I reached into my satchel, pulled out the rune. Placed it against the artifact and channeled energy. Nothing. The rune remained dark, the artifact as well. I wrapped it back up again.
“It’s a fake.” It didn’t make any sense.
“The hell does that mean?” There was a note of confusion in her voice. Not that I blamed her.
“One of two things, I’m guessing. First off, there were two robberies. Either the first robber stole the real Folly, and the Chantry replaced it with a fake, which the Qunari found and then subsequently discarded—”
She shook her head. “No. The way it was sitting, it’s been there for a few weeks, at least.”
That made even less sense. But I pressed on.
“Or the first robber stole a fake, and the Chantry replaced it with the real one. ’Least until they could make another convincing fake.” I nodded at the leather-wrapped package in my hands. “Probably figured it out once they were away.”
“Which means…” Irian started.
I nodded. “The Qunari have the real one.”
The whole thing had gotten a lot more complicated. But at least we had an idea where we needed to go. Once we got there—once we got the artifact back—we could figure out the rest. I placed the package in my satchel. Still might be useful.
“So, where do we go from here?” she asked. It was a good question.
“First, we do something with this fake. Put it someplace safe. We can’t find the real one, maybe the client won’t know the difference?” I doubted it. She’d given me the rune, after all. Still, I felt better having it as an insurance policy. “And then? We go after the Qunari.” I held up the note I’d retrieved. “Any idea what they mean by home?” I asked. Already knowing the answer—no way it’d be that easy. Of course not.
“It’s in code. I could probably break it eventually, but…” She shrugged. “It’d take a while. Longer than I imagine we have.”
I sighed. A dead end. Dammit. I didn’t want to return the money, but I didn’t see any other way. Visions of losing our home, of being kicked out onto the streets, danced through my head.
No. I had to think. There had to be something we could do. I frowned, chewing my lip. Come on.
The blood. Of course.
“Let me see that note.” She handed it to me wordlessly. I took a deep breath, focused my energy. Hoped there was enough blood—now that was a phrase that felt authentically Tevinter. I let the energy flow through my staff, into the letter, into the blood.
I let my mind go blank. Several minutes went by, and I was beginning to think that the blood was too old, to dry, to work, when I got it. Flashes of images—a dock, a twin lighthouse. The smell of salt in the air, the feeling of spray on the skin. A flag I didn’t recognize. Impressions. And then they disappeared. I took a deep breath.
“Well?” asked Irian. I described what I’d seen to her. She listened carefully. When I’d finished, she sighed and shook her head.
“Recognize any of it?” I asked. She nodded. “Well?”
“I know where they are. And I know that you’re not going to like it.”
* * *
I shrunk back against the wall, making myself as inconspicuous as possible as, in front of me, guards marched by in formation. I’d dressed nondescriptly, a rough-spun brown tunic over a top of gray pants and scuffed leather boots, but I still felt like I stood out. Like they could tell I was Tevinter by some indescribable quality I possessed. I wondered if I smelled like Minrathous.
Kont-aar was fairly low on my list of places I wanted to go. It wasn’t the weather—which was warm. Or the scenery—which was pleasant. It wasn’t even that it was part of Rivain, which had a less-than-cordial relationship with Tevinter. It was that, as a town, they’d decided that the Qun made sense, and so they’d all converted. And the Qunari liked Tevinter less than most.
There was a tap on my shoulder. I nearly screamed but bit down on my tongue. Not a great way to keep hidden. I turned around, working under the assumption that if this were the Qunari here to take me away, they wouldn’t have warned me.
It was only Irian, her expression tinged with faint amusement. She’d changed clothes—now she wore the brown leathers of the other elves we’d seen around town, those who’d pledged allegiance to the Qun.
“Find anything out?” I asked, my heart racing. She nodded.
We’d tracked the thieves to the ship in front of us. It hadn’t been hard. Well, not hard for her. No one had wanted to talk to me—I’d covered my Tevinter accent with a Ferelden one that Irian claimed made me sound like a dying frog.
But they’d spoken to her easily enough. Once she’d spread a little coin around, at least.
No one had said, “The Ben-Hassrath are over on dock seventeen,” of course, but you could tell a lot by what they weren’t saying. Reading the words in the silences was something you learned early on in Tevinter. We were a passive-aggressive nation.
Everyone had gone to great lengths not to mention dock seventeen. Great and obvious lengths. Nothing else in town got that same sort of treatment, but whenever the conversation turned to the waterfront, no one spoke of dock seventeen. Whoever had taught them to be careful hadn’t done a great job. I didn’t plan to correct that training.
After that, it hadn’t been too difficult to find the dock. Going with the theme of the day, it was, of course, isolated, almost impossible to keep an eye on. At least, if you were me. Irian had an easier time of it. She blended in with the other elves, their serious and grim demeanor coming easily to her, so she’d gone off to scout ahead while I loitered, trying not to draw too much attention to myself.
Irian sat down beside me. “They’ve been taking on supplies. Food to last a lengthy journey. Barrels of food—salted pork and smoked fish. More freshwater, gaatlok, that sort of thing. Sounds as though they’re planning on leaving port within the day.” Damn. That wasn’t good. That I’d been able to track them to Kont-aar was a small miracle. No chance I’d be able to do track them again.
We needed to act right away. Which meant one of two things. Either a frontal assault—and I really didn’t want to do that. Or stealth. That seemed like the safer option, but there was only one way in and out of a Qunari ship. And while Irian might be able to pass for a local, I felt like I probably couldn’t.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked. She looked me up and down critically and then gave me a smile. I didn’t like that smile.
“How do you feel about salted pork?”
* * *
I’d never thought of myself as claustrophobic. Of course, that was easier to say when I wasn’t packed in a barrel, surrounded on all sides by salted pork. Not to mention how much I’d needed to contort just to fit in there.
I quite liked the taste of salted pork. Or at least, I did. I was pretty sure that I’d never be able to look at it again. The smell filled my world, and I only hoped that the air holes cut in the barrel would be enough. I didn’t want to die with pork as my last memory.
There was a jostling movement, a heavy thud, and I felt the pork move around me. I was being carried. I could hear the faint murmur of conversation, muffled by the wood of the barrel and the thick slabs of meat.
We’d counted about three hundred paces from where they kept their supplies to the ship itself, and I counted them in my head. Waiting for a barked command, for the thud as my barrel was dropped, pried open. But it didn’t come. I could hear the guard at the boat exchange pleasantries with whoever was carrying me, and then we were up a ramp, down a set of stairs.
The barrel was placed, carefully, on the ground, and the sound of footsteps receded. I waited. A hundred count. Two hundred. I was levering open the top of the barrel when I heard voices. Shit. I hunkered back down. Hoped no one would investigate my barrel too closely.
The voices nearby were muffled, but the words were clear enough.
“Did anyone get a good look at the two of them?” A male voice. It sounded elven.
“No,
sir.” Female. A little deeper. Qunari, maybe.
“Take half the guards. Sweep the taverns and the docks. Find them. They must be here for the artifact. And if they are, chances are they’re working for him. We cannot risk them making their way onto the ship.” I had an idea as to who he meant by them. Not sure who he meant by him, though. But it seemed we’d made our move just in time.
“Yes, Gatt.”
One set of footsteps. Heavy, booted. They receded. Several moments passed. The other voice, the male, sighed, and then a second set of footsteps receded. The heavy thud of the door swinging shut. I gave it another minute, and then emerged, brushing salted pork bits out of my hair, off my cloak.
I was in the hold. It was filled with shelves. They stretched into the distance, forming corridors, small rooms. Each was stacked high with boxes, Qunari writing on the outside.
I opened one at random. A magical artifact—not the one I was looking for, though. Examination of a couple more turned up the same thing. And inside each crate, written notes. So more than just stockpiling—they were studying them. I shook my head. This wasn’t getting me anywhere.
The door opened, and I tensed. Nowhere to hide. But it was only Irian. Still wearing the Qunari leathers from earlier, she’d made it on to the dreadnought herself. But there was a notable absence of salted pork odor. She looked at me. I glared at her, daring her to say something. She just smiled.
I gestured at the room, at the shelves of crates that seemed to stretch on forever. “I don’t know how we’re going to find Dumat’s Folly in all of this.”
“We need to split up. You take north, I’ll take south,” she said, already opening crates. She was right. We needed to spread out our efforts. Hope one of us got lucky.
“Fine. Warn me if you hear them, though?”
She nodded.
“Will do. And I promised I won’t get … boared.” She kept the laughter out of her voice, but it was a close thing, and I could tell she was struggling. No respect.
I moved down the shelves to where they formed another large alcove. The task in front of us was enormous. And I doubted we had much time before someone else came down here. I sighed.
Think. I looked around the room, back at the makeshift hallway where the shelves stretched farther back into the ship. Boot prints—but none as fresh as those in here. I had to guess they’d packed the ship from the outside in. So whatever they’d packed last was most likely to be close to the entrance.
There was a thin layer of dust on several of the crates. I ruled those out—the Folly wouldn’t have been on the ship for more than a couple of days. Not long enough to get dusty. That left six. The first four were more dead ends. But the fifth …
I opened the crate. Dumat’s Folly. I smiled. All right. I reached into my satchel and pulled out the rune that my client had given me. I wanted to make sure the artifact was the real thing before I took it back—not that I had any reason to believe otherwise, but I’d promised my client I’d verify first. I moved the rune toward the object and it started to vibrate, to glow.
I hesitated. Something was wrong. The rune was thrumming with energy—and I could feel the artifact reacting to it. But the magic was wild, and what’s more—I could feel it growing. It was hungry. I started to turn, to find Irian.
“Well done.”
The voice came from behind me. Magic was already flooding through me as I tried to create a defense. Too late. Energy enveloped me, and I felt my muscles spasm. My staff clattered to the ground and I fell sideways, stunned, my head bouncing off the floor hard enough to send stars dancing across my vision.
She emerged from deeper into the ship. A lone elf. My client. She’d traded her thick winter clothing for a simple robe, embroidered with an unknown symbol, her hair brushed back, away from her pointed ears.
She strode toward me, calmly, unhurrying. Not that she needed to hurry. I couldn’t move a muscle. A paralysis spell, and a pretty strong one at that. She knelt beside me and gave me a look that mixed pity with contempt. She reached down, pried my fingers open.
The rune that she’d given me—she held it aloft, examining it critically. Muttered a single word over and over again: “Felassan, Felassan, Felassan.” There was a hum, and the rune began to glow a steady and unpleasant red. I’d been around enough magic to know that was probably not a good thing.
“I hired you for a reason. I am glad that my trust was not misplaced. You did well, for a shem.” The last word was tinged with something close to disgust. I couldn’t move my mouth to scowl, so I had to settle for thinking some very unflattering thoughts.
“Who put you up to this?” I asked. Or tried to. My mouth still wasn’t working properly—the paralysis had affected my whole body, so it came out as “Oo hoot hoo hup ho his?” She smirked. Guess she’d understood well enough.
“I act freely. For the Dread Wolf. To bring back what was once ours—what must be ours again.” Dread Wolf. Crap. I’d heard the rumors, of course—dozens of elves, off to heed the call of some god. Guess I’d found one of them, at least. “The Qunari left sooner than I’d expected—their trail grew cold. But I had you. You found them for me. Found the weapon. I knew you would. Now see what you have helped me accomplish.”
“And the real Dumat’s Folly?” I could move my lips now, but the words were still hard to form. She looked at me, her expression cold.
“Back in Minrathous. Or it was. I had no need for it. Once I took it from the palace, I buried it.” So what we’d found in the city was the real thing. Replaced with something else—which the Qunari had then stolen. But why go to all that trouble to have them take it?
I got my answer. She held the rune up, pressed it against Dumat’s Folly. The two seemed to melt together, the rune becoming a part of the artifact. It began to glow, pulsing rhythmically. A little bit brighter each time. The air started to grow warm. I didn’t know what it meant, but probably something bad.
And something else. Energy streamed to the device from each crate I’d opened. From the ground, a magic dagger I’d dropped in my hurried search glowed, a line of energy connecting it to the artifact—and then it crumbled, the dagger turning to dust in front of my eyes. That also seemed bad.
“It is an ingenious device. Not a piece of the Black City, like the true Dumat’s Folly, but taken from the same time. It draws magic into itself. Stores it, and then when it is full…” She clasped her hands together and then pulled them apart. The universal sign for something exploding. Yeah. Not good.
“And now…” She sighed. “I am afraid that this really is the end. You are resourceful. I doubt you could do much now, but just in case.” She drew a small crystal from her robe. It started to crackle with energy, and she pointed it at me. “Take comfort that in your sacrifice, the glory of the true people will be restored.”
There was a crack, the thud of flesh on flesh, and she fell to the ground. Behind her stood Irian, rubbing her fist. She stepped around the crumpled form and knelt beside me, helping me up. The feeling was returning to my limbs now, and I was able to stagger to my feet, stiff-legged and sore.
“About time.” Or close enough. My mouth still wasn’t fully recovered from the paralysis.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear her immediately, and then when I did, I figured I should wait for an opening.” She shook her head. “Each one of those damned Fen’Harel cultists. ‘Ooh, if we blow up enough people, ancient Elvhenan is definitely coming back.’” She caught my questioning glance. “They tried to recruit me a few years ago. I said no.”
“Is there anyone out there that hasn’t tried to recruit you?” I asked. She shrugged in response. I felt like that was answer enough.
There was a groan from behind us. The other elf, regaining consciousness. I growled in the back of my throat, stalked over to where she lay. Grabbed her by the front of her robe, lifting her into the air. She blinked her eyes slowly, and then they focused on me. Realization, followed by hatred. I didn’t care. The feeling was mutual.
> “You. You’re going to help us. And if you don’t…” I snarled.
Her teeth clenched. Green foam started to fill her mouth. I dropped her to the ground and she started spasming, her legs drumming on the wooden deck. Her back arched once, twice, and then she was still. I knelt beside her and put my fingers to the side of her throat. Nothing. Dead. Dammit.
“And that’s the other reason I didn’t join. Death before capture. Not my sort of thing at all.” Irian shook her head. Looked up at the device. It was starting to get very warm.
“Can you disable the device?” Irian’s voice was steady, calm. I shook my head.
“No. Can’t get close enough.” I picked up a piece of wood from the floor and threw it toward the object. There was a flash and it disintegrated. “Too much energy buildup.”
She met my gaze, her eyes steady. “So that’s it, then.” She sighed. “I guess it’s a bad time to say I was right about this job?”
I chuckled. Couldn’t help it. “No. Can’t think of a better time.”
She rested her head on my shoulder. I embraced her, and she leaned into me.
“Thousands of people.” The words were little more than a whisper. “A whole town, gone. Because of us.”
She was right. If I hadn’t taken the job. If I hadn’t found the note, found the blood. If I hadn’t tracked the artifact to Kont-aar. To this ship—
I paused. Ship. We were on a ship. I laughed, and Irian looked at me as if I’d gone crazy.
“Come on!” I shouted, and ran out the door toward the deck above.
* * *
I emerged into the sunlight, blinking. The day was beautiful and warm. The deck was empty. The sails sat limply, the wind little more than a breeze. Not great—it was going to make this whole thing a lot harder—but it wasn’t the end of the world either. I had other ways to make the ship move.
Beside me, behind me, Irian emerged at a run. I pointed at the sails.
“Can you rig them?” I asked. She nodded, moving past me without stopping. Good. I didn’t need to explain my plan.
Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights Page 47
