Darius, unaware of their new problem, spoke up, "To the center of Asariel. There is an open air market located upon the old Imperium's circus ground, one of the largest."
"A slave market," Cullen spat, needing to dig deeper into that wound. His fingers itched just being near this many mages -- countless could be malifecarum or worse. Would abominations themselves walk freely through the streets?
"Yes," Darius bowed his head, "a slave market. One we will be disrupting, hopefully permanently."
Cullen's eyes trailed a woman with her hair rolled up like plump sausages, each link pinned around her head in a circle. Three elves trailed behind her, they couldn't have been much older than ten or twelve but they didn't behave like children given free run at market day. Their heads hung low out of fear of risking eye contact, while the tallest one held onto his mistress' skirts to keep them out of the dust.
"Are you a magister?" Cullen asked.
Darius chuckled, "You do draw from the south. No, I am not."
"But you're of high standing, a mage in the Imperium. An altus?"
That drew the mage's attention, his baggy eyes twisting towards the southern barbarian who never managed to knot that cursed shawl over his head. "You are aware of our...? Yes, I am an altus, but it is complicated. More complicated than I'd prefer to go into."
Cullen shrugged. "I only wonder what would push someone of the higher class to risk his neck for sl- the elves."
"I wish there was an easy answer to that. Some momentous event when perhaps a slave saved my life and asked only for freedom as recompense. A heartwarming story to appease people uneasy with their higher lot in the life. There are a few in our small group who bare those tales, but I'm afraid mine is not as simple to pin down," Darius slowed and shook both of his hands as if knocking away excess water after washing them. "While some try to enact change within the laws of the Imperium, others prefer a more direct approach. I, without the backing of my sundered family, require the latter."
Cullen suspected as such, or something similar. People didn't break out of their bubble unless they felt they had no other choice. It was a rare person living in a secure position to throw it all away because of the injustice heaped upon someone who wasn't them, who didn't touch their life.
Darius coughed, his steps slowing to a crawl, "If I may be so bold, the, um..."
"King," Cullen threw out.
"He mentioned you being a templar. Is that true?"
"I was a templar, I am no longer. Haven't been for many years, in fact," Cullen sighed. He had no idea what he'd have to do to get the man to stop calling him that, but it'd probably involve a board and rapping it against Alistair's crown.
"Forgive the intrusion, I am only curious of a niggling fact. If you will indulge me, had I been born in the south would I not have been taken from my family and placed forever in one of your circles?"
"The circles no longer exist," Cullen said fearing he knew where this line of questioning was going.
"But they did for hundreds of years, and most of your people - the nobility, the merchants, the fishermen - they would think nothing of the plight of mages. To have people forced against their will to be trapped within a tower or, I even heard, some were held in dungeons."
"Mages could come and go with permission, once they'd proven themselves capable of withstanding the temptation of the fade." He hadn't despised the magister before, but now a sneer crawled up Cullen's face and refused to leave. Out of all the arguments he thought he'd get into on the trip, this was the furthest one he'd feared. Though the day was young, perhaps Alistair would finally pluck up the courage to ask him about his bedroom antics with Lana. It didn't seem beyond the pale now.
"And those who didn't perform properly, didn't appreciate the gifts their masters -- sorry, Chantry -- gave to them, they were punished, yes? Not beaten or chained, but had their link to the fade severed."
"I know what correlation you are driving at, and it is not comparable," Cullen hissed. "Mages can be dangerous, to others, to themselves. The circles protected, were supposed to protect mages as much as restrain them."
Darius nodded that patrician face, his aquiline nose sniffing as if he first smelled the horse shit piling up in the street. "Interesting. If you were to only protect mages then why were children born to mages plucked from their mother's breast before their first cry? Taken by the chantry to never be seen by those who gave them life? All in the name of Andraste and what was best for the people?"
"What is your point other than to antagonize me?"
The mage's thin lips slipped up in not a smile but a ruefully smirk, "When you joined the templars, offered up yourself to them for life, you must have agreed with every tenet of the order, every bad choice made for the sake of the rest?"
"It's not that simple," Cullen growled.
"It never is," Darius smirked again. Cullen found himself missing Dorian. Sure, he could be a pain in the ass and gave him a splitting headache, but at least he wasn't a smug bastard about it. "Hate the Imperium if you must, templar. Despise every inch of it out of fear or misunderstanding, but we see just as much pain and misery in the south as you do in the north."
Now he understood. This wasn't some concerned citizen who stood up one day to fight for the slaves. He must have owned some, his family, or perhaps personally. For years he thought of them as little more than furniture that came with his lifestyle, as disposable as a bangle. Cullen could call him out on it, try and drag out that hypocritical past Darius tried to shy away from, but there seemed little point. He had his own demons to slay, and none of them included a small time Tevinter mage who needed to feel better about his life choices.
Unwilling to retort to Darius' gotcha response because Cullen refused to tell him of his own past with mages the two men glared upon each other. Cullen feared how long the silence would last with denizens curious about the stranger among them, when he was rescued by the king loping up the side with Honor upon his heel. He carried a doughy pastry stretched across the full length of his arm, while the mabari kept lapping up the juices dribbling off Alistair's elbow and down his pants. Maker, she was going to smell terrible later.
"No idea what this is, but it's amazing!" the king crowed. With his fingers, he dug into a section and passed the doughy offering to Cullen.
He weighed it in his hand as some kind of ground meat and boiled vegetable medley spilled out of the wrap. "How can you consume so much food? It is baffling to me," Cullen said. Then he took a soft bite of the meat dough. A sweet spice clung through the savory textures while juices dripped off the vegetables, flat and soft from boiling. It wasn't half bad, all things considered.
Alistair slurped up an entire forearm's worth of the roll in a disgusting bite, then smiled, "It's my taint!"
"Um," Darius bounced back on his heels, wanting to say something to the king, but his tongue held in check by the crown.
Unaware of the uncomfortable pressure put upon their guide, Alistair continued grinning, "Lanny can put it away too when she has half a mind. The lone perk to being a Warden is our impressive taint."
A strange swell of camaraderie rose through Cullen even as Alistair mentioned Lana. He'd often assumed she bore a hollow leg given her preponderance for eating her way through a feast and love for anything doughy and/or tart. During a dinner at Skyhold, she - this tiny woman who barely skimmed above most people's chins - actually reached over to the Iron Bull's plate and asked if he was going to finish something off. Cullen had to excuse himself as fast as possible before he broke into a laughing fit from the look of shock upon the qunari's face. Maker's breath, he missed those little moments.
As if she could read his thoughts, Honor nuzzled against his leg, her flat head bouncing off him until she got the right number of pats. "Good girl," Cullen whispered to her, shaking away the emotion simmering in the air.
"Right, ah," Alistair hopped back and forth on his feet, then offered some of his dish to Darius, "Where are we heading? Are we there yet?"
"Nearly, your, um. Sir, would you mind covering your head?" The mage rolled his fingers around the crown of his head to mimic the scarf.
Alistair crammed the last quarter of his late breakfast into his mouth. Spraying crumbs, he scampered, "Got it," then draped the scarf upon his head as if it was a hood, the ornate ends dangling upon his shoulders.
"I, uh," the poor Tevinter had no idea how to dismiss royalty, so he waved his hand. "It will be sufficient. I pray. Come, the market will open soon and we should arrive quickly before hedoes."
While Darius led them deeper into the paths of other denizens of Asariel all winnowing towards some great open air amphitheater in the distance, Cullen whispered to the king. "What do you know of this Massimo?"
Never able to be serious, Alistair curled one hand up as if holding a platter, "No idea."
"And this he they keep speaking of."
The king rolled up the other hand in a full shrug, "Also no idea."
"So we're walking blind into what could be a trap placed by the Imperium hoping for royal blood, or a few mages out for whatever vengeance they could find against a southern templar," Cullen summed up.
"You can still turn back if you want. Isabela's ship can't have gotten too far and I assume you can swim," Alistair gestured in the wrong direction towards the Siren's Echo.
Swallowing down the foreign Tevinter dirt, Cullen shook his head, "No, I cannot."
"Hold your tongues," Darius commanded, for the first time raising his voice to the king. "We've arrived."
As Cullen stared around this sky open den of misery his first thought was it should have been raining. An azure sky with only cottony clouds to break up the sunlight belied the torture of people shuffled into caged carts about to be sold off like livestock. The market wasn't grimy and aged with splintered signs poorly painted advertising horrific wares. Crisp linens wafted in the breeze off each ten foot tall pole and stretching from stall to stall of important Tevinter families and businesses. Each stall bore a seal burned into a wooden sign. Some took the time to paint it while others would emboss it in gold. There were no signs indicating whose stall belonged to who, the assumption being everyone in the Imperium knew family seals better than their own language.
Cages lined the rim of the market, or more precisely, a single giant cage that stretched unending in a circle. Each stall was partitioned off by a wall, slotted in place that could be risen up like locks upon a dam from a mechanism dangling above their heads. The gears and most likely magic echoed out of the tevinter dragons flocking the columns ringing the open air theater. In the middle of the entire market stood a dais taller than even the dragon statues. Perched upon it was a throne, golden enough to be ostentatious without gaudy. No one currently occupied it, but Cullen had a good idea who it was meant for. A circus required a ringleader.
"This is despicable," he struggled to bite back his tongue, his fingers drifting towards the sword at his hip. Even the king of Ferelden, who seemed unflappable in the most flappable of situations, looked ill at ease, his peeling face turned down in a glower.
"Your job is not to judge," Darius hissed back at them, then he flipped around to face a woman dashing towards him. Ribbons trailed her like feathers would a molting bird.
"Darius, darling. It's so wonderful to see you," she smiled at him, then kissed his cheek. He returned it without his lips getting anywhere near her skin. "Have you seen the newest stock? It's all skin and bones, I fear. That's the problem with elves, it's impossible to fatten them up and the moment they come down with one of their filthy diseases they're wiped out instantly. Complete waste of your investment. I'd rather invest in the human stock coming next week. Hello," her dithering tone shifted to joy instantly as she turned to the men wandering behind Darius. "You've brought friends. Are they in the market to buy or sell?"
Cullen bit down the urge to slap her gilded hand away, while Darius jumped ahead of them, "They're with me, first time here from Minrathous where they're well known buyers for some of the...I shouldn't say."
"Stars and bodkins," the woman's green eyes lit up in greed, "are you saying they work for..." Whatever mystery patron she thought of, she seemed terrified to mention the name as it could summon a demon. Maker, in this heathen land perhaps it could. Instead, she zipped up her lips and nodded widely. "Well then, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she stuck out her hand hoping for someone to take it.
Both Cullen and Alistair shared a look, neither willing to throw themselves upon that petard. "Ah," Darius mumbled something so quickly in tevinter Cullen couldn't follow, and then smiled wide. "It's best to remain at a distance in case. They are looking out for you."
"Oh, such darlings. Well, when you're ready to shop you know where to find me," she smiled that turn of her painted lips like a shark tasting blood, then waved again. Scampering off to trounce upon others, the three men side eyed the woman as they slipped into the throngs.
"Fasta vaas, would it kill either of you to maintain cover?" Darius hissed for the first time showing real anger. "If anyone here suspects me, then the entire operation is endangered. I don't know if you're aware what ripple effect that would have but..."
"I am sorry," Cullen interrupted the rage.
"Me too," Alistair added. "We don't mean to mess up your life. Whatever you need from us, we'll do it. Just say the word and point."
Darius' feathered shoulder shuddered for a moment and he turned back to the royalty he reamed out. "Yes, of course, your um-ness. We need to approach this two fold. First, find Massimo and second, find the elf."
"If it's any elf you want, that should be rather easy," Alistair joked waving his hand around the proceedings, then he caught the sight of a woman barely out of girlhood struggling against her wrought iron manacles and his face fell.
Missing out on the forest for the trees, Darius spun around and hissed, "This isn't any elf, it's the elf. We, some call him the wolf, others the mortiferum."
"That sounds spicy," Alistair interrupted. "What's so special about this elf, unlike all the other not-special elves here?"
Darius' eyes flickered around at the layout filling quickly with tevinters looking to buy and browse, then he sighed, "For the past four or so years, he's traveled the Imperium taking down slave traders. Not only him, he's building his own pack of sorts, elves left in all the main cities to liberate others. Though soldiers in his little army fall, no one can obliterate it all. The makeup of the pack is always changing, the only consistency is their leader."
"Do you have any idea what this elf looks like?" Cullen asked.
The mage began to speak when Alistair interrupted him, "Does he have white hair, crazy spiky armor, and glowing tattoos across his body?"
"Yes, how did you know that?" Darius rounded on the king. Lifting both eyebrows, Alistair pointed behind him towards the entrance. Gasping echoed across the sunny grounds as the crowds recognized this wolf first. Scores of people scattered as fast as they could from the man and another dozen or so elves standing behind him. He glowed brighter than a chantry pyre, his skin a white hot blue as he waved a massive greatsword around his head. Something clanged in Cullen's memory but he couldn't quite bring it forward.
"Bring me Massimo!" the elf shouted, his voice deeper than a craggy canyon. The rest of his pack unsheathed their own weapons; a gamut of daggers, swords, bows, and even a few magic users.
"Stop the rats!" someone ordered from beside the dais. Cullen turned to trace the voice and spotted a good thirty guards erupting from behind it. There was no way this small posse could survive that many without help.
"So much for subtle," Darius sighed.
Unsheathing his sword, Cullen spun around fast, catching a thunderstruck guard in the chest. His body collapsed to the ground, coating the well manicured grass in blood. Before the others had time to recognize the new threat, Alistair leaped into the fray, his sword shattering against weaker arms and legs. Catching on that the elves weren't their only problem, two of the
guards tried to attack Cullen at once.
He dodged wide of the first attack, cursing not bringing his shield, then met the other with his sword. This stance left him open to a blow by the first guard, her sword drawn back to slice into his exposed side, when Honor's teeth bit down into the guard's thigh. She screamed, not expecting a mabari attack, and was about to slice into his dog, when Honor shook her head pinning her teeth deep into her prey. Then she crunched down harder, splitting the bone.
"This is madness," Cullen screamed, "there should be an order to the attack."
"Okay, go tell them that," Alistair jabbed a hand at the rallying guards, then yanked his sword out of a dead one's spine. "Or them," he added, turning around to wave at the glowing elf.Maker, that sounded familiar. He didn't have time to puzzle out that memory as the taste of the fade filtered into the world. Someone was casting magic, and in the Imperium, it was anyone's guess from where.
Dragging deep into the wells of the beyond where he never thought he'd touch again, Cullen dropped to a knee. It used to come so easily to him, to yank away their mana and leave them bereft, but his mind skipped away from the beyond. He couldn't touch the nothing because another heartbeat filled it. Shaking his head, he willed that foolish thought away.
"Any time, templar boy," Alistair called. "Hey, give me that," he yanked away one of the guard's shields then smashed him back in the face with it. Properly slotted on his arm, the king pounded a fist into the man's stomach then slashed his neck with the sword.
Like stepping into a frozen pond, Cullen gritted his teeth and dove fully into the blankness. A wave of dispelling erupted off his body, canceling all spells in every direction. He watched magister's fall back, shock twisting up their painted faces from someone daring to drain away their mana and blot away their spells. In his younger days he could have managed a radius twice that size. For now, he could only hope to take out the handful backing up the guards.
My Love Page 63
