But there wasn’t time.
With a snarl, one of the creatures leapt from the shadows at Evka. She dodged just in time, cursing as she did. Antoine fired a shot and there was the sound of an arrow driving through flesh. The beast let out a cry, twisted mid-leap, and raced back into the trees. Antoine plunged in after it.
Injured now, the beast didn’t run as quietly. Antoine could hear it crashing through the underbrush. The beast was still fast, but Antoine was gaining on it. He leaped over a gnarled root, ignoring the branch that struck him across the face. Up ahead, the beast had paused and was pacing back and forth. Antoine readied his bow and fired.
Before the arrow reached its mark, the beast vanished.
Antoine blinked. That couldn’t be right. It was just … gone.
* * *
When Evka caught up to Antoine, the elf had his bow lowered, uncertain. There was a line of blood on his face, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“What happened?” Evka asked.
“It … disappeared,” Antoine said. “It can disappear.”
Evka turned in a slow circle. Disappeared … to where?
“We need light,” Antoine murmured.
“That will show them where we are,” she said. If they didn’t know already. Had the beasts fled—or were they watching?
“It was up here,” Antoine said, moving ahead to show her the way.
Evka caught Antoine by the arm before he vanished himself.
The leaves were scrambled here, clawed. What little light there was showed dark drops of blood on the forest floor—all leading to a deep fissure that opened in the ground in front of them. It would have been difficult to see during the day. It was almost invisible in the dark.
“That’s how your beast disappeared,” Evka said.
“Or it did vanish and the fissure’s a ruse,” Antoine teased even now.
“I’ll go first.”
“In the dark?” Not so teasing anymore.
Evka lowered herself down first and they climbed carefully into the fissure. To Antoine’s credit, he managed not to fall.
It was even harder to see at the bottom, but Evka could make out claw marks in the soft earth. Not that it mattered—with sheer rock walls rising on either side, there was only one direction they could go. The Wardens remained silent as they moved down the shadowy chasm. A brighter shade of moonlight up ahead signaled they were about to move back into the open.
They didn’t move very far.
With a reedy howl, four beasts emerged from the trees in front of them. They walked upright but it didn’t look comfortable: their limbs were overlong, their movements jerky and awkward.
But when they ran, they dropped to all fours.
Dark, patchy fur rose in spiky hackles on their necks. They snarled as they charged, muzzles full of sharp teeth, yellow eyes lit with malice.
“Shit!” Evka swung at their attackers. She hadn’t sensed them up ahead. This was why darkspawn were easier.
“Les loups-garous!” Antoine cried as he dodged clear.
“What?” Evka struck at a silver-furred monster, but it leaped away.
“Werewolves!” Antoine said.
The creatures were circling now, keeping the Wardens penned in.
Evka kept her eyes on the silver beast. “Not something we had underground. Did you have these in Orlais?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” Antoine said. “They were just in stories.”
The werewolves continued to circle, waiting to catch their prey off guard.
“What do you know?” Evka said.
“Did I mention they were stories?”
“Do you have a better plan?”
“Right!” Antoine said. “It’s a curse—”
A large black werewolf broke from the ring and lunged at Evka. She blocked the snapping jaws with the handle of her ax.
“Don’t let them bite,” Antoine said. “It’s how the curse spreads!”
Evka had no intention of letting that happen. She twisted the ax handle upward, wrenching the werewolf’s jaw sideways, and kicked the beast away.
Antoine fired an arrow at the creature’s feet—massive paws with long fingers and claws—and it danced back. As the black werewolf retreated, the silver beast charged again, followed by another with roan fur.
Evka swung around and caught the silver beast in the shoulder, sending it back out of reach. Antoine dodged and fired at his own attacker, again the shot landing near its feet, causing the beast to jump away.
“These—they were human,” Antoine called.
She could hear the regret in his voice. “They’re still trying to kill us!”
“I know!”
Taking advantage of her distraction, the black werewolf came at Evka from behind. She wasn’t going to turn in time. She saw its frenzied eyes, its sharp teeth.
It fell dead at her feet, an arrow between its eyes.
Evka and Antoine stood back-to-back as the remaining werewolves circled once more.
“On your left!” Evka shouted as the silver beast took the lead, charging toward the Wardens at full speed.
Antoine spun so he was facing the werewolf. His shot caught the beast in the ribs as Evka darted forward. Her ax was in its throat before it could make another move. As she pulled her weapon from the now-silent creature, Antoine turned and took down the roan wolf with a volley of arrows.
Just one left.
The remaining werewolf rose on its hind legs and took a lurching step toward Antoine. It was a clean shot, but Antoine just stared, as if stunned by the unnerving change in its posture. Evka readied her ax and raced to meet it.
“Wait!” Antoine yelled, throwing himself between the dwarf and the werewolf.
“What are you—”
“This one never charged.”
“That doesn’t—”
The werewolf fell back to its knees and whimpered. “Help.” The word came out like a choke. As if formed by cords not meant for speech.
Evka swore.
Antoine was walking slowly toward the werewolf, weapon lowered, that friendly smile on his face though his eyes were at least wary.
“What’s your name?” Antoine asked, his voice light. As if talking to a child.
“Willem.” The werewolf coughed. It sounded almost sulky.
“Mina’s brother,” Evka breathed.
Antoine glanced at Evka and the look on his face matched how she felt. But when he turned back to Willem, it was as if they’d met on a late-night walk. As if nothing were wrong. If the kid weren’t a werewolf, she’d have almost believed it herself. “It’s nice to meet you, Willem. Your sister thought you might still be alive. She asked us for help.”
“I didn’t … kill … I didn’t … it was … others.” Willem was frantic. “Mina…”
“She’s safe,” Antoine said.
The werewolf trembled.
“This curse,” Evka said softly. “If there isn’t a way…”
“There may be,” Antoine said. He sounded more hopeful than sure, but she’d asked. Evka exhaled slowly.
“All right,” she said, then turned to the werewolf. “Willem, you need to come back with us.”
“I can’t … I might … hurt…” Willem whimpered.
“It’s all right,” Antoine said. He gestured to Evka’s griffon insignia. “We’re Grey Wardens.”
“You won’t hurt anyone,” Evka said. “You have my word.”
Evka knew that Antoine wanted the part where they saved the village. They would do what they had to—that’s what Wardens do—but she could worry about that later.
* * *
In his dream he was dying …
With a tired groan, Antoine pulled himself out of bed. He skipped breakfast and headed straight for the stable out back.
Thick chains held Willem to the back of the stall. Thick chains sealed the door as well, and a large, heavy table had been pushed against it for good measure. Verschel’s elderly gray had been move
d to a neighbor’s barn, unable to be anywhere near the young werewolf. Antoine sat on the table by the open half-door and tried to look encouraging.
“What happened then?” Evka asked.
“I … hurt … I was hungry … I was … this.” Although he had room to walk around the small space, Willem sat pressed against the far wall. Antoine didn’t think he feared the Wardens.
If the villagers had been unimpressed with the Wardens before, they were furious with them now. Bringing a werewolf back with them … they were supposed to be protecting the village—or failing at it—not making things worse. It was only the reputation of the larger Warden Order and Verschel’s grumpy backing that kept Evka and Antoine from being run out of Eichweill and Willem from being torn apart. The only other person on their side was Mina. She’d insisted on being present, although she wouldn’t come too close.
“Does it hurt?” Mina asked, her frame rigid.
“I can’t … I want to go home…” Willem wrapped his overlong limbs around himself. Mina looked away, her posture a mirror of her brother’s.
“The stories are all the same,” Antoine said. “A demon possesses a wolf or a human and spreads its curse. The hero kills the source and the curse ends.”
“A demon explains the voice in the woods,” Evka said. “Have you heard it, Willem? Do you know where it is?”
Willem rocked back and forth.
“Was it near the split rock?” Evka tried again, but the werewolf didn’t answer.
“Come on, Will,” Mina said.
Willem snarled and his sister jumped back. “You were … gone.”
Mina swallowed. She took a few steps closer, but her brother shifted, his hackles rising slightly, and she froze again. “I … found Wardens. If you’ve heard this voice, you have to tell them.”
“I don’t … I’m not…”
Ignoring the look Evka gave him, Antoine leaned casually over the stall door. “It’s hard not having answers. Right now we’re working off what I remember from stories. That’s our whole plan. It’s not very good, is it?”
Evka scowled but Willem had fallen quiet.
“Anything you say will be more than we know now,” Antoine continued. “Which means you don’t have to say much and anything you do say helps.”
“Chantry,” Willem coughed.
“The Chantry won’t help now,” Evka murmured.
“The … castle…”
Mina joined Antoine at the door. “The Broken Chantry. It’s a ruin in the woods. North of here. We built a fort there—a castle. No one could find us. We haven’t been back since…” She flicked a hand, dismissing the thought, and pressed on. “They say the brothers and sisters were off. The place went up in flames thirty years ago. Besides us, no one’s been back.”
“Of course,” Evka said.
“Thank you, Willem,” Antoine said.
“All right, bad plan or not, what do the stories say next?” Evka asked.
Antoine smiled. “That’s it. The hero kills the demon, the curse ends, they all live happily and so on.” This was more like it.
“And … me?” Willem asked.
Antoine took a deep breath before turning back to the boy. “You wait here for the story to end.”
“Antoine,” Evka murmured.
Antoine turned to her with a grin. “Back to work, yes?”
Outside the stable, the crowd alternated between glaring at the Wardens and pretending they hadn’t been listening. Antoine smiled at them. It was only partially overcast for once and the Wardens had a plan—or at least a location. And a village to save whether the villagers believed it or not.
“We’re off to defeat some werewolves or die trying,” Antoine announced. “If the former, you’re in luck. If the latter, you’re no worse off.”
The crowd stared at him, speechless. Evka snickered and Antoine’s grin broadened.
“All right,” Evka said. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The road that led to the Broken Chantry was barely visible, concealed by almost three decades of overgrowth. To make their lives harder, a mist had rolled in which Antoine called “ambiance” and Evka put on the same list as rain. Antoine marched a few paces ahead, ready to save the day. Or he thought he was.
“Antoine,” Evka said.
“Yes?” He gave her a confused smile. He was off guard. That worked in her favor.
“When we find the leader … we can’t be gentle.”
“I know.”
But that wasn’t the only thing on her mind. “If Willem doesn’t—”
“We aren’t there yet,” Antoine said. His fingers twitched at his side as if he were counting something. More plans, more ideas of how this might end.
“Wardens don’t save everyone.”
“No, but we try.”
She took a deep breath. “Are you a liability?” It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. He’d stood at her back, he … but that wasn’t the point.
The hurt on his face twisted at her, and of all the heroic Warden traits he tried to embody, she wished he’d included the Order’s fabled stoicism.
“We need to save Willem,” he said, pacing away and then back again.
“He won’t be the only one at risk if we’re not careful.”
“If you don’t want me to…”
“I don’t want you to die.”
He stopped and looked at her. He was standing very still. It made her nervous when he stood that still. It meant he was focusing a hundred thoughts on something and right now that something was her. The forest was very quiet. Where was that damn crow when you needed it? Then Antoine’s expression changed.
“Why are you smiling?”
He laughed. “I don’t know. You don’t want me to die.”
“And that’s your response?”
He was standing very still again. “Evka, I’ll do everything I can…”
“I know.” She started walking again before the conversation could continue.
Without warning, the stone walls of the Broken Chantry rose up out of the fog. Evka tapped Antoine’s arm and led them over to a tangle of wild rosebushes. They ducked and she surveyed the building. Ivy grew over the walls, pushing through cracks and empty window frames. One of the side walls had collapsed and half the roof had caved in. The main door was rotted away, but somehow the stained-glass sun still glimmered faintly above the entry.
They could try circling the building, but it was hard to tell how large the Chantry was in the mist or how much cover they would have as they moved.
“Front door’s as good as any,” she said.
The arched entry opened onto a large stone floor covered in leaves. Mist skirted around a handful of benches, blackened reminders of the worshipers who once gathered there. The stone platform at the far end—where sisters must have sung the Chant of Light—now staged a fallen tree.
“Do you think it’s—” A low moaning cut off Antoine’s thought.
“We need to draw it out,” Evka said.
“On it.”
She heard the strike of flint and turned to see Antoine fiddling with the Qunari cylinders he’d bought the day before. Bright white sparks burst from the tube.
“It works!” Antoine said, delight replacing unease. Then “Ah!” as the sparks started streaming faster and he tossed the tube away from himself.
It skittered into the fog, briefly illuminating a large silhouette before going dark.
“The boy gave us away. Predictable,” the voice came out of the fog, cold and echoing. It was the same voice they’d heard by the ram.
“Consider yourself called,” Evka said, hurling a knife through the mist. It made a useless clattering sound as it landed on the ground out of sight.
“Did you leave the boy alive?” The voice came from the left.
“Your curse hasn’t taken him,” Antoine said.
“It will,” the voice said. “He will hunger. And who will be in his way? His sister?”
“You know them,” Evka said. Eichweill hadn’t been struck by a random curse—it was a targeted one. Given the village’s overall luck, she didn’t know if that was better or worse.
“Yes,” said the voice and the werewolf stepped out of the fog.
It was massive—easily twice the size of the other werewolves they’d faced. Its fur was jet black and its mouth dripped with foam.
Evka dodged as the werewolf lunged forward, smashing one of the remaining benches to pieces.
“Who are you?” Evka asked.
The voice sounded smaller for a moment, but no less cruel. “They cast me from their cursed village. As if I wanted it.”
Antoine took a shot, but the werewolf slid clear and disappeared back into the mist.
“He did want it. He wanted it all.” The voice was deeper again. Laced through with something darker.
Antoine shook his head, as if trying to dislodge something.
The werewolf charged again, bursting from the fog and barging into Evka, knocking her to the ground. She rolled clear of its massive, long-fingered paws and jumped back to her feet.
Antoine loosed a volley of arrows, but the beast barely noticed. Evka swore internally—whatever the creature was in the flesh, it would draw strength from the demon possessing it.
The werewolf turned its yellow eyes on Antoine and howled. The sound echoed off the stone walls of the Broken Chantry. Antoine took another shot but the werewolf struck out, knocking the elf into another bench, his bow falling from his grasp.
“Who are you?” Evka yelled again, trying to draw the werewolf’s attention back to her.
The beast’s voice lost its echo. “They left me for dead. I took what was mine.”
“Renke,” Evka said, remembering the tour of Eichweill—the nobles’ son who’d murdered the Chantry brother.
The sound of the name drew the beast’s focus. It stalked lazily toward her, its voice doubled again. “It was winter. He didn’t know how to escape the woods. He was starving. He hungered. Then he hungered for more. We will feast on Eichweill.” Then back to a single cord. “After I watch them writhe.”
“What are you now?” Evka said, holding her ax ready. Demons could be a lot of things—Pride, Desire, Fear—but they always loved talking about themselves. What had possessed the nobles’ son? Behind the monster that was Renke, Antoine pulled himself to his feet.
Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights Page 19