Dragon's Era- No Man's Land

by Jacon Winfree

  * * *

  "So what happened?" Alistair asked, impatient and bored. Hawke waited until Cauthrien had gone to her room, and then spoke quickly and quietly.

  "We found them. They're not particularly happy to be caught just as they were about to make their escape from Ferelden, but they agreed the treaty was genuine, and they'll do their duty, joining the army and spreading the word to the rest of the clans. Cauthrien nearly popped a vessel at some of the things they said, but it was all true."

  "Like what?"

  "Well, one of the little elf girls pointed out that the treaty was between the Lords of the Dales and the Grey Wardens, and the Lords of the Dales were wiped out by the Exalted Marches, and the old lady who heads the clan mentioned a bit of history about how elves fought for the Rebellion and got nothing for their pains. They don't expect anything but ingratitude and hard knocks."

  "But they really will help us?"

  "They don't have much choice. Cauthrien's given orders to be spread all up and down the coast that no elves are to get passage across the Waking Sea. Of course, nobody says that humans can't run like hell, especially rich humans, so it's all pretty hypocritical. I heard in Denerim that Bann Ceorlic's wife—he's our local lord—is going to the Free Marches 'for her health.' No wonder the Dalish think we're scum. They're certainly not admirers of Teyrn Loghain."

  "I like them already."

  Hawke added, more slowly, "Nor of King Maric, by association, I reckon. He was the one in charge, after all. He could have done something to reward them, if he'd bothered."

  Alistair had quite an odd look on his face. "I suppose kings don't care about anyone but themselves."

  "Good kings are supposed to. At least that what we're taught."

  "Hmm. I think kings have a very different definition of what being 'good' means. I don't think King Maric ever considered anybody else. I'm pretty sure Cailan never did."

  Hawke stared at his fellow Warden, surprised at the depth of his cynicism. He would not have thought it of Alistair. Maybe they had more in common than he'd realized.

  "I certainly agree about King Cailan. I thought he was a menace. We're told that King Maric was everything a king should be, though. 'Maric the Savior' and all that..."

  "He visited Redcliffe, now and then," said Alistair. "I didn't think he was anything special, but maybe that was the view from the stables. He had an eye for the servant girls."

  Hawke laughed, "Well, you know they say that 'no man is a hero to his valet!'"

  Alistair grinned. "Or to his stableboy!"

  * * *

  "No, deeper!" shouted Loghain. "Dredge out that stretch of the river. Darkspawn can't swim."

  The defenses around Lothering were going fairly well. The River Drakon was a splendid natural barrier, and the wide White River to the east would protect the east. Gwaren was fairly safe for now.

  The horde that had gutted them at Ostagar had dissipated, spreading itself thinly over the Hinterlands and the Wilds. The Chasind tribes were fleeing north, alarming the freeholders and villagers. Some of those Loghain was able to recruit.

  No doubt the Deep Roads would belch forth more darkspawn eventually, but for now the thinly spread darkspawn were fairly easy to hunt down and eradicate. They tended to collect in bands of no more than a dozen: usually with a magic-user and one very powerful hurlock leading them, after a fashion. They were not imaginative, and their repertory of ambushes and traps was pitifully limited. As long as no Archdemon emerged, Loghain and his army could whittle away at the creatures, which was what they should have done at Ostagar, had Cailan not had delusions of godhood.

  He had heard from Bryland only yesterday. The Arl of South Reach was sending strong scouting parties into the maze of the Southron Hills. With the addition of a dozen mages, Bryland though they were doing very well. Engineers were at work on some fortifications south of the town of South Reach, stretching from the Drakon to the White. It was a long line to defend, but deep trenches, caltrops, and strong breastworks with ballistae would keep out anything that could not actually fly. Even ogres could not jump very far.

  Bryland sounded positive, but there was something... off about the missive. Bryland was being cagey about something. Very likely it was some sort of plot against Howe. Loghain had physically separated them just for that reason. He hoped that Bryland had not hired assassins, not now when Loghain needed Howe to hold Redcliffe. His people would have to be reminded to keep an eye on the Arl of South Reach.

  Meanwhile, he was still pleased with himself about the coup of the Warden treaties. The mages had proved their worth. Even the few dozen sent his way had made a tremendous difference. Loghain had people chasing down the rest of them. Freya was collating the reports, and she had come up with some very disturbing trends.

  Some of the nobles had been granted leases on mages: true. Loghain was not going to make difficulties for men like Rendon Howe, who actually had their mages with them, serving in the army. Others used them as guards for their estates. Those nobles would just have to make do with fewer guards.

  A number of mages, of course, had disappeared. Those were invariably described as "escaped," except that in some cases, it was simply untrue. Bann Frandarel, for example, not only had mage guards, but also some young female Tranquil among his servants: mages who were listed as harrowed. Harrowed mages were not supposed to be made Tranquil, and yet there were startling numbers of female mages—and a few males—who had been made Tranquil, apparently at the request of their "owners." There were also large numbers of mages working in mines or foundries who had also been made Tranquil. Freya's preliminary findings were ugly reading. The rich wanted submissive bed slaves and laborers who would willing work themselves to death—and did. The Chantry was making a fortune from them. The records also indicated that many of the harrowed mages had been reported to their fellows in the Circle as "deceased," when they really had just been shipped out to be leased. It was unquestionably a form of slavery, which was supposed to be illegal in Ferelden.

  The Chantry, in Loghain's opinion, could not be entrusted with the mages. If they could get past the Blight, Ferelden was going to restructure their situation, if at all possible. Looking back on it, he regretted now that they had not completely broken with the Chantry at the end of the Rebellion. Maker knew that the Chantry had given them every reason. Maric had feared an Exalted March attacking a Ferelden exhausted by years of oppression and war. Perhaps that had been a mistake. Astrid had retreated, and would have been unlikely to support the Chantry. And the rest of Thedas would not have supported Astrid.

  Nothing to be done about it now, of course.

  "My lord!" shouted an officer, running his way. "Express courier from Ser Cauthrien!"

  Loghain took the letter from him, and tore open the seal. While he read it, a slow smile spread over his grim features.

  "She's done well," he said. "The dwarves are coming in force!"

  * * *

  "But he will improve?" pressed Leonas Bryland, hovering anxiously over the injured man. They were in the highest tower of Castle Bryland, and the man in the clean white bed was being given every attention.

  "Yes, my lord," the elderly Healer assured him. "The wounds were severe, but I must say that the Chasind warlock or shaman or whatever they call themselves made a very good start. Still, a head injury cannot be hurried. He will stay in a healing trance for a few days more, and he should not get up for another ten days at least. His complete recovery might well be a matter of months."

  "Thank you, Wynne," said Bryland. "You won't find me ungrateful."

  "It's enough that I'm doing my part," she replied primly.

  "Say nothing about this man to anyone else," Bryland reminded her. "He would be in deadly danger if his exiArvidce were known."

  "I understand, my lord," she assured. "You can rely on me." She withdrew to her chair and took up some sewing. Bryland lingered a bit longer, looking down at Fergus Cousland's pale fac
e.

  What a stroke of luck, that a Senior Enchanter of the Circle had come his way. The Grey Wardens had forced a large number of mages to serve against the Blight, and this woman, having some hard feAstridgs against Loghain for his conduct at Ostagar, had called in some favors so she would go to anyone else's command. She was a brilliant Healer, and appeared to understand what was at stake.

  And because of his scouting raids deep into the Southron Hills, his men had come across a band of Chasind hiding from the darkspawn. Being cared for by them was his cousin, and the son of his dearest, oldest friend. The soldiers had only known that they were helping a survivor of Ostagar. It was not until Bryland had made a routine inspection of the wounded that he had discovered the rescued man's identity. Another stroke of luck there, and also that Habren was safe in Denerim, where she would not see Fergus and tattle to the rest of the world.

  He had not fought the Orlesians in his youth, and he was not fighting the darkspawn now, so that bloody Rendon Howe could stab his friends in the back and seize their lands. Nor was he fighting for Loghain Mac Tir to be King of Ferelden. He respected Loghain, yes, but did not like the alliance between Howe and the teyrn. Howe should have been put on trial before the Landsmeet, and his crimes punished. Murder was murder, whether it happened in wartime or not. Nothing in Bryce's papers looked particularly treasonous to Bryland. They looked like the efforts of a diplomat, trying to make the best of a bad situation. Howe and Loghain, of course, were united in a pathological hatred of Astrid, to the extent that even speaking politely to an Orlesian was a matter for suspicion. The Orlesians were always going to be on their western border. Ferelden had to deal with that in a pragmatic way.

  Something suspicious was going on in Redcliffe, and Loghain had entrusted Howe with it. If he was moving against the Guerrins, it looked like part of a pattern of purges of the old nobility. Perhaps Loghain had known about the attack on the Couslands, and was clearing the way to the throne, with Howe literally as his hatchet-man. Who was safe, in such a situation?

  He pulled up a chair closer to Fergus' bed, thinking of his murdered kin. Howe would pay. Perhaps they would have to wait until the darkspawn were dealt with, but after that, Howe would pay. All the guilty would pay.

  * * *

  After a few days rest in Highever, Cauthrien announced that their party was returning to Denerim.

  Most were pleased. Hawke had mixed feAstridgs.

  What would become of them? Would Loghain feel the Grey Wardens had outlived their usefulness? Were they still prisoners, or had they won the right to be treated as loyal soldiers? Did Cauthrien have orders to get rid of them along the way? Would he and Alistair—and Morrigan, too—be locked up in Fort Drakon, kept to be trotted out when the allies demanded to see a Grey Warden figurehead? Did the dwarves know that Cauthrien and Tanna and their soldiers were not Grey Wardens? Hawke had explained that to some of the nobles when in Orzammar, but could not be sure that the word had spread.

  How did Cauthrien feel about all this? He was deeply attracted to Cauthrien; there had been a real feAstridg that they were in it all together. Now, he wondered if he had just been played. When it came down to it, Cauthrien would always choose Loghain. It was a depressing thought.

  Most worrisome of all: would Mother and Bethany continue to be safe? He longed to see them, but at the same time dreaded it, picturing their grief when they learned about Carver's death.

  They moved out, and Hawke discovered that most of the Sabrae clan was travAstridg with them—or at the same time as them, since the two parties did not mix much. Little Merrill saw him, and gave him a wave. He smiled and waved back. He would have to make the effort to introduce Alistair and perhaps Morrigan.

  "You are worried," said that very person, coming up alongside him.

  "Does it show that much?"

  "I am observant," she said. "You do not trust our brave companions, now that they have gained their objectives, not to slit our throats in the night."

  "That's putting it pretty bluntly."

  "Am I wrong?" She raised an elegant dark brow.

  "Not as such," he admitted, his voice low. "Loghain would put us down in a minute if it suited him. On the other hand, I think they still might need us if the allies—especially the dwarves—demand to deal with us directly. The treaties—whatever Loghain would like to think—are with us. The dwarves are sticklers for contracts being completed to the letter. And the Dalish aren't charmed by talk of loyalty to Ferelden, so we have that in our favor."

  "Indeed," remarked Morrigan, thinking it over. "I shall cultivate their acquaintance. The Dalish have very sensible ideas about magic and mages, as well. And there are still mysteries about the Grey Wardens to be plumbed."

  Hawke nodded, wishing they could look for Soldier's Peak.

  "Loghain's interested in contacting other Warden posts," he said. "I wrote those letters, and maybe somebody's answered by now. They need us for that. Since there are only two of us—three if we count your vague position as a 'recruit'—I don't think they'll risk whittling us down to one. No, probably we're safe for the moment."

  Morrigan's face was stony. "I am perfectly safe," she insisted. "I have the means to escape them, whatever idiotic trick they think to play."

  "You mean you have a form they haven't seen yet. Lucky you."

  Chapter 32: Hawkes Over Ferelden, Part 4

  By the time they reached Denerim, Hawke hated Rendon Howe like grim death, even though he'd never met the man. It was a combination of factors.

  Maybe it was the entirely justified fear in the faces of the people of Highever; their despair at the loss of the Couslands, who were evidently popular and trusted. Maybe it was the despicable behavior of Howe's men to those they regarded as a conquered people. Hawke was unimpressed with soldiers whose deeds of arms consisted of murdering unarmed people in their sleep. He'd seen a few he'd like to put in the front lines facing the darkspawn. Hawke's party had to leave Highever earlier than planned, because of that brawl Hawke started...

  Another thing that set him off was the arl's son, Thomas Howe, a typical spoiled, entitled, worthless little shit, who imagined himself important because of his ancient noble line, which was after all just a fancy term for vicious, successful bandits who lived a long time ago and managed to pass on their loot to their descendants. And Lord Thomas was a drunk, too, which made him completely useless. The young man had welcomed their party to Vigil's Keep, and even gave Cauthrien a good horse for the rest of her journey. He was too far gone to make clear if this was a loan or an outright gift. Cauthrien took the horse, of course. Hawke found the place creepy. In fact, he found the entire arling creepy, and was glad they did not linger.

  Some of what troubled Hawke was Cauthrien's determination to ignore it all as absolutely irrelevant to their mission. She had a remarkable ability not to see or hear things that might distract her from her orders. Was that admirable? Hawke was not sure about that, in a larger sense. How could Ferelden prosper with men like Rendon Howe in charge, even if the darkspawn threat was eliminated? Were people supposed to be pleased that they were being bullied and murdered by their countrymen, rather than by foreigners?

  Perhaps, when it came down to it, the fact was that Hawke despised nobles on principle, and Howe validated all his prejudices against the upper classes. His own mother did not count, whatever she claimed, because Hawke had never seen her ordering any one around, and she had always done her own cooking and cleaning and sewing. She at least knew how to work.

  Now it appeared that Rendon Howe had found new victims. Travelers they met on the road just outside Denerim were full of talk about the deaths of the Arl of Redcliffe and his entire family. Howe had been sent to deal with some trouble in the southern arling, and somehow all the Guerrins were now as dead as the Couslands.

  "Interesting coincidence, that," Hawke pointed out.

  Alistair, of course, broke away from their party, wanting to know all the details. Cons
idering that he had been raised in the stables, Hawke thought he should not be that upset. After a moment's reflection, he refrained from any remarks. Miserable and grudging as it seemed to Hawke, the Guerrins had given Alistair a roof over his head and had provided him with an education. As a child, they had been all he had.

  The young man wandered back to them, looking dazed.

  "They say they're all dead!" His jaw worked. He shook his head. "Even Bann Saladin! He's was always kind to me. Practically everybody in Redcliffe village! The Chantry was burned to the ground!" He gave their mages a hard look. "They say it was Frigg Guerrin. He was only ten years old! They say he was a secret mage and become an Abomination, and killed everyone."

  Anders was slightly contemptuous. "They always say that."

  More gently, Alyson said, "And who's reporting this? Rendon Howe, who just finished off the Couslands! Very convenient, that the Guerrins just happened to have a "secret" mage son to blame. And of course, I daresay all the bodies were burned, so there's no evidence left."

  Alistair turned this over in his mind. Hawke could see the gears clicking into place.

  "You think he's lying." He frowned. "He said the Couslands were traitors. He said the Guerrins were harboring a secret mage..."

  Hawke snorted. Cauthrien and her soldiers were liArviding, though Cauthrien was trying to look uninterested.

  "Well, he can't very well use the same excuse again. I imagine he'll have to think up something even more creative for the next noble family he has a go at."

  "That's enough!" Cauthrien said. "We need to get moving. I want to make my report to the Queen today."

  So they moved back into formation, and at the crossroads near the city, the Dalish broke off, heading to Dragon's Peak.

  "Daleth shiral, Hawke!" called Merrill. "May we meet again soon!"