smells good. There’s skill, of course, though I value potential more. Skills can always be developed. As for personality, hard to say, Rav. There isn’t one ideal Warden. We look for courage, a willingness to sacrifice, thoughtfulness in difficult situations, all of which you’ve demonstrated. Choosing recruits is more art and developed instinct rather than science. I know many Commanders who have their own methods, and most disagree with each other. I’ve heard long discussions arguing various points, but people are much more than a collection of discreet traits. What’s worked for me is instead of thinking what I would need from an individual Warden, think of what I need from a group. Wardens need tacticians as much as muscle. The more varied your Wardens, the more resources you have at your disposal.”

Raviathan frowned as he adjusted the shirt he was working on. “You said you tried to get a mage from the Circle. If a mage joins the Wardens, doesn’t that make them an apostate? How do you keep them safe from templars?”

Wincing slightly from a knotted old scar that stretched across his back, Duncan straightened. Magic was often a sore spot with many who were new to the Order. Duncan had a friend when he was a street thief in Val Royeaux who had some minor talent. That had been his first introduction to magic. He never feared it the way most men did. His openness made working with Fiona easier. Being an elf had set her apart more than being a mage had, but Wardens learned to accept all backgrounds given time and experience.

Experienced Grey Wardens learned to value their mages for their ability to heal or inflict great damage from a distance. Luckily, Raviathan didn’t sound hostile about the possibility of working with mages, only curious. “Mages are highly valued but difficult to come by. The Circle does keep a tight rein; however, once a mage joins the Wardens, they are unbound by Chantry regulations. There was a mage who had promise but was made tranquil before I could recruit her.”

“Made tranquil?”

“It is a process I am unfamiliar with, but it takes the magical ability away from a mage.”

Raviathan shook his hand when the needle accidentally pricked his skin then stuck his slender finger in his mouth. His eyes reflected the orange in the fire along with his own unique turquoise, refracting light much like cat eyes. The way elven eyes flashed in low light made them appear more alien than during the day, or more beautiful depending on one’s preferences. No matter how closely elves resembled humans, moments like this reminded Duncan that elves were a creature of a wholly different nature.

The tranquil girl’s eyes had lost the luminescence that marked the elven race. Her empty gaze haunted Duncan’s memory like a lurking shadow. Mages like Neria were desperately needed now, but the loss of her soul depressed Duncan more than if she had died. “Tranquility also takes away their emotions and the ability to dream. As I understand, it cuts a person completely from the Fade.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.” Perhaps mages made him nervous after all, given the hushed fear in his voice. Duncan stirred the pot again, not letting the lad notice his scrutiny. Raviathan continued his sewing, intent on his work. “Why did they do that to her? Is the practice common?”

“There was some business about an escaping blood mage. She helped the mage, and the Knight-Commander of the Templars made her a tranquil as punishment. As for how common the practice is, I couldn’t say. The punishment in that case was considered exceptionally harsh. The First Enchanter was outraged. What are your feelings on the subject?”

“Of magic or being made tranquil?”

“Both.”

“I think magic could be useful,” he admitted with reluctance pulling at the words. “The tranquil. It takes away their emotions?”

“Yes,” Duncan replied. “Once you have met one, you can spot them easily. They cannot love or feel hate. There is no joy, but there is no sorrow.”

Raviathan said very quietly, “It sounds like a nightmare.”

“They don’t complain.”

Raviathan’s voice stayed very low as if they were discussing something taboo. “Why would they? They can’t even feel the injustice done to them.”

“There are a few who undergo the process voluntarily.”

There was a small, “em” of discomfort, and Raviathan put his finger back in his mouth from another needle prick.

“Perhaps you should leave your sewing for another time.”

“You’re right. I can’t feel my fingers anymore.”

“So you object to tranquility?”

“I...” He began but stopped with his lips pursed. “If the Maker made them that way, with magic, it isn’t right to take it away.”

“What about blood mages?”

Raviathan was quiet for moment. “I can understand why the templars would want to do that to mages, and there are mages who can be a danger to others, but the cost is too high. They aren’t even people anymore.”

“The tranquil I’ve spoken to would disagree. They do not have emotions, but they have minds. They feel physical pain as you do.”

“But what is the point of it? Would you call that a life? It’s existence, but that isn’t the same thing. They can’t feel rage or hate, but they can’t feel compassion either. I’m not saying one’s feelings should take the place of reason, but that’s wrong. Shianni is in pain, but if she were tranquil, she wouldn’t even care. Tranquil can be ... violated and abused, and just because they aren’t emotionally hurt by it doesn’t mean it isn’t abuse.”

Duncan didn’t say anything as he thought about Raviathan. The more he got to know the young elf, the more he cared for him. Most his age were still working out their belief system and were often impetuous or impatient. Raviathan was just the opposite. He was curious but considerate, a balance of thoughtful and passionate. With a small squeeze in his chest, he mentally recited his prayer. Maker, please let him live. Duncan was brought out of his brief reverie when Raviathan asked, “What’s your opinion on the subject? It seems you favor mages.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?” asked Duncan. As much as Raviathan liked listening to the histories he told, Duncan enjoyed hearing Raviathan’s thought process.

“Because you wanted to recruit a mage. You’ve asked for my opinions on blood mages and the tranquil, but haven’t told me you agree with it.”

“I haven’t said I disagree with it either.” The thickening stew bubbled around the edges sending out succulent aromas. Duncan set the bread by the fire to warm.

“Do you?”

There was more challenge in the question than curiosity. Duncan knew the elf had read him correctly and was pleased. “The darkspawn pose a greater threat than anything else. I would recruit anyone I thought fit to be able to fight them, including blood mages. Unless there is absolute reason to think they will become abominations, making them tranquil is a waste. We don’t have a mage now, which would have been an invaluable resource.”

“How would you get evidence that a mage would become an abomination?”

Duncan raised his eyebrows. “I suppose that would be difficult.”

There was a bitter edge to Raviathan’s smile. “It’s like convicting someone of a crime they haven’t committed. ‘But I didn’t steal the apple.’ ‘No, but you looked like you were going to.’”

“A fine point. I sometimes think the Chantry has too much control over the mages. I’ve seen abominations before, and they are horrendous things, but what we lose in the process is a terrible waste.”

“Supper is ready.” Raviathan filled Duncan’s bowl with the wolf’s share of the meal then filled his own bowl.

“Most people are afraid of mages.” The meal the lad had made of their dried foodstuffs was remarkable.

Raviathan shrugged.

“You don’t seem to be.”

Raviathan finished chewing his mouthful in no hurry to answer. “I’ve friends and cousins taken to the Circle. We’d never hear from them again. One day, without warning, they were just gone. It was almost like they died. Sometimes children died of starvation or disease, but we could see that coming. Prepare for it. The first child I ever delivered, my little cousin Eldwyn, was taken a few years ago. Her birthday was coming up, and I made her a flute, was going to teach her to play. I know magic scares a lot of people, but it’s no worse than a sword.”

“Magic is a great deal more powerful than a sword.”

“A noble is a great deal more powerful than any mage.”

Dark whisperings started at the edges of Duncan’s thoughts. He had been so engrossed in the discussion he hadn’t noticed as the darkspawn had stalked them, probably centering on the taint that ran through Duncan’s blood. He froze, casting out his senses to find a small band from the south headed for them. He guessed there were about four. Chiding himself for not being more careful this far south, he said quietly, “Darkspawn. Stay to the shadows on the north. Beware and do not approach.”

Raviathan had been on alert the second Duncan’s posture changed. The elf’s brow knit in mild puzzlement, but he nodded taking Duncan’s orders seriously. Raviathan moved slowly and low to the ground so as to not draw the eye. Duncan did the same going south. Though the sky was clear, the moon had not yet appeared. Everything was darkness and deep shadow. The elf’s eyes would fare better than his, but his Warden senses and years of learning to fight blind would get him though this.

Sibilant hissing sounded through the taint. There was no doubt the hurlocks were coming for him. Four against one weren’t the best odds he had had, especially since the low light worked against him. He cloaked in shadow to hide his tainted blood from the hurlocks, the cool grayness settling over him like a cloak. The hurlocks were far enough away that he could take his time moving through the forest and plan for his attack.

Circling around the band of darkspawn, he found a spot that would limit their frontal attack. A path between a thicket and hillock would keep them from flanking him. Duncan picked up a few pine cones and tossed them in the path he wanted them to take. The darkspawn, wary when their quarry disappeared from their senses, chuckled at the sound and headed that way. Darkspawn weren’t completely unthinking, but weak ones like these weren’t great planners. They relied on the older darkspawn for that.

Having taken the bait, they walked single file through the narrow path with their weapons out. Duncan padded behind the last, careful of his step. Even without the taint he would have been able to smell them. They stank of rot and acidic bile. The taint in his blood crawled as he got near. If the dreams weren’t enough proof, the drawing song of the Archdemon that hummed faintly in the background of his awareness would have been. The taint was pulling him, was starting to see his enemies as kin. He had only a few months before he would take the Calling or go mad as the taint warred to dominate him.

The darkspawn were uncertain, hissing suspicions. Time to act. Duncan grabbed the closest hurlock from behind, drawing his dagger across the creature’s neck. The rot and bile sent grew strong as hot black blood leaked down his hand. It was just blood. He had felt taint fill blood before, but now his own blood reacted, like wasps crawling beneath his skin, stinging in their frustration to get out. He tossed the body forward, catching the next hurlock when the three remaining turned to face him. He kicked the body, knocking the off footed hurlock to the ground then rushed the next standing monster. Branches pulled at his armor, and he almost tripped from the uneven footing in the dark. He used the momentum to his advantage, plunging his sword deep into the standing hurlock’s belly. He had to deflect an over head swing with his dagger, but another quick swipe and the hurlock was down.

Heat blossomed from his thigh. The hurlock at his feet had managed to shift the body enough to get a strike. He kicked the creature’s face, hearing the jaw crunch and retreated a few steps to draw the last standing hurlock forward where he wouldn’t have to contend with the downed one. The hurlock lunged forward with a snarl. Even in the low light Duncan could measure its face from the faint shine in its eyes. Darkspawn like this rarely had anything more than brute force on their side. It was easy to parry the creature’s weapon wide then step in close for a strike. A second parry and strike.

The moon peaked above the pines, deepening shadows in the cold light. The white skin of the hurlock gleamed as black feted blood slowly gurgled out. Just behind the creature’s shoulder, the grey skinned hurlock rose with pale grey eyes staring forward. Darkspawn had no souls. There was no more feeling in them than a corpse’s blind eyes. Black windows into an empty house, but soulless as they were, there was a malevolent intelligence that stared back.

Duncan wasted no time in executing the darkspawn. A final strike to the nearest already sliced hurlock, then low kick to the one behind that popped a knee, and Duncan finished the job with a final thrust of his sword. The blood running down his thigh was cooling quickly in the chill night, and the wound started to sting. He limped quickly back to the camp so he could bandage the wound. At least there was a skilled healer waiting for him.

Two more! Horrified, Duncan felt the presence of two more darkspawn north of the little camp. Genlocks were the next most common darkspawn after hurlocks, little scuttling thieves who often cloaked in shadow. The moon wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the forest floor, and he didn’t want to chance a twisted ankle or jarred knee. He hoped Raviathan had enough sense and ability to stay hidden.

As if thinking his fear made it real, he realized it was the taint of two shrieks that now blazed in his awareness when they uncloaked. If hurlocks were foot soldiers, shrieks were elite stealth assassins. Cursing inwardly, Duncan tried to hurry. Branches snagged his armor, roots tangling his feet. Rav, stay safe, Duncan prayed. Stay hidden.

He slipped a few times on stones and kicked a rock. Pain shot into his toe. A screech like metal grading on slate ripped through the night, instantly setting Duncan’s hair on end. No! That would tear anyone’s concentration. They knew their prey, were hunting aggressively, using that unholy scream that named them. A terrified yell of, “Duncan!” broke the night. Dear Maker no! The boy had no chance against a pair of shrieks. Duncan had lost so many potential recruits. At times it felt like the world had conspired against him. Not this one too. Not him.

The shrieks were moving for the ambush. Their thoughts carried through the taint like scorpions scuttling in Duncan’s brain. They were heading back towards the camp, and he could feel the anticipation as one readied for an attack. The crack of bones echoed and an odd, sludgy sound came from the north past their campfire. Duncan’s heart fell at the sound. The tiny sense of anticipation from the shriek was gone, scarcely felt to begin with. Raviathan was already lost. The poor boy. Duncan slowed as he stumbled into the lit clearing of their camp as a stab of depression warred with rage. That poor, sweet boy. And to be killed so brutally. He had grown used to losing men over the years either to the darkspawn or the Calling, but the sting of this one was unexpectedly sharp.

To his shock Raviathan stumbled, no, was thrown back, out of the thicker wood and into the clearing. He landed on his back, skidding over the slick pine needles. Blood covered one side of his face and neck, shining in the firelight. A narrow strip of white cheekbone glared from the mask of red. The shriek was there, its black skin melding with the shadows, but its long shark like rows of teeth and small eyes glowed orange in the firelight. It leaped with blinding quickness. The boy screamed, thrusting his hands forward.

The relief at seeing Raviathan alive tightened Duncan’s chest, a pain that was all the worse with the knowledge he was too far away to save the elf now. Just a few seconds more and he could have made it. Damn it! He had the illusion of second chance thrown in his face. Now he would have to watch the boy savaged before him. Duncan’s face twisted in a snarl as he rushed forward bent on revenge.

The shadows of the forest shrank back in sharp contrast to the blazing fire that erupted. The campground and forest were illuminated as if from a red sunset. A fifteen foot tongue of shimmering flame shot from Raviathan’s hands straight into the shriek. It struck the creature full on. There was a sizzle and pop then the shriek started to screech. It clutched at its face, beat at its body, and writhed on the ground still on fire. The stench of burning flesh and boiling blood filled the air.

A mage. The boy was a mage. Duncan tried to wrap his mind around that fact as he walked up to the elf. The shriek had stopped moving. The corpse was a cracked, blackened thing and still on fire. Raviathan lay there staring at it. He was panting heavily as if he had just sprinted for miles, the whites around his eyes visible. Duncan could see no wound on the lad though the blood must be his as it was red. He stepped on the pine needles, putting out little fires before they spread, then went to the elf. A mage.

“Rav?” The elf didn’t even seem to see him. It wasn’t until Duncan touched his shoulder did Raviathan react with a jerk.