Chapter 29: Plans and Tactics - Brothers

Voices slowly brought Raviathan back from the Fade. He rose to consciousness as if swimming up from a deep pool warmed by the sun. Amazing how a nap could rejuvenate a weary soul. He blinked as he took in his surroundings: trees and stone, fog muting the sun, dogs barking, the two humans arguing in the clearing before him. One was in mage robes while the other wore splint armor. Raviathan watched them, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“Yes, I was disturbing you by delivering a message,” the man in splint mail said. Raviathan couldn’t help a smile. He stretched a bit, rotating his neck and shoulders, flexing his back to hear a multitude of pops. The dream of Nesiara had made him loose and warm as his time with the female soldiers had not. He remained curled up, content to watch the scene between the two. The man in splint mail was actually quite funny. He was good looking—for a human. Wide cheekbones and a strong jaw. A shade of peach fuzz gave him a rugged aspect that somehow complimented his military short, dark blond hair. He certainly had the build for a soldier.

The mage left in a huff of swirling robes. Raviathan thought the mage must have practiced that move just for the sake of being able to make a dramatic exit. The soldier stared off at the retreating mage, grumbling about Chantry mothers. Raviathan chuckled, and the soldier turned at the sound.

The soldier gaped at him. Shems had a habit of staring at him, but this man looked like he had been slapped upside the head with a fish.

“Cat got your tongue, shem?” Time for lunch anyway. Raviathan stretched out his legs then ran his fingers through his hair. It was getting rather long. He brushed off his cloak and picked up his sack of meager possessions and healer’s kit. When he looked up, the shem was still staring at him. Raviathan frowned. “You need something?”

With a start, the human shook himself. “Sorry. You wouldn’t happen to be Duncan’s newest recruit, would you?”

“I am.” Raviathan suppressed a sigh. Another shem who needed something? Would he ask Raviathan to collect twenty bear asses from the Wilds?

“Oh, good. I’ve been looking for you.” A guileless smile added charm to the human’s face.

“Is that so?” Raviathan finished settling his kit and sack so they were secure and out of his way.

“I’m Alistair, the most junior of the Grey Wardens. I’ll be escorting you in the Wilds.” His smile dropped. “Um, I’m sorry. I’m not good with names. They told me...”

“Rav.” Raviathan quickened his pace to meet the human. This was one of the legendary Grey Wardens? He was so ... goofy. “So we’re definitely going into the Wilds then?”

“Oh. You’ve heard about that? It was supposed to be a secret.”

Raviathan allowed a mysterious smile and left his comment at that.

“Huh. I think I’m going to have to watch out for you.”

“Or just stay on my good side.”

“Duly noted,” Alistair said dryly. “Is that going to be difficult?”

Raviathan let out a breath. He did owe Duncan a better attempt than he had been making. “Duncan asked me to get along.”

Alistair chuckled. “He said the same to me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered delivering that message.”

Despite his shortened temper, Raviathan found himself smiling in response. “You don’t like mages?”

“Oh, I’m fine with mages. As long as they don’t turn me into a toad, we get along swimmingly.”

“Yes, I could see.” So far Alistair seemed nice enough. Not that first impressions meant much with humans, fickle as their natures were.

“So,” Alistair said to fill in the silence as they walked, “just out of curiosity, have you ever encountered a darkspawn before?”

“Have you?”

“Yes. Only once though. I just want to warn you before you see one. They can be terrifying creatures. The taint, once you feel it, it’s like nothing else. Just remember, their blood may be black, but they bleed all the same. At least, that’s what Duncan says.”

Only fought darkspawn once? “Haven’t you fought in the battles thus far?”

“Well, no.” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been kept out of the main fighting. Work along the supply chain, relay messages, that sort of thing. Now that we have more recruits, I expect I’ll be fighting soon. Tonight in all likelihood.”

“How long have you been a Warden?”

“About six months now.”

Raviathan mulled that information over. Alistair was still young. Perhaps Duncan wanted him to have more experience first. That still seemed overly cautious though. Was the human a coward, begging off fighting because he was afraid of the darkspawn? No, obviously that wasn’t the reason given this Alistair’s excitement for battle.

“Yeah,” Alistair continued to prattle on. “Duncan saw me at a tourney. I owe him a lot for recruiting me. Maker, anything to get me out of the templars was a blessing.”

Heart thudding, Raviathan felt his blood turn to ice, little crystalline shards numbing his hands and feet. His stomach clenched as the hated word rang in his ears.

Templar. Mage hunter. No, not in the Wardens. Not one of them.

Seemingly oblivious to Raviathan’s reaction, the Templar chatted nonsense as he led Raviathan through the camp. A templar of all things! Why by the Maker’s bloody ass did Duncan send a templar? He hadn’t even warned Raviathan that there was a templar in the Wardens. Was this some kind of test?

Damn shems. Damn them all. Of course the nice, harmless looking shem would be a templar. There wasn’t a single one of them who wasn’t a backstabbing, lying, traitorous...

“ ... according to legend, the fog around here was caused by werewolves ages ago. Don’t know exactly how they managed that. Werewolves creating fog. Do they emit mist or something?”

... idiotic, overbearing, ruthless...

“Then there are those stories about dryads and wisps luring people to their deaths. Who would follow a strange, bobbing light in the forest though? You’d have to be nutters to leave common sense behind like that.”

... disgusting son of a bastard. Bastards the lot of them. Bastards and sons of bastards.

“There’s Ser Jory and Daveth now.”

The only thing that calmed Raviathan’s anger was Duncan’s look of shock at seeing the templar. “Alistair. I ordered Tarimel to gather the recruits.”

“Yes, Duncan, but the King wanted to speak with him, so he asked me. Besides, it’s the most junior Warden who escorts the new recruits.” Alistair shifted nervously as if worried he had done something wrong. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” Duncan said, resuming his brisk manner as Commander.

Raviathan caught a quick flash of apology from Duncan, enough that he understood Duncan’s intent without hinting to the others that there was sensitive information. A tiny bit of resentment lingered, but Raviathan knew he had already forgiven Duncan and was just waiting for his temper to settle. Raviathan’s temper had been horrid today. He would need more than a nap to settle his nerves. Sleep and a respite from a looming battle would even him out.

“You three will be going into the Korcari Wilds.”

Daveth’s shoulders slumped while Jory’s small eyes widened at the news. With a start, Raviathan recognized Jory as the pinheaded knight who had been at prayer earlier that morning. Oh, wonderful. Jory glanced at him, his lips thin, as a shared understanding that they were not going to be friends passed between them. Maker, how much worse could this day get? Not that Raviathan expected to get along with everyone in the Wardens, but first a templar and now this pompous bag of piety? Raviathan issued a mental stream of cursing that impressed even him. Maker’s swollen, virulent cock. The rest of the Wardens were not looking promising.

His attention returned when crystal cut vials were handed to each recruit.

“As part of your Joining, you will be required to gather three vials of blood from darkspawn you have killed yourselves,” Duncan said.

“But, but, isn’t the blood toxic?” Jory asked.

“It is. However, you will be immune to that toxicity as a Grey Warden.”

Jory glanced at the other two recruits, measuring their reactions. When he saw calm from Raviathan and Daveth, the knight’s face pinched, the lines of his nostrils deepening as if he was standing by the privy runoff. “How long before the taint takes effect? Will we be able to return in time if we become tainted?”

“Most definitely,” Duncan said. “This has been part of the Joining for ages. Conquering your fear of darkspawn and knowledge of the taint are required to be a part of our Order.”

“Makes sense.” Daveth shrugged at the news.

“In addition,” Duncan continued, “there was once an outpost here. The main hoard has shift further west, so the area should be passable by now. Though the outpost may be in ruins, I would like you to check for some treaties of the Grey Wardens. With the darkspawn forces amassing, we will need to remind certain parties of their obligations. Tension is growing among the dwarves last I visited Orzammar, and I am encountering greater resistance from the Circle. The treaties should only be a formality; however, luck favors the prepared.”

“Treaties? Out here,” Alistair asked, his brow furrowing. “Seems an odd place to stash them.”

“During Sophia’s time. The Wardens expected to return to the outpost when the civil war was over.”

“All this time and in this climate?” Raviathan shook his head. “Parchment wouldn’t last two hundred years.”

“Lyrium etched and sealed safely against the elements,” Duncan said.

Lyrium, Raviathan thought in wonder. He had heard his aunt’s account of the substance, how it felt like pure magic being infused into her body. The suffuse of magic was intoxicating. Solyn said she felt like she was lighter than air, flying, that colors were brighter, that with the substance becoming one with her soul, all things seemed possible. The Chantry’s control of the elixir meant that any lyrium that could be found outside the Circle was smuggled, worth as much as gold, and marked one instantly as an apostate or in league with apostates. While Solyn mourned the loss of the precious liquid, acquiring it would be worth more than their lives. Raviathan thrilled with the possibility of seeing the stuff even if it were unusable by him.

With the rest of the instructions given, the party moved out by the west gate and down the winding path that lead south then east to the wilds below. Alistair led as he was the only one who had been outside the main fortress. Daveth caught Raviathan’s arm so the two could hang back from the others.

“Alright, elf. How’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“That girl.”

Raviathan blinked in shock then narrowed his eyes, giving the shem a disgusted glare. “I am not speaking of that. Do not ask again.”

Daveth frowned at the elf. “Maker, you are a touchy one.”

“Touchy?” He stopped, shoving Daveth so the two were facing each other. “What I do with a woman is none of your business. Do you understand that?”

Surprised, Daveth took a step back. “No. I mean, how’d you talk her into ‘er tent? Surely that ain’t a secret.”

“You ... want to know how I convinced her?”

“Yeah. You thought...” Daveth laughed, an easy sound, and Raviathan could see the laugh lines that would develop over the years. “No, nothing like that. Trust me, once I get them there, I know exactly what I’m doing.” Hands on his hips, Daveth thrust his pelvis out, a cocky grin on his face. “Oh yeah. Only satisfied darlings in my wake.”

His smile turning into a chuckle, Raviathan resumed walking. Daveth wasn’t so bad, and it would be good to have an ally in the Wardens. “She wasn’t hard.”

“For you. Come on. Give a bloke some tips.”

Ahead of them, Jory sniffed in disdain. Raviathan raised an eyebrow at the knight’s back, but it wasn’t like they were going to get along any time soon. Who cared what that shem thought.

“Two things you’ve got to understand,” Raviathan said. “One, everyone here is afraid, so they’re all looking for ways to relieve that stress. Add in some boredom as we wait around for a battle, that nervous energy needs a release. Some gamble, others spar.”

“So why didn’t she go for me?”

Raviathan shook his head. “Because you went about it all wrong. Look, she’s pretty. She’s got guys like you going after her from every direction. Her defenses are up, and all that attention makes some women feel slimy. They’re tired of being pawed at and men only wanting to use them. What you do is not come on to her. Get her attention, see if you can make her laugh, be interesting, but don’t be sexual. In fact, look like sex is the last thing on your mind. Once she’s comfortable and interested, you start moving away. Have her come after you. That puts her in control, so she’s the one deciding what she’s going to do rather than being pressured by what you want from her.”

Daveth looked gob smacked. “But, how do you know she’ll follow you?”

“If you’ve been interesting, she’ll being interested in return. I told you before; everyone is afraid. She wants the pressure of battle gone. Not be reminded of it,” Raviathan said, emphasizing the last statement.

“Ah, Maker.” Daveth’s shoulders slumped, head leaning back in realization. “Never thought of it like that.”

The two continued to talk as they moved further and further from the fortress. Twice Jory looked back at them in disgust, the second time earning a two fingered gesture from Daveth at his armored back.

Once they were in the valley, Raviathan glanced up at the fortress. From here the battlements seemed unassailable, lonely as mountain crags and as uncaring as it stared centuries out across the endless winds. Stone blended seamlessly from the rugged cliffs, the whole backdrop blurred by a haze of fog. The Tower of Ishal stood in lonely silence, a slowly crumbling soldier that had lost his purpose long ago. The scent of stale bog water permeated the air. Though the swamp was fertile with moss draped trees, mangroves, and thick clumps of vegetation, there was the underlying scent of decay.

The Wilds were like a rotting corpse with maggots feasting, death with life growing out of that death, Raviathan thought. A desiccated log teemed with a long row of bright purple mushrooms on pale stocks, no doubt poisonous. Life grew in this place, succumbed back into earth, and grew again, each time turning a shade darker. The Wilds were alive in the way a parasite is alive, leaching off a weakening host, killing its own source of life in a ruthless drive for survival. With care not to touch, Raviathan cut a few of the mushrooms with a knife, letting them fall into an empty jar he kept in his healer’s kit.

“You know what that is?”

Raviathan glanced up at Daveth. The two knights had moved further down the path, Jory turning to cast another irritated glance their way. Jory was worse than some nervous aunt fluttering over them, Raviathan thought. “Looks poisonous. Thought I’d check them out later.”

“Heh. Exotic too. Won’t be many who know what it is or how to treat it.”

The mist clung to Raviathan like a cold sweat, making his clothing and armor an irritant. Speaking of irritants ... Raviathan glanced up to see the other two were far enough ahead not to overhear them. “Say, what do you know about Alistair?”

“Him?” The rogues resumed following, their voices hushed in confidential tones. “Nice enough guy. Been itching to fight. Decent fighter, so I don’t know why they’re keeping him out of the battles. He and Duncan are really close.”

“They are?”

“Yeah. Follows the old man around like a puppy. Duncan favors him too. Not so much it’s a problem for the rest of the Wardens, but I see it. Wardens are fond of Alistair too, like he’s everyone’s little brother.” Daveth shrugged. “Eh. The old man is fair, so it don’t bother me none.”

Nibbling his lip, Raviathan thought that over. Duncan wouldn’t know to warn him about Alistair until last night. Given what happened with the darkspawn ambush, Duncan forgetting was understandable. In fact, his Commander was probably overwhelmed with concerns now that they had joined the rest of the army. That Duncan favored Alistair might be troublesome if Raviathan hadn’t caught the flash of apology from his Commander. What in the Maker’s name was he going to do about the templar though? Were the Wardens truly immune from the politics of the Chantry? Unease turned Raviathan’s stomach as he watched the mage hunter’s back.

Distance was difficult to measure in the Wilds as the path twisted, vision reduced to the next bend of moss dripping tees, looping vines, and enveloping mist. Only the occasional lake allowed any depth to the forest, a dark mirror with a sporadic ripple from some unseen underwater dweller snapping an insect out of the thick air. Frogs and insects hummed, a continuous drone that reduced Raviathan’s ability to sense sound. He felt like he walked with a layer of wet wool wrapped around his head, the fog of the swamp slowing his mind, making him feel half asleep and dull.

The heavy copper stench was their only warning. Rounding a bend, the bodies of humans littered a small clearing. Raviathan gazed at the bodies, his chest tightening. Why should he be effected so? He had caused a greater loss of life at Vaughan’s estate. Blood and fire filled his memory, emotions he couldn’t name chasing him down. Pools or deepening red absorbed by soil, absorbed by carpets. Armored bodies, scattered, cut, ripped, blood pouring out like water from a cracked jug.

“Darkspawn,” Alistair said.

“Darkspawn did all this?” Jory turned a sickly, almost green shade.

Couldn’t he feel the taint? Raviathan shut the memories down. He couldn’t afford such distractions now they were in dangerous territory. This was the discipline his aunt had taught him, the ability to shut down his emotions so he could heal his friends and neighbors, the cold, clinical distance necessary for him to work effectively instead of giving in to the panic his love wanted to let flow.

The taint on the soldiers was not as strong as the blight wolves, but it was as pervasive as the mist. A dozen or so men lay in the clearing. Kneeling, Raviathan examined the soldiers’ wounds while Daveth inspected the bodies for coin. The wounds were rough, jagged tears, more like the rip of lacerations than cuts from a weapon. Raviathan would expect that kind of injury from an animal’s teeth but these were longer. Claws perhaps? Shrieks would leave these types of injuries, but Duncan said those darkspawn were very rare. Besides, the wounds were not in rows like claws would make. If not claws, darkspawn weaponry must be primitive.

A moan brought Raviathan from his thoughts.

“Well. Looks like he’s not completely dead,” Alistair said when one of the soldiers moved.

What an assholish thing to say! But then, why should he be surprised that templars lacked any sense of compassion. Pulling his healer’s kit around, Raviathan hurried to the soldier. After fumbling with the soldier’s armor, Raviathan examined the wound in his side. He spoke as he worked. “It’s not deep. I’m going to pack elfroot over your wound. That will disinfect and start the healing. Once you’re back at the fortress, you’ll need stitches. Are you injured anywhere else?”