"Well done!" Alyson enthused. "I knew you'd be a great mage if you really tried!"
"With a little extra help!" Anders snorted.
Hawke whispered to Avernus. "He's rumored to be a Blood Mage. He must be the one that Alyson helped escape."
Avernus looked pleased, like a fond grandfather.
"Yes, well..." Jowan ducked his head. "It turns out I'm stronger than I look."
"And then what?" Alistair demanded. "Did you get out through the castle?"
"No!" Jowan burst out. "I didn't dare! The undead were everywhere! I didn't know what to do, but while I was hiding I found a passage in the dungeons that led the other way, a long way away from the castle. I followed it along all the way to the mill across the bridge. It was daylight, and I made a break for it. I found some food in a house, and then I hid at a deserted farm when some soldiers came through. I thought I'd go north, but I couldn't make up my mind... and then I met up with this dwarf merchant who told me some of what was going on. He talked a lot about the Wardens and the mages and the dwarves. I came out to look, and I saw you, Alyson. I thought you needed to know about that secret passage... I mean... I owe you..." His words died away to a mumble.
"You certainly do!" she agreed. "You got me in awful trouble!"
"But the information could be very useful," Hawke said, stepping in. "I'm Hawke, another Warden."
"The Warden," grunted Oghren.
Hawke shrugged. "Tell me all about this secret passage."
* * *
Loghain hated sharing the stage with the Wardens.
Really just with Hawke, of course, who had annoyingly found some rather handsome armor on his travels north. The allies insisted on having orders relayed through him. It could have been worse. Hawke was a charismatic young lout, in his rather sullen way, but he was not a noble. He had neither riches nor retinue nor ancient family name to make him a personal threat. Better that Hawke be the face of the Wardens than one who looked far too much like Maric.
It was vital to keep Alistair sidAstrided as much as possible. No need for him to become more recognizable and popular than he was. Once the darkspawn were disposed of, neither Freya—nor Loghain himself— needed a rival for the throne. The mages, while well regarded by the allies, would never capture the imagination of the army as a whole, though the Amell girl was spirited and attractive. And Anders, too, come to think of it, resembled Maric...
No, he would not even think about that.
But Hawke was an annoyance. He was well-known and well-liked throughout the army, who saw him as one of their own. The loss of his brother had created sympathy for him. The allies uniformly admired him. King Bhelen had extolled his virtues in a long letter. Hawke could have made trouble, had he a power base.
Luckily, he did not: just a few misfits, and half of them mages.
He was useful for the moment. There was plenty of time to deal with Liam Hawke and his Wardens.
The old man Avernus was a nonenity: just a dusty archive with useful information, and clearly too feeble to be of any account in battle. He did, however, have a certain morale-building quality. The soldiers, sentimental fools that many were, liked the narrative: an old man, exiled by the Orlesians, returning to his homeland for a last desperate battle. Loghain did not expect Avernus to be able to keep up on the forced march to Redcliffe.
* * *
And yet he did. Even at the speed they were moving, all the mages seemed fit and unwearied. Loghain, had he not been so distracted by everything else, would have wanted to look into it.
Hawke himself was suspicious, and asked Avernus outright how he was managing it.
The old man gave him a death head's grin. He murmured, "How do you think, dear boy? Blood Magic, of course."
Hawke's eyes widened, and he felt a sudden chill. His mouth opened, and then, instead of stupidly echoing Avernus, he looked about them in panic, so see if anyone had heard.
"Don't be a baby, my lad," Avernus reproved. "All the bystanders are hearing us talk about the weather. Yes, really. Come now! I would expect Alistair to be scandalized, but I expect better of you. Blood Magic is a tool, like any other. I've had two hundred years to study it, and I think you'll like what I can do with it—especially to the darkspawn. It's also handy," he smirked, "for giving our own people a nudge when they need it."
"Which people?"
"Well... Loghain, not to put too fine a point on it. Suspicious man, that, but not suspicious enough, as it happens. I hadn't the least trouble getting hold of some of his laundry. Absolutely reeking of sweat. Sweat is surprisingly useful. Nearly as specific as blood itself. Of course, there was a bit of blood there, too."
"You're performing... Sweat Magic... on Teyrn Loghain?"
"Not yet, but all in good time. It's all lumped under the label of Blood Magic. All sorts of bodily fluids can be used. In fact..."
"Do I want to know?"
Avernus found him very amusing. "I think you will, some day."
Jowan had nowhere else to go, and was afraid of being blamed for the fiasco at Redcliffe. Hawke sensed that he was not telling them the whole story, but did not press the matter. At Avernus' urging, he was conscripted, shoved into the Wardens' covered wagon, and summarily Joined. He spent hours sleeping it off, as they trundled westward.
There was a halt, late in the day, so they could catch a few hours rest before the last push. Tents were pitched, and a hasty meal gulped down. Jowan was helped out of the wagon and smiled shakily at his new comrades. Hawke headed off to his own tent, while most of their party chatted at the campfire. Alyson and Alistair had already gone off together. Hawke sighed, feAstridg a bit lonely.
And in his tent, Morrigan was waiting. With a remarkable offer.
* * *
"Get out."
Morrigan stiffened in surprise, offended by the blunt refusal.
"I did not think you such a fool."
Hawke was tempted to go for his dagger. He was certainly not that lonely. "You're the fool, if you think I'm going to be used in any kind of ritual cooked up by your and that mother of yours." He gave her a hard stare. "If this was what you wanted all along, you could have tried making friends, instead of being a complete bitch from the day I met you."
"So, you demand some sort of sentimental attachment? Who would suspect such delicacy of feAstridg from a mere farmboy? I could always go to one of your companions."
"Fine. You do that. Shall I call Oghren? I sure he'd give you what he's pleased to call a 'roll.' And we both know that 'delicacy of feAstridg' is not anything that would inconvenience you."
Her eyes flashed. They were very fine eyes indeed. Hawke felt a brief pang of lust, imagining what it would be like to bed such a beauty. Gritting his teeth, he got his body under control.
Apparently, she did not like his counter-offer.
"Oghren is not acceptable," she hissed. Her expression changed, grew cruel and cunning. "I did not think you so eager to die! Is it guilt for the death of that brawling young lout, your brother?"
He would gladly have killed her for that, but had a better idea.
Biting his lip, he said. "There's something in what you say. Wait here," he said, and strode out of the tent, looking for the best advice available.
"I need to talk to you privately," he whispered to Avernus.
* * *
"Did she say that? Really?" The old man was very amused.
"Is it true, do you think?"
"Oh, yes... I've heard the theory. It might well be valid. Of course, it entirely defeats the purpose of the Grey Wardens, and leaves us with a reborn Old God who may or may not prove a greater threat than the darkspawn themselves. However, if your only goal is to die in a few decades rather than right now, yes, I suppose it might work."
Hawke scowled at Avernus' very different way of looking at time. He supposed a two-hundred year old man might not be impressed by the additional life span Morrigan offered an ordinary Warden.
"So it might work the way she says?"
"Would the Warden striking the final blow survive? Perhaps... perhaps.. But, my dear boy, as far as it is possible to plan such an event, I have every intention of making the final blow myself. Surely you understood that?
"Yes... but... we need you. I need you," Hawke objected. "We need your brain to put the Wardens back on their feet. We need you to help deal with Loghain when all of this is over. He still might have us all killed, just because he can."
"I really think you'll be quite all right. My notes are at the Peak. You know what you need to do with the Archdemon's blood. If Loghain still doesn't want the Wardens in Ferelden, then I advise you to take him at his bloody-minded word, and leave—or at least appear to do so. He won't be around forever. Furthermore, there's the matter of the Thaw. Whoever rules in Ferelden will be desperate for Grey Warden assistance when they find they're still going to have a darkspawn problem for the next twenty years or so. Leave. Have a jolly holiday in Cumberland or Ansburg, and then when they beg you to return, do some hard bargaining. You'll find them remarkably pliable, I suspect."
Hawke took a deep breath. "What you say makes sense. I still would rather you lived through this, but if you don't we have something of a plan. But what should we do about Morrigan now?"
"Well... I suppose you could try saying no."
"She might sneak back and seduce someone else. Anders, maybe. Or..." he tried not to smirk. "...Oghren."
"If you're worried about that, the simplest thing is to kill her, of course. Right now. Ah... don't like that one, I see."
"Not really."
"All right. Do the dirty deed with her, take advantage of the ritual, and once the Archdemon is most sincerely dead, kill her then."
"I don't want to kill her. She really has helped us."
Avernus sighed. "Then hold her nose and pump some silphium tea into her. I know just the recipe. She'll miscarry, and the Old God will go where all good Old Gods ought to go: far, far away, beyond even the Fade. Mission accomplished, as they say."
"It wouldn't jump to a darkspawn?"
"Of course not. It would be cleansed of the Taint. Its dear little soul, now pure as the driven slush, will toddle off to the Maker. If you like that sort of fairy story."
"I think she'd kill us, if we tried that."
Avernus blinked, not quite seeing the difficulty. "Not if you kill her first."
"Couldn't we give her the potion... without her knowing about it? And anyway, she might try to leave right after we're done killing the Archdemon."
"Really, Hawke! You are most demanding and soft-hearted. Yes, I could give her a bit of a nudge, she'd sleep through the whole thing, and then awaken to a bitter, but perfectly natural-appearing disappointment. She might not even know she has miscarried for some time." He rubbed his white and stubbly chin. "It is tempting, I suppose, to let the child be born... for study... for Science... But, no." He shook his head. "It's far too dangerous. For all we know it would emerge fully conscious and able to destroy us with powers we can only guess at. Pity. It really must go, I'm afraid."
Hawke thought it still sounded cruel, but the world certainly did not need an Old God taking over. Kings and nobles were quite bad enough.
"I might dislike her, but I don't want her dead. Thanks."
He turned to go. Avernus had a few last words of advice.
"Just... don't... wash after you're done with her. I'll need...traces..."
Hawke groaned.
* * *
Morrigan was too smug to notice how much more smug Avernus was. Hawke tried to put the entire degrading episode out of his mind and concentrate on the upcoming battle. Not too far ahead lay Redcliffe.
Scouts made the first contact with the horde. The army, moving swiftly, reached the trampled, broad swathe that marked the main body's movements. They marched up over a rise, and then another, and soon they saw the Archdemon, perched on the shattered battlements of Redcliffe Castle, licking its chops.
So the castle had fallen. This was definitely not good. The Archdemon had a private eyrie beyond the army's reach.
Hawke requested a moment of Loghain's time. Alistair came along, because at Jowan's plea, they were going to make up a story to deceive the Regent yet again.
"You know of a secret passage into the castle," Loghain demanded. "Why have you not told me before about this?"
Alistair turned red. He was a terrible liar, but Loghain had such a low opinion of him that he put Alistair's embarrassment down to his well-known bashfulness and dislike of Loghain himself.
"Well, we thought the castle would be all right, so it wouldn't matter." He burst out, "And I didn't want to do anything to help Howe!"
Hawke elbowed him.
"All right," Alistair said sullenly. "I wasn't supposed to know about it. It was a Guerrin family secret, but I was curious as a boy and I used to explore. One time I followed Bann Saladin into the dungeons and found out about it. If I told anybody it wouldn't be secret anymore. For all I knew they'd kill me if they thought I knew about the passage. I don't think even Arlessa Isolde knew about it. Frigg couldn't have known, or he would have had his monsters using it to attack."
"All right." Loghain stood still, a steel-armored statue, thinking it over. "A secret passage from the mill on the heights to the castle dungeons. You can come up from below and surprise the Archdemon. How many of my men do you want to take?
"None," replied Hawke. "This is a Grey Warden mission."
Loghain gave him a brief grimace of disgust. "See that you don't waste the opportunity for glory, Warden Liam."
"It's not a matter of glory," Hawke replied, trying to rein in his temper. "It's a matter of putting an end to a threat."
"Then be off with you." Loghain turned his back on them. Alistair glared at him, and Hawke, glaring himself, drew his friend away.
"What a bastard," Alistair sputtered.
"What you said," Hawke agreed. "The darkspawn aren't the only threat I'm worried about."
* * *
Loghain's strategy had always been to pin the horde down, enabling the Wardens to get a shot at the Archdemon. This new scheme was simply a variation on the plan. The army, using the natural terrain of Redcliffe, lured the horde toward them, destroying them as they charged uphill.
A core group of mages—including some of the Dalish Keepers— focused on that, bombarding the creature with long-range spells: ice spears, crushing curses, draining hexes.
The dwarves engaged the darkspawn on the left. Darkspawn were a tough and aggressive enemy, but a blunt instrument. All they knew how to do was rush at an enemy, and the darkspawn archers simply stood their ground and shot until someone targeted them and took them out. They had no idea how to use the landscape to their advantage, and they were completely without imagination. The Archdemon could command them, but could not control a large enough number of darkspawn simultaneously to execute complex maneuvers.
And down there—down in the bowl of the village—what in the Maker's name was going on?
Hawke burst out laughing.
"Look at that! They're attacking each other!"
A mob of darkspawn seemed to have gone mad. Madder than usual, anyway. One of them, an ogre, turned on his fellows, trampling them underfoot, smashing them to paste with enormous fists. Others rushed away to attack the horde from the rear, hacking away.
The bizarre, self-destructive behavior of the darkspawn spread throughout the horde. Hawke glanced at Avernus, who was sweating, his scrawny hands white-knuckled on his staff, his eyes shut in concentration. Anders looked over and paused. He flushed, briefly outraged, and then looked over at the suicidal darkspawn and shrugged.
"Whatever. As long as it's just darkspawn."
Clearing out that mass of darkspawn made the way open for getting to the mill. The Warden party made a dash up and through, while the Dalish gave them cover.
And once inside the mill, they
shoved aside the heaps of straw, and there, exactly where Jowan had described it, they found the secret door.
* * *
The eight of them sneaked through the passage, once they locked and barred it behind them. There was nothing more frightening than spiderwebs through the first half, though Hawke thought nervously about the weight of the water over their heads.
Then they reached a panel in the wall and moved it aside. The rest of the tunnel was much more finished, and they could all stand up comfortably. It stank, for littered about were some corpses: the burned remains of the reanimated dead.
"That was my cell," Jowan said softly, pointing. "Follow me. The stairs are this way."
He crept up the curving staircase and pushed open the door.
And was nearly shot dead on the spot.
* * *
"Who are you?" shouted the panicked, harassed officer.
"We're Grey Wardens," said Hawke. "Teyrn Loghain sent us to infiltrate the castle and kill the Archdemon."
"Good luck with that!" sniped a wounded soldier, slumped against a wall. Anders hurried over to see what he could do for him.
The Archdemon, it seemed, had not quite taken all of Redcliffe Castle. Many of the defenders had fled inside and downstairs, and the Archdemon had not yet succeeded in knocking down the entire structure. Perhaps it simply could not be bothered.
Captain Chase—for that was the officer's name—explained.
"Now and then we pop out, and a mage gets off a spell or the archers a volley. We try to do what we can. It's a losing proposition, though. The Archdemon has us pinned down. Eventually the darkspawn will manage to scale the heights and attack us here, or they'll simply let us starve, unable to escape."
Dragon's Era- No Man's Land Page 48