The Shadow and the Flame-Chapter Three Part 1

[communi_kate]

The Shadow of the Flame

A Dragon Age: Origins fan fiction by xahra99

 

Chapter Three: The General Reluctance of Ser Alistair - Bandits! - Camp for the Night - Blood Magic


 

"Let me go back," Ser Kyan said as soon as they had rounded the corner."Those peasants treated us with disrespect. Let me teach them a lesson."

"No." Ser Mark said simply. "They are not worth our time. Our job is to hunt maleficar, not to punish peasants. We have found our maleficar." He gestured at Belda. "Now let us hurry to the Tower and deliver her to justice."

"So they'll go unpunished?" Ser Kyan said, unimpressed.

Ser Mark shook his head. "When we return to Denerim I shall point the tax collectors in their direction. They'll pay dearly for their rudeness, but not with blood. For did not Andraste say' Those who steal from their brothers and sisters, do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind'? And they have stolen time from us by obstructing us in our duties."

"They have stolen nothing from you that you could not afford to lose," Belda said from the centre of a wall of Templar steel.

Ser Mark sniffed. "Obstructing Andraste's chosen in their work is a crime, and it is right that they should suffer for it."

Belda did not look impressed. She lifted her skirts and picked her way across the muddy path. "You are so arrogant," she said, "Pride and heartlessness are also sins." She looked over her shoulder at Alistair and Palamon. "You young ones, get out before you too lose your hearts."


"Lose their brains, more like." Ser Mark retorted. "What little they have to spare." He turned to the pair of initiates. "You have been taught a valuable lesson today. We do not always have to go in swords waving. A more subtle approach works equally as well."

That's subtle? Alistair thought. He cleared his throat. "Would you have really done it?"

"Done what? In the Maker's name, Alistair, you grow more obtuse by the hour."

Alistair ignored Palamon's not-so-subtle cough. "Would you have killed all those people?"

Ser Mark nodded. "Certainly. If it meant the difference between capturing and losing a maleficar, I'd have put them all to the sword without hesitation."

This was not a lesson the Chantry had taught Alistair. "All of them?" he asked disbelievingly.

Ser Mark nodded. "Down to the last child, if need be. Aye, and their dogs and livestock too." He fixed Alistair with a baleful gaze. "And so will you."

"Me?"

"It will be your duty as a Templar.

"But I don't want to be-"

Ser Palamon cannoned into Alistair's back, causing him to stumble and bite his tongue. Alistair righted himself, looked up at Ser Mark's face and decided that biting off his tongue altogether would have been a merciful punishment compared to what Ser Mark would have done to him if he had finished the sentence.

The Templar Sergeant glared at him. "Please continue, initiate."

Alistair swallowed. "I was saying,' he said carefully though the pain in his mouth, "that I didn't want to, er, let anybody down."

Ser Mark nodded."'Good," he said dangerously."Ser Palamon, please watch your step. Alistair may be worthless, but the armor he is wearing is most certainly not, and I would hate to have it damaged."

Ser Palamon drew himself up. "Certainly, sergeant,' he said, his face beet red, "It won't happen again."

"It better not." Ser Mark said. 'Look to your feet. We have a long way to go this evening in haste, and if you were to trip and break your leg it would be my most regretful duty to leave you behind for the wolves."


"Wolves," Alistair said. "Right. Only-"
Ser Mark sighed. "Enlighten us, initiate."

"Only- I don't think there are any wolves in this part of the Bannorn. I think they all got eaten by the monsters."

"The point is not what sort of monsters you will be consumed by, the point is that you will be eaten," Ser Mark said dangerously. "And if you say another word, Alistair, I shall personally hamstring you and leave you for to find out about them at first hand."

Alistair stopped himself midway into opening his mouth to say Yes, Sergeant. Instead, he just nodded.

They walked on in silence.

After a while, it began to rain again. The landscape flattened out and changed from blasted heath into forlorn looking birch forest. Ser Mark's head swiveled from side to side like a hound hunting for a scent. "We shall be at the lake by sundown," he said."We shall camp there."

Alistair sighed at the idea of camping for the night, and Belda sidled up beside him. He jumped as her knobby elbow met his side.


"Don't be afraid," she said as soon as she saw that he was looking.
Alistair shook his head. "I wasn't."

Belda ignored him. She glanced up at Alistair's face. "You know, young man, you remind me of somebody. It's a shame, but I just can't put my finger on it."

"I get that a lot," Alistair said morosely. He thanked the Maker that the old wilder woman was even less likely than Palamon was to be familiar with the face of Ferelden's king.

Palamon chortled. "Village idiot, most like."

Belda scowled over her shoulder at Palamon. "Hush, Don't be unkind. You are both kind, which is more than your comrades are."

"The Maker does not need compassion," Palamon said uncertainly."He needs sharp swords and a loyal heart."

Belda laughed. "Did they teach you that in your Chantry, boy? You use the Maker's name so freely. How do you know what he wants and does not?"

"It is written," Palamon said even more uncertainly.

"Ah," the old woman said. She shrugged. "Of course.”

She said nothing more until Ser Mark and Ser Kyan came up to take their turn at guard and then only a comment about the weather. Alistair and Palamon took up the rearguard.

"How long d' you think it'll take us to get to the Tower in Calenhad?" Alistair whispered after a while once Ser Mark was out of earshot.

Palamon swung his sword at some reeds, which parted and fell to earth with a rustle. "I don't know. I can't wait! They say it's as tall as Fort Drakon in Denerim. Taller, even. They say that the Avvars built it. In fact, so many Avvars fought and died there in the siege against Tevinter they say it's cursed."

"So we're heading to a cursed tower," Alistair said glumly. "Great."

Palamon shook his head. "Oh, that was years ago," he said. "The Circle has been there for centuries, and the Templars with them. Don't you read your history?"

"So if we're really unlucky we'll be hauled out to Lake Calenhad and stationed on a tower in the middle of nowhere?"

"There is no higher honor!" Palamon said indignantly.

"Right. Then you can go and I'll stay in Denerim. At least you can talk to people who aren't Templars in the towns."

"It might not be too bad," Palamon said defensively, "At least there wouldn't be all this walking." He brushed a spot of mud from his armor, which smeared and made the armor looked twice as bad as it had in the first place.

Alistair glanced at Belda's diminutive but erect form. "What do you suppose the Circle of the Magi will do to her once we reach Calenhad?"

Palamon shrugged. His armor clanked. "Well, you know, at least we're taking her to the Circle. If Ser Mark was certain she'd been a maleficar, he'd have killed her without delay. But she hasn't tried anything, so she probably isn't."

"So all this," Alistair gestured at the assembled Templars, 'is all just a massive waste of time? She's not even a mage?"

"She said she was a mage." Ser Palamon scratched his head. "And there've been rumors coming out of this part of the Bannorn for years. No spark without fire, or so the Chantry says. But she might just be a herb wife with a few sparks up her sleeve. I guess there are useless mages too," He sneaked a sly look at Alistair. "Just like there are useless Templars."

"Don't remind me," said Alistair. "But I guess useless Templars don't end up on a tower in the middle of Lake Calenhad for the rest of their lives."

It was unfortunate for him that Ser Kyan overheard him. "You will be going nowhere if you do not learn to mind your tongue," she said sharply.

"I was taught that you learned by asking questions." Alistair rubbed at his ears.

"You learn by obeying the commands of your elders and betters. And if I had been your teacher instead of Ser Mark then you would at least know when to shut up."

"If I had been your teacher, young lady, you would know how to talk to old women properly," Belda called from the centre of their tight-knit huddle.

Ser Kyan snarled. "I may not know how to talk to old women," she said, "but I do know how to talk to apostates." Her hand touched her sword-hilt again, and this time she did not move it away.

Palamon gulped.

Alistair looked at Ser Kyan's sword, and back up at Lady Belda. Ser Percival had bound the old woman's hands, but she seemed to have regained at least some of her cheery demeanor since leaving the village. Her tongue was as sharp as ever. She did not seem the least bit intimidated by Ser Kyan's weapons and height. It was the first sign Alistair had seen that the old woman might be more than she seemed at first glance.

Ser Kyan glared at the hedge witch like a hunting falcon. Alistair hoped that the Templar did not decide to lay into the frail old woman. It was traditional among certain circles for the Templars to give captured mages a good kicking once they found them-if they did not kill them on sight, that was. Most Templars risked life and soul to protect the village folk from abominations and maleficar that could flay them with a word. When the maleficar in question was insufficiently threatening to be slaughtered, or sufficiently mouthy to be annoying, beating them up was an acceptable way to let off steam.

All of the sorcerers that Alistair had seen in his short and undistinguished career as an initiate (grand total, two) had been young men.

Ser Kyan growled and carried on walking, Alistair relaxed. Belda looked over her shoulder and winked at him.

They walked on.

It was nearly nightfall before they came to the river. Alistair saw the water as a glimpse of dirty silver between a low tangle of thorn trees. Ser Mark held up a hand. "Halt!"

"Can I not rest my feet?" the old woman moaned. She had been struggling for the last hour. Alistair couldn't blame her. His feet weren't feeling too good either, and he wasn't an ancient old lady.

Ser Mark shook his head. "Wait a moment. Palamon?"

Alistair's fellow recruit drew himself up in a tangle of amour. "Ser?"

Ser Mark pointed at the dense scrubby riverbank. "What do you see?"

Palamon looked at Ser Mark questioningly, as if it were a joke. When the Sergeant offered no more information, he squelched forwards in the mid and shaded his eyes with his hand. "A flat and treeless place, ser. In the centre, a watercourse with deep banks."

"And?" Ser Mark prompted."

"Banks deeply overgrown with," Palamon squinted, "brambles. And other thorny plants."

"Gorse, thistles, horsetail and wild roses," Belda prompted.

Ser Mark ignored her. "Which, Alistair, ignoring the lack of greenery and tree cover on the plain itself, makes it a perfect site for a...?"

"Ambush?" Alistair guessed.

Ser Mark applauded with a clash of steel gauntlets. "Correct!" he said cheerily. An arrow arced through the air and bounced off his breastplate with a pinging sound.

Ser Kyan took a step to her left and drew her sword with a hiss. "Bandits!" she exclaimed. "They must be desperate. Or stupid."

"Or perhaps they could not see us in the dark," Ser Percival said as he also drew his weapon.

"Perhaps they have been smoking herbs," Belda said. She dragged her skirts around her and sat down on the ground, shuffling along until she found a convenient stone to protect her bottom from the mud. Her bound hands bobbed awkwardly between her knees. She didn't seem too concerned with the attack, or by her lack of armor. "Such dreadful hobbies are common round these parts." She looked up at Ser Mark with bird-bright eyes. "I'll stay here, shall I?"

"Percival, guard her," Ser Mark said. He held his sword high. "In the Maker's name!"

Alistair gritted his teeth and drew his weapon, praying that the blade did not stick. The Maker must have been listening to him for once in his life. His blade hissed smoothly from its scabbard just in time. The first bandit flailed at Alistair wildly, and Alistair's training took over. He poked at the left hand side of the bandit’s chest with the tip of his blade-it was just a poke, really, he didn't have to use much force, and was surprised how easily the blade slid in. The bandit's momentum carried him the rest of the way onto the blade and he sagged, dropping his weapon. Alistair flicked the body from his blade-which was much more difficult than killing the man in the first place- and stepped forwards to meet the next bandit. He had dropped his shield in the first rush, so he stooped down and snatched up the dead man's sword. It was a heavy, ancient thing, but the hilt felt comfortable in his hands.

The second bandit was a little wiser than the first. He saw Alistair and stepped back, away from the tangled knot of fighting men and women. Alistair tried a dual-handed sweep that should have scythed through the man's neck. The bandit parried the blow. Alistair feinted. Ser Palamon stepped up behind the bandit, grabbed him by his shoulders and toppled him backwards over his leg. Alistair followed through with his blow and the second bandit died as quickly as the first.

They looked around for other opponents. There were none left.

Palamon bent down and wiped his blade on the dead bandit's leather jerkin. Alistair wiped his twin blades on his surcoat.

Ser Mark gave him a disapproving look. "What is that in your hand, Alistair?"

Alistair looked down. Ser Mark seemed to be searching for the obvious answer, so he gave it to him. "It's a sword, ser."

The Sergeant sighed. "I know that, boy. The question is; what is it doing in your hand? We do not fight with two swords, Alistair. We are not rogues."

Alistair dropped the sword next to its former master. He crossed his arms over his chest and bowed. "Ser."

Ser Mark smiled. Well done, boys."

Alistair shook his head. He was sure that he was hearing things. "Ser?"

"I said well done. It is not easy to kill your first foe."

Palamon looked stunned. "But it-it was easy, Ser. It was easier than killing sheep."

The knight nodded. "Sheep are more sensible than men," he said. "They know when to run. These men outnumbered us, true, but they were poorly armed." He bent down and picked up the hilt of one of the bandits' sword, which had snapped off a few centimeters into the blade. "Observe. This is why I teach you to take good care of your weapons. If your blade snapped in battle, how much use do you think it would be? None, that is what. Observe the site. This is a perfect place for an ambush. Steep gorges, brush cover..." He shook his head. "If we had been helpless travelers, it might well have worked."

"But we're not," Alistair said, "So why did they attack us?"

Ser Mark looked superciliously at the corpses. "Desperation, maybe. Maybe Percival is right and they simply did not see our armor in the dark." His eyes narrowed. "Or maybe they were working with the maleficar. The villagers would have had plenty of time to alert nearby bandits. If the men made their way here on horseback they would have outpaced us. It is a good question." His head swiveled to Belda where she perched on the log. "One I intend to answer. Search the corpses. Bring me anything of import you may find." He turned abruptly away.

Alistair knelt down next to the body. Next to him, Palamon rifled the pockets of the man he had just killed. Searching the body didn’t take long, mainly because there was nothing to find. The bandits were dressed in coarse wool and rough leather; their jerkins dyed in the muted hues of the barren countryside they inhabited. They carried nothing except for cheap weapons and scraps of food. Despite Ser Mark’s prediction, there was no sign of horses.

Alistair finished searching his man and moved onto the next. The bandits were thin; their dirty flesh was clammy and already cold beneath his hands. He sat back. "This is a waste of time."

Palamon raised his head. "Maybe," he said, rifling a bandit’s body as he talked," but the sergeant’s asked us to do it, so don’t ask so many questions." He shook his head. "It’ll only get you into trouble."

Alistair ignored Palamon's advice. "They weren’t stupid. Why’d they do it? Even bandits can count."

"Who knows? They were poor. We were there; they were desperate. What’s to talk about?"

Alistair jerked his head towards the unlikely pair of Belda and Ser Mark, now engaged in a heated argument while Ser Kyan stood by and watched disapprovingly. "Do you really think she had anything to do with it? She’s a little old woman."

"She’s a maleficar." Ser Palamon stood up and wiped his muddy hands on his slightly less muddy breeches.

"We only have Ser Mark’s word for it."

"We only have her word that she’s not," Palamon retorted. "And she already told us she’s a mage, you heard her yourself."

"A healer,” Alistair corrected. “Even if she was a real mage, I’d be expecting demons, not bandits." He finished searching the last body and stood up. "They’re just men."

"I agree," Ser Percival said. "Find anything?"
Alistair looked around in surprise as the Templar scrambled out of the bushes in the gorge. He was surprised by the knight’s appearance, and even more surprised that Percival agreed with him. He shook his head. "No."

The Templar did not look surprised. "Didn’t expect you would. Ser Mark is always suspicious, but he’s a sergeant. That’s his job." He rolled a corpse out of the way with the toe of his steel sabaton. "There’s no sign of horses, and they would have needed them to outpace us from the village. We’ve been doing good time, even with the witch. Sometimes the simplest explanation is also the right one. These are peasants we’re dealing with, after all. Not Orlesian nobles."

"What were you doing out there?"

"Looking for horses," The Templar shook his head. "A fool’s errand, that one. I doubt these bandits even have the wit required to ride a horse. And speaking of riding, we must get on. The lake is a way yet, and it grows dark."

Alistair looked up at the gathering clouds. "It’s going to rain."

"This is the Bannorn," Ser Percival said mildly. "It rarely does anything else."

The first raindrops had already begun to fall as they left the bodies behind. By the side of the trail, Ser Mark was arguing with the witch. Alistair caught the tail-end of their argument as they hurried up.

"Why would they risk their life for me?" Belda spread her hands. The hems of her skirts dragged in the dirt. Droplets of moisture beaded her hair.

"You could have had them under a compulsion." Ser Mark said ominously. He turned to Alistair and Palamon. "Were there any signs of witchcraft on the bodies?"

Palamon shook his head.

"Just weapons," Alistair said quietly.

Belda looked past them all at the dead bandits. "If I could work such magic, rest assured that I would have tried it," she said. Her voice was sweet but there was a dark undercurrent below the words. "Besides, you have tied my hands, and my herbs are back at home. I must be a mighty mage indeed to work magic under such constraints." She tilted her head back and regarded Ser Mark scornfully. Do I look like such a mage to you, good ser?"

Ser Mark regarded Belda as if she was a piece of dirt he had wiped from his shoe. "You do not," he said through gritted teeth.

"Well," she said brightly. "Now we’ve got all that cleared up, don’t you think we should be getting on?"

"We will move when I say the word," Ser Mark snapped.

"Very well, then." Belda smoothed her skirts and sat back down on the stone in the mud. "When you say the word, I am ready."

Ser Mark opened his mouth and closed it again. He
scowled. "Did you search the corpses thoroughly?" he said through his teeth.
Alistair nodded. "Yes, ser," he said.

Ser Percival nodded. "I saw them myself," he said. "And I am quite sure that I saw no sign of magecraft on the bodies."

Ser Mark’s brow furrowed even further. "These initiate should not need you to vouch for them, Ser Percival," he said.

Ser Percival’s face was carefully blank. "Ser," he said.

Alistair slumped his shoulders and tried to look inconspicuous. Behind him, Palamon tried and failed to fade into the background. It did not pay to be in the firing line when Ser Mark was in a temper. Behind them all, Ser Kyan raised her chin and ignored them all.

Ser Mark held up his hand. "Move out!" he said. "Alistair, help the mage."

"About time," Belda snorted quietly under her breath, but she got up when Alistair held out his arm. He muttered an apology and checked her bonds. She smiled.

"Do not worry so, young man. I am still bound."

"Hurry up!" Ser Mark snarled over his shoulder.

"You better follow him," Alistair said, and they all set off in a damp and bedraggled procession.