Chapter 6 - "Bonfires"

Alim managed to cast the Magic Shield spell before the door swung open noisily in front of the mage. A familiar man with a shock of red hair and a short, bare blade flew out. At the sight of the couple he had just helped, he stood stiffly, wasting precious moments to absorb the surprise. Just long enough for Morrigan to say in a clipped voice: "Corpus et animus separatum", enveloping the man in a "loss of orientation". A heartbeat later, the warrior's instinctive reaction followed — an attempt to disarm the closer elf quickly and cleanly. But the swing of the blade was imprecise, giving Alim ample room to dodge. And even so, had it not been for the defensive spell that deflected the tip of the blade, the elf would have had to brag about the scar across half his face for the rest of his days.

A lump of mud, dried for a whole day, which the girl had brought from the road, crashed into the red-haired man's nose. Sagging under the warrior's new blind swing, Alim threw his own body forward. The elf drove his shoulder into the man's solar plexus, taking his breath away and throwing him back into the doorway of Dane's Shelter. Overturning a couple of chairs, the warrior collapsed noisily between the tables, but he didn't lose his weapon and immediately rolled to the side. Grabbing the top of the door frame, the sorceress leapt over her rising companion. Quickly running after her opponent, Morrigan didn't give the man a chance to regain his footing. She grabbed a chair and swung it at his collarbone and the back of his head. The first blow caught the victim off guard, knocking him off his elbows and forcing him to his knees. The second caused him to drop the blade as he tried to protect his head. The chair did not survive the third, collapsing with a blow to the man's sturdy back. The redhead was still trying to get up, hissing curses through his teeth.

At this point, Sir Donnal appeared in the hall. Despite his plain clothes, the knight held a long sword in his hand. After a quick glance, he gripped the hilt with both hands and spoke in a short, cold voice, drawing everyone's attention to him.

— I suppose there's a rational explanation for what's going on here?

At the same second, an angry woman's scream came from the street.

— Let me go, sister, I have to help!

The other girl rebuked in irritation as a response:

— Be quiet, the one who asked for help, complaining of powerlessness. Stay here and don't make it worse.

Catching her breath, Morrigan flicked away a strand of dishevelled hair and answered the knight with a direct stare. Unlike the surprised redhead, her new opponent had expected the unexpected. It could be read in the tense posture and the direction of the blade. Both screamed readiness to explode with lightning-fast movements that would bring death. The scene froze with an oppressive sense of danger. Alim froze as he leaned towards the redhead. The elf turned his head towards the knight, but his eyes narrowed at the sorceress. The redhead did not move on the floor, covering the broken head, judging by the dripping blood. The other girls stayed outside. Seconds ran away. With each new one, the sorceress grew more confident that the initiative was in her hands. Contrary to the picture unfolding before the knight, he was in no hurry to act. Somewhere in the depths of this man were rooted doubts and... fatigue.

Following her instincts, which whispered clues, Morrigan opened her mouth and spoke slowly, deliberately.

— The gentleman with the naked weapon flew out and immediately attacked my companion. What followed was the result of hasty decisions in a difficult situation. You could even say it was the result of a misunderstanding. That is all.

Donnal raised an eyebrow and frowned. The blade trembled slightly, but didn't change its position, and the girl continued as before.

— Probably honour... dictates to Sir Knight which side of the conflict to take. But the situation isn't as clear-cut as a scumbag laying hands on a woman. There are no Templars here to represent authority. And Sir Knight is not a vassal of the local Earl. There's no need for more bloodshed.

— You have a strange way of speaking, my lady.

Morrigan curled her lips in a smirk and asked.

— Is that all the noble lord cares about these days?

A muffled voice came from the floor as the redhead spat blood from her shattered lip.

— As we speak, their accomplices are carrying away the provisions that belong to the place. Danal is tied up in the kitchen. There's no other way to interpret what's happening here.

Holding the knight's gaze, Morrigan answered immediately.

— There are always interpretations. And the line between life and death is defined by a single word.

Sir Donnal blinked and the tip of his blade dipped slightly. Thoughtfully, at the edge of audibility, the man spoke.

— So there are no dead...

Suddenly determined, or simply tired of the uncomfortable position, Alim straightened up and cut into the conversation.

— I think it is in our power to divert the noble knight's attention from the petty theft of sausages to something else on the eve of Blight's march through his master's abandoned lands. Coincidentally, events were unfolding right under Sir's nose that could stain his honour far more seriously... ....

Donnal barely reacted to the elf's words. But the sorceress narrowed her eyes, her gaze fixed on the space above the knight's shoulder. As if groping in the dark, she searched for the thin thread of the elf's theory. And almost immediately, the girl's mind was illuminated by a flash of an idea, expressed in a single word and a wicked smile.

— Sneaky.

The mage frowned, and Donnal's gaze turned sour as well, not appreciating the strange remark. But these reactions were of little concern to the girl, who turned to the knight.

— My companion is right to an extent. There are certain words for everyone that make you forget everything else overnight. Do you think bandits are one of them? The ones roaming around the track. That's right! True... But if the Templars were after their souls, what's the point? Unless we find out who was behind them?

The knight's blade sank to the ground and his features sharpened. The man's attention, partly lost in his own thoughts before, focused on the girl. A dry voice interrupted him.

— Speak up.

Nodding, the sorceress turned to the doorway and called out.

— Leliana! Someone wants to see your proof. Little Bethany? It`s time to see if the thief has left us safely or not.

Turning to the warrior lying on the ground, waiting for the outcome of the unclear balance of power, the girl crouched down and said softly.

— Calmly and patiently accept the elf's help while he bandages your head. And forget this ever happened. I've recently discovered that I know some nasty magic. So even if you manage to squeeze the life out of me... yours will last only a little longer.

Pointing Alim at the still tense but unmoving man, Morrigan half-heartedly added a few cool words for him as well.

— My name belongs to me. No one else's. Today you have succeeded in convincing a southern witch of the dangers of counting a northerner as an ally.

With a twitch of his cheek, the mage turned back to the patient, his eyes already searching for a suitable cloth for the bandages, and with a hint of anger in his voice he threw back.

— Oh yes, we've both seen the extraordinary qualities of some southerners recently. Shit rises to the surface here and there, you know. Direct your venom at the others, please.

The remark hit its target, causing the girl to clench her fists, but just then Bethany and Leliana entered the room. The former swept across the room and disappeared into the kitchen. The latter, rather professional for a 'sister', assessed the situation with a single glance and immediately addressed Sir Knight with an elegantly executed curtsy.

— Sir Donnal.

Holding the blade in front of him, resting on the floor like a stick, the man nodded respectfully, not hiding his slight surprise.

— Sister Leliana.

A faint shadow of regret crossed the girl's face at the official mention of her status. But overcoming it, the 'sister' took a quick step towards the knight.

— This… lady is right. The available documents and facts reasonably point to a permanent, strong and mutually beneficial link between Sir Ewu and a gang of bandits recently formed near Lothering. Moreover, although there is no direct proof, these papers indirectly confirm my fears. The gang may have been originally formed with some help from Sir Ewu. That doesn't mean he was directing these men. Rather, he imposed his will, hid the location of the gang's camp from Mother and the Commander, and used the dashing men to apply the necessary pressure. Clever and reprehensible.

A leather roll of letters, notes and other documents Leliana had seized slammed onto the table next to the man.

— If you're worried about how it got into my hands, then...

— No. The days when I cared about clean hands and methods are long gone. Please don't waste time on explanations. Just the facts.

The girl's excited voice came from the kitchen, quickly turning into a scream.

— Carver! Unlock the damn door before I burn a hole in it. Why is Ebrin bleeding?!

While Alim bandaged the head of the frowning red-haired warrior, who, while showing a reasonable understanding of what had happened, made no attempt to hide his displeasure, Morrigan stood aloof in the middle of the hall. As if absorbing the turmoil of events around her, she focused on nothing in particular. In the girl's mind, the unfolding dialogue replayed itself in a circle. The muted reaction of the knight, the subtle emotions of Leliana as if hidden by a veil, the bright reflections of the elf's thoughts, Bethany's easy to read behaviour. Once again, the environment was bifurcated, appearing from two points of view at once. As a mosaic of stories full of mystery and the content of the personalities involved. And as a boring scene of hollow puppets playing their assigned roles.

Meanwhile, "Sister", ignoring the rest, continued to explain the sequence of events and evidence pointing methodically but succinctly to Evu's unkind motives and actions. From manipulating the opinions of the Templars, the locals and even the Mother, to setting up his own system of informing. From using the bandit group for personal gain, to exterminating anyone suspected of apostasy, to circumventing or disobeying direct orders in order to consolidate his own status and record. Finally, Leliana dashed across the papers with a sad look and sighed. That emotion immediately drew a sharp glance from the sorceress, who focused her attention on the words that followed.

— Forgive me. But I suspect the reason for Sir Donnal's keen interest. Even if you are only passing through these lands. Sir Evu's papers briefly mention the murder on the Tract of another knight, whose insignia indicate he was a vassal of the Herrin family. And since Sir...

Interrupting his next words, the knight sighed heavily and nodded, looking down.

— You are right. We have both followed Milady Isolde's will in finding the sacred ashes of Andraste. My lady places her last hope of healing her husband in them. Here we were to meet to exchange news and continue our journey. But... I sensed something was amiss. Some rumours.... A lone traveller on the Tract, no matter how skilled, is nothing against an organised ambush. But hope kept me going. Thank you for the truth about a fellow traveller's fate.

Weighing his own blade in his hand, Sir Donnal nodded, more to himself than to Leliana. Glancing briefly out of the window, the man spoke.

— You should go.

"Sister" and Morrigan turned at the same time to see the group of riders approaching quickly along the Tract in the growing twilight. Leliana exhaled softly.

— The Templars...

— Leave the conversation with the injured gentleman to me. And make haste.

As Leliana hurriedly wrapped up the bundle of documents, Morrigan and Alim were already in the kitchen. Both were anxious to get to the other end of a complicated story and get on the boat. In the garden, Bethany appeared before the couple, finishing off the cheekbone and neck of a young girl who was already able to show off her voluptuous figure. She was wearing a simple country dress. The four fresh cuts did not appear to be deep, but they were painful. A pretty face with a light patina of freckles, framed by blonde curls, patiently wrinkled. But at the sight of a stranger, she was frightened, her grey eyes wide open. A broad-shouldered young man stood beside them. Obviously, it was that very Carver, Bethany's brother. Two bright blue eyes burned in his sun- and wind-baked face, radiating a mixture of guilt, defiance and concern for the wounded. The picture was completed by short, dark hair and a heavy cleaver, its butt resting on the ground. The young man's reaction to the two guests was more active, as he caught the weapon and prepared to charge forward. But his intentions to play the role of defender were cut short by a cry from his older sister.

— Carver! Stop.

Morrigan shook her head.

— We shouldn't wait here for the Templars. They'll be returning to the settlement in triumph any minute.

Bethany nodded quickly.

— You're right. Ebrin was injured by broken glass. But, luckily...

The girl shot an angry look at her brother.

— …nothing serious. Are you at least ready to leave?

Carver nodded, his voice cracking with excitement.

— Yes. We were just finishing up when, um...

Flushed, Ebrin stepped forward sharply and interrupted the conversation.

— We were surprised. If it hadn't been for Carver, that red-haired demon with the sword would have killed us!

Not wanting to argue, the elder sister coldly drew the line.

— If it weren't for your brother, you wouldn't even be here. If we hadn't intervened, the Red Demon would have caught up with you by now. That's a lot of ifs. Let's hurry.

— Creator!

Everyone turned at the sound of Leliana coming out of the building. Ebrin's mouth dropped open in surprise, and Carver said the name with bare lips. "Sister," on the other hand, raised her eyes to the sky to the northwest, just above the roof of Dane's Shelter. Where, despite the darkness, there was a glow that had nothing to do with the sun.

Turning to the others with an expressionless face, Leliana feigned a modest smile. But behind the illusion of nonchalance, Morrigan could see restrained glimmers of anger and frustration. As she approached, the sorceress inquired softly.

— Will it affect us?

The girl shook her head negatively and looked at the other in surprise. At the same time, the approaching clatter of horsemen and the first shouts of orders came from the opposite side of the building. Carver grabbed Ebrin's arm and ran to the back hedge. Bethany and the others, a few seconds behind at first, finally caught up with them.

There were indeed two boats hidden behind the thick coastal scrub that grew in the shadow of the overhanging hill on the left. One was bursting with sacks and bundles, so most of them were on the second. Carver and Alim used long poles to push the wide flatboats down the bank. They glided down the water with a slight splash, only to be caught immediately by the steady, calm current. At the same time, the Dane's Shelter was back in sight. Two heavy, angular figures in armour had just emerged from the mangled back door. From this distance and in the light of the sparse stars, partially hidden by clouds, the two boats looked like strange black figures moving silently into the darkness. But, as luck would have it, the moon appeared from behind the clouds at just that moment. After the darkness had set in, the tired faces of the two Templars were clearly visible in the ghostly light. Of course, they could also see the passengers of the two boats. After a few words, stolen by the distance, the warriors turned and disappeared back into the building.

Alim touched the water with his fingers, appreciating the coolness of a southern river at the height of summer, and said softly.

— Bad luck? Or...

The sitting behind Bethany said dryly.

— It doesn't matter. We wanted to leave as soon as we got home anyway.

Leliana let out a heavy sigh and said quietly.

— Creator, let it be so.

Morrigan asked, wrinkling her nose at the turn of phrase.

— How long does the boat ride take?

— We could have paddled it in an hour. But there's no point. Without it, three and a quarter hours. The river flows at a steady pace here.

The sorceress lifted her eyes to the stars and wondered...

* * *

In the middle of the river, under the dark water that splashed softly in the night, time flowed in a measured way. If you detached yourself from reality, it would seem that the boats were gently rocking in place, and instead of them, the world around them was moving. Clouds. The dark outlines of the banks. The cool wind filled with the scents of the night. Even the stars above. Everything was alive and breathing. But as soon as one dipped their hand into the cold stream, the sense of movement returned with the sensation of water flowing between their fingers.

From the neighbouring boat came the occasional faint voice. It was impossible to make out the meaning of the sentences, but the intonation spoke eloquently of that special intimacy that sometimes blossoms between a man and a woman. On the boat, most of the mages and wizards were silent. The elf seemed to be dozing. Bethany's silhouette made it hard to tell if she was curled up quietly or asleep. Only Morrigan and Leliana were clearly awake. Both were trying to see something in the darkness, but their thoughts were radically different.

First through the sense of forgetfulness was Morrigan's soft voice.

— The river only makes me think dark thoughts. At least in the surrounding darkness. But if my own fears are so familiar… what are yours?

Leliana shrugged, though the gesture went unnoticed in the night.

— There are a lot of fears. I don't know... I think... Should I be grateful?

— Unexpected.

— I agree. Here... I once needed a refuge from the anxiety, the hustle and bustle, the frenetic flow of events that I did not have the strength to keep up with. A close friend, whose services I never expected, helped me move here. The stranger was accepted and the first year in the monastery with the temple became a breath of true peace. It seemed... It would heal all wounds. In time. A normal, measured life. Nice, simple people. Primitive arguments and squabbles over a pet that ate someone else's cabbage. Empty grudges over trifles that never turn into anything more than scolding and gossip. The harsh climate, the wild animals and everything else the South can throw at you — it brings people together. Makes them more honest. But time passed and after a year... I began to choke. Once in a while, then more often, I began to secretly wish for change. Events. It's foolish to think that what happens is an answer to one's secret wishes. But the ways of the Creator are inexplicable... Fear began to arrive daily. More than I once wanted. More than I could handle on my own.

— It's strange to hear a confession. It's doubly strange to hear about the mess in someone else's head.

— Well... It wasn't just the strange circumstances of our conversation that justified it. The visions that pointed to you and the elf were a big part of it. Besides, my instincts tell me that the only way to get close to you is to turn you inside out, without holding anything back.

— Oh, visions... I'd rather not. So knowing your conflicting desires like some other madman must somehow benefit you? Flattering.

— I suppose. Believe me, the fact that it works surprises me more than it does you. Besides, who was the first person to ask me about my fears?

— Exactly. Fears. That's all.

— Good. Fear... I've seen first-hand how the right rumour or subtle hint can break a weak person, or cause a strong one to make a mistake. Hmm... I've probably been the cause of that myself on a few occasions. Didn't you recently mention how interpretation can determine fate?

— Good hearing. Good memory.

— My talents. But not the only ones... Still, to see how a series of unremarkable conversations, a web of reasonable arguments and a timely half-truth can change a good man... Belittling the one.... Such a painful experience for the first time. Unfortunately, blinded by trust and gratitude, I refused to see the first signs of harmful influence. Now... This fire is not a celebratory bonfire or a farewell party. It's a massacre. Brutal and led by the one who should have been the first to oppose it.

Leliana sighed tiredly, and Morrigan, dipping her brush into the water, asked thoughtfully.

— There's obviously a great story here. Your clues are dying to be noticed. If it's about a symbol of goodness by Northern standards, is it about the Mother?

She nodded and sat down, leaning on her hips before continuing. With a breath of air, the girl began to speak.

— That's right. The Church... As an organisation it is something more and something less than faith in the love of the Creator. It is alive with concern for the orphan, the sick, the injured. Help in times of famine or disease. Defence against supernatural atrocities. But it is also about ambitions and goals that are hard to reconcile with the meanings behind the Song of Light. The higher hierarchs had burdened the Mother of Lothering with the goal of turning the people against the current Earl. There may have been good intentions behind it, but I know nothing of them. What I do know is how much it weighed on the heart of a kind and humble woman. All she dared do at first was to put the brakes on Earl Brewland's most controversial and divisive decisions. I don't think this would have had unfortunate consequences had the Earl not left with the King's army, taking with him the guards that protected every Erling settlement. The head of the local temple had publicly opposed this. But... In a strange way, this served as a boost for Sir Evu, who had long since stepped out of the shadow of the current commander of the Lothering Templar Corps. With the appearance of the gang, the latter inadvertently shifted the blame for the villagers' suffering onto the Earl's actions. In response to the Commander's desire to protect the people, he made reasonable arguments about the need to fulfil the tasks of the Templars, not the guards. Growing doubts led Mother to keep the Templars in the settlement. And then to confront the Elder and ask for the harvest to begin as soon as possible. Then, suddenly, the renegades were discovered. Against all odds, Sir Ewu was always in the right place at the right time. I know now that both times they were harmless people. And Sir Ewu simply used the bludgeon of fear and prejudice. The returning Earl failed to deliver a glorious victory, made absurd demands for supplies to be sent north, and left, leaving behind subjects and vassals. Hasind at the temple? It was Sir Evu who suggested that there was no point in seeking conflict with the southerners fleeing Mora. Merchants who have lost their conscience? He questioned the purity of his intentions in dispossessing honest men of their property. And the unfortunate result was a Kunari from nowhere. He slaughtered his family and for some reason surrendered without a fight. Sir Ewu shared his opinion, the killer is a scarecrow to the good citizens, a monster stained with the blood of the innocent. I tried to talk to Mother... After all, this should be the Earl's problem to solve, not the Church's. But... But the already bloated conviction about who should run Lothering could not be shaken. Some of the stupider sisters were sent to tell the people about the Kunari atrocity. Back to the fire... This lynching by the Mother for the benefit of an angry and frightened mob, in which a 'monster' is burned alive. I don't care about the Kunari. But a good man burned with him in that fire. Sometimes we stand at a crossroads, hesitating to take one road or the other. And once we take a step, we reassure ourselves that we can go back and decide otherwise. But with each new step, the game becomes harder to play. My fear is whether I can bring Mother back to the crossroads and show her another way.

Morrigan was silent for a moment, then raised her fingers, numb in the water, to her eyes and said.

— My point is that you should pay more attention to your own mistakes. The mistakes of others are countless. Trying to correct them is like trying to fight the wind. To me, nobility is more a game for the well-fed than a path worth choosing. But... Of course, our views differ. When you return, try. It seems that... The answer to this question will guide you.

— It is as good an advice as any. But no matter what, it does not change my original intentions.

— So visions are more important than answers?

With a barely perceptible shake of her head in the darkness, Leliana bit her lip and said softly.

— They save the lost sheep from dying in doubt at the crossroads. The fear of dying needlessly and uselessly without a choice is stronger than other problems.

— I accept this explanation. It's more honest than the delusion of choice.

There was silence in the boat for a dozen minutes before Leliana's soft but clear, melodious voice rose above the water:

«A fountain's pulsing sobs — like this my blood

Measures its flowing, so it sometimes seems.

I hear a gentle murmur as it streams;

Where the wound lies I've never understood.

Like water meadows, boulevards are flooded.

Cobblestones, crisscrossed by scarlet rills,

Are islands...»

[Charles Pierre Baudelaire (1821-1866).

Suddenly the girl was silent, cut off by the dark intonation of the melody. But this time the canopy of silence briefly enveloped the boat, broken by Bethany's soft voice.

— It's beautiful. And sad. I wouldn't have thought the ever sunny and warm Leliana had a side like this.

The darkness hid the expression on the 'sister's' face, but everyone could feel the broad smile that blossomed on it. Only the imagination could draw out the emotions hidden by the black veil — sadness, regret or something else. Meanwhile, the young sorceress continued, asking the question carefully, as if tasting it.

— So... Sir Ewu planned these murders... of apostates?

— Yes. Cultivating in weak men both paranoia and fanatical belief in the Creator, Sir Ewu received denunciations, some of which contained facts. The first turned out to be a sorcerer who had been living on a farm with a large family for some years. No one knew. Except a lonely, frightened neighbour. Rumour had it that he had tried to run away. Maybe he was worried about the people who had taken him in, maybe he was scared. They caught up with him and killed him on the Tract. Second... A hunter, one of those who had settled at the front, took in a Hasindic woman. They lived quietly as man and wife. She turned out to be a witch. It was a small thing, but enough for Sir Evu to make a scandal. And end in the same way.

— This mage. His name is Seid. He came to Lothering when my father was still alive. They spoke, briefly but politely, like distant acquaintances who respected each other. Then, after my father died, he came back. He dropped in a couple of times. Nothing like that, always polite to mother. It was like he was looking after us.

— It's sad to hear.

— Not as sad as hearing of the death of the family she shared the table with more than once as a child, at the hands of the Kunari... What can we expect from Evu? Is he dangerous?

— Of course he's dangerous. What to expect... Sir Ewu has been quiet, until recently. Although I can see now that there has always been some planning involved. He's smart, consistent and ambitious. Impatient, perhaps. But the problem here is more an outgrowth of that. Little plots and intrigues within the Corps, yes. But a man of this magnitude... I don't see him as having the flexibility when things go wrong. Then I'm afraid Sir Evu will show his true colours.

Leliana was interrupted by the cold voice of Alim, who until that moment had shown no sign of waking up.

— Many bonfires today.

Turning in the same direction, each of them could see the glow of the fire beyond the gentle slope of the slowly approaching hill. By the sparks and purple reflections on the black plumes of smoke that rose into the sky, they could judge the strength and extent of the fire. From a neighbouring boat came Carver's excited cry.

— Sister! Farm...

With one hand gripping the side of the boat, the other covering her mouth, Bethany repeated softly over and over.

— Creator! Not mom... not mom... not mom...

Yellow pupils caught the distant glow of the flames, and Morrigan concluded grimly.

— I'm afraid your Creator is not on our side.

* * *

The silence was filled with the measured splashing of the oars and Carver's low scolding, berating himself for laziness, bad ideas and more. The sister was silent, biting her lip in unbearable anticipation. The boats skirted the hill argumentatively, coming to rest in the middle of a wide swath of reeds. Dropping their belongings as they did so, each hurried up the low slope of the bank. Only to bear witness to the grim scene of the conflagration. The farmhouse, half a kilometre away, was already in flames, the house and barn had collapsed, only the stable was still standing, and the burning rye field was billowing with smoke.

In front of the remains of the house, against the purple hues of the flames, three black figures stood patiently and motionless, watching the disaster unfold.

Carver was about to pick up the axe, but as if expecting it, Morrigan said caustically.

— Brave fools die first. The honour is great. It's no use.

The young man snapped back, not hiding his emotion.

— That's not your mother in there!

— Will you prove your sister right by laying your head at the feet of the Templars?

Bethany repeated hoarsely.

— The Templars...

— Three. Look closer.

In the bright flashes, the metallic sheen of the armour actually glittered on the dark figures. Only the warriors of the Church wore such armour here now. Alim leaned forward as he spoke.

— That's... bad news.

— Among the warriors of the Creator present, I'm the only one who has killed, I believe.

Looking around at the others, her gaze lingering on a frowning Leliana, Morrigan added.

— And pretty much the only one that killed at all. I don't see any bows. No swords, no armour either. Hmm... In a normal situation, the easy answer would be to turn around and walk away. Such suicide is painful. But... Looking at the situation from the outside, I understand your motives. As well as the sad outcome. Somehow I don't want to see some people dead. If the will of brother and sister is strong, I will kill the Templars. But when it comes to life, you're no less in demand. The deal is, Carver, you stay here on the shore, and if your attempt fails, your life, like mine, is over. Leliana, she'll follow the same path if she chooses to join us. Alim, you will be needed in battle. Without a trace. Bethany, here with your brother's companion, you await victory. One or the other. Decide quickly!

The young sorceress closed her eyes, opened and closed her mouth, but said anyway.

— Wouldn't it make more sense to attack together?

— You're useless. The living dead, nothing more. Believe me.

Carver interjected sullenly.

— What do you mean, I'll die if you die?

— How fickle is the education of youth. You and you. The answer is magic. You're wasting your time. We've been spotted.

One of the figures pointed in the direction of the group and the trio turned to follow, exchanging sentences. A moment later, the Templars were moving towards the group at a brisk pace, swords drawn.

— Three, four minutes and we're dead....

— Do it. I agree.

Dazed, the young sorceress looked back at her brother and nodded uncertainly, but Morrigan didn't wait for a convincing yes, she formed a spell immediately.

— Tua vita mea este.

The translucent serpent glittered for a moment with the distorted glow of fire, then darted towards the young man, making him take half a step back. The sorceress exhaled, met her 'sister's' determined gaze and, ignoring any possible objections, repeated the spell. Leliana accepted the magic calmly, not moving a muscle in response. Then, with a grimace, the Morrigan performed an act that caused a general shock. Quickly and shamelessly, one by one, the girl dropped all her clothes above her waist onto the grass. Exposing her skin to the night and the purple glow of the fire, she showed no discomfort except for the natural reaction of her nipples hardening in the cold. Slapping the stunned elf lightly on the cheek, the sorceress muttered commands.

— Crown Spell. When ready, when I'm a step away from them, break ranks. Create as much chaos as possible until they're exhausted.

Without wasting another second, Morrigan tossed her bag aside and sprinted towards the Templars. She was like a beautiful demon with a terrible grin on her face. Golden eyes catching the glow of the flame met molten silver, slightly phosphorescent in the darkness, screaming of the lyrium circulating in the warriors' blood. The two men looked younger than the leader and were distinguished by their growing russet hair below their shoulders, braided in the manner of the Commander of the Lothering Templars and the fashion of the Southern Border. The one running slightly ahead looked stiffer, with only dishevelled and close-cropped black hair. In less than a minute, the figures almost crossed, but the girl was overtaken by a wave of Alim's magic. It parted around the leader, as if frightened, unable to overpower the warrior with its right hand, but taking up the left. It was as if the man had collided with an invisible wall, instantly draining the air from him. But it threw the Templar barely more than five metres away, without causing him to lose his balance or his weapon.

The two blades swept forward in a single lunge, seeking to strike the girl's throat and heart instantly. But the sorceress, anticipating the first attack, jerked to the right in an instant. The leader's blade sliced across the tip of her cheek, tearing off her left ear and leaving a thin trail of scarlet blood. But the Second Templar managed to change the position of the long sword, tilting it outwards from its original trajectory and using the inertia of the opponent's body against Morrigan. The metal tore effortlessly through the flesh beneath her lower rib, penetrating deeper and deeper into her body. But the sorceress' grin did not change one iota. She continued forward, thrusting the blade faster, deliberately, all the way to the guard, and in one breath spat a curling spit into the man's face.

— Nigrum putredo quad devorat anima.

At the same time as he finished his sentence, a thin hand snapped lightning fast to his opponent's cheek. It was more of a slap than a serious attack. And then, for the first time clearly struggling to hold back the pain, the sorceress collapsed to the right, ripping the weapon from her own flesh and letting the armoured figure pass the still-moving armoured figures.

Somewhere far behind him, there was a muffled cry of pain. But more importantly, the warrior who had just inflicted the grievous wound nearly stumbled, turning pale and sharp, his eyes red with bloodshot vessels. Time had not stood still. Pushing herself off the ground with her hand to keep her balance, the girl spat blood in one motion and ran forward towards the Templar, who was pushed away by the elf's spell. The terrible wound in her side stopped bleeding and healed before her eyes. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, telling Morrigan that the leader and his aide had decided to stab her in the back with a «Punishment» instead of chasing her. Practically the only skill of the Order not directly related to martial arts. And the trump card that drained the mages of their mana while inflicting terrible pain.

The girl used all the strength in her legs, threw her body to the left and rolled across the grass. A blast of power, literally pushing the stored mana away, whizzed past her, missing her by a few fingers. Ignoring the bruises and the stones digging into her skin, the maiden pushed herself onto all fours and lunged forward again. At the same time, Alim's magic struck repeatedly at the backs of the men behind her. A barely perceptible, ephemeral wall flashed past them, unharmed, and overtook the warrior as he prepared to retaliate. He managed to resist, but fell to his right knee and rammed his blade into the ground. Lifting his head, the Templar saw a dark female silhouette with a burning gaze above him. Gentle hands, like two snakes, encircled his head with unusual speed and force, pressing the man's eyes into his skull with their thumbs. The scent of fresh blood touched the warrior and a voice full of anger spoke.

— Nigrum putredo quad devorat anima.

Fighting for his own life, the man grabbed the dagger from his belt with a scream of fear and rage, and in one smooth motion drove it up to just under Morrigan's breastbone. The girl reflexively took a step back, gasping for air without a sound. Her yellow eyes dropped to the hilt of the blade protruding between her breasts. A throwing knife sliced through the air from behind with a distinctive whistle and plunged into her left thigh, eliciting an agonised groan from the sorceress. As the kneeling and pale Templar tried to blink and failed in his attempt to rise, the wind carried excited shouts and, close by, curses.

With a hoarse scream, Morrigan grabbed a blade, then another, and threw them blindly backwards. Blood oozed from the new wounds, but less than it should. Her body was covered in an intricate pattern, quickly darkening from scarlet to brown. Willing her legs to move, the girl darted to the left, moving away from the approaching enemies in a mishmash of rage, muscle and metal. A Templar lagged behind, moving unevenly as if he were much older than the winters he had lived. The leader roared in a dangerously deep voice, full of burning rage.

— Cut!

He threw himself forward, at a slightly reproachful angle, his hand free of the blade. His partner tried to repeat the move, but stumbled and fell to the grass with a groan. Realising she wouldn't be able to stop in time, the sorceress gritted her teeth, ignoring her burning lungs, and accelerated to the right, closing in on the Templar pair. Once again, Cara missed her target by a hair, barely touching the developing black locks. The leader lunged forward, surprising with his explosive speed in such armour. And the girl had to dodge the Templar's heavy arm as it flew towards the ringed fist, aiming for the jaw. Only to find the warrior's skirts flying up and a slashing blow catching up with the man's inertia, wrapped around his own axis. Tearing her muscles, Morrigan struggled to move enough to save her spine. Then, with a wet sound, the sword entered the back of her side. The steel tore through skin and tissue, grazing her internal organs a centimetre from her loins. There were no screams this time, and the pain nearly sent the girl into oblivion. But as she relaxed her failing body and let it move after the blow, turning and turning, the sorceress threw her left hand out to the side, whipping her fingers like a whip with the last of her strength. Her lips, scarlet with blood, said.

— Nigrum putredo quad devorat anima.

Her fingertips touched the Templar's mouth as she began to fall, but as she completed the turn. Showing him a painful smile of triumph, the Morrigan collapsed without feeling her legs, fighting back the waves of nausea and cold. Her skin no longer looked flawless, scratched, stained with grass, dirt and her own blood, but also sickly pale and damp with cold sweat. The leader of the attackers did not look well either, though his reddened eyes continued to burn with will and fury. The sword trembled. The Templar swung for a final blow at the enemy, who lay sprawled on the grass like a broken doll.

Something knocked him aside, sending him crashing to the ground with a scream of pain and dropping his blade. Biting her lip, Morrigan miraculously willed herself to stay at the edge, even though the mana drain was relentless. The night sky was silent with silvery clouds, myriads of lights flickering indifferently but excitingly between them. Not far away, someone groaned and seemed to be coughing wetly, using up what little strength they had left. On the edge of fading consciousness came the sound of approaching running and a man's excited voice.

— Fuck you.

Then the girl's eyes closed...

* * *

The first thing Morrigan felt after the endless, merciful blackness was the gentle sunshine and the tentative touch of gusts of wind. And then came the pain. Literally everywhere. And the girl wanted to go back. But her will was not so weak, and her mind — dulled. When she opened her eyes, she saw the blue sky with rare lambs of white clouds, moving confidently and indifferently about their own business. So the night had passed, the sun had risen, and the next day had dawned. Morrigan hoped it was the next day, and not another day in the uncertain future.

The girl was lying on the grass, but her posture was that of a man resting rather than the victim of a vicious battle. Her naked torso was covered by Alim's robe, which was draped over her body. At this discovery, the familiar voice of an elf came from the side.

— Welcome back to the mortal world. I have to admit. You scared me. No, I was also impressed. But mostly scared.

Squinting her eyes as the slightest turn of her head made her feel sick, the girl found the mage's figure a few metres to her right. The man looked away, but a slight smile of relief spread across his face. The girl raised her eyes to the sky again and snorted. But it didn't sound very convincing, even to herself. A hoarse, husky voice murmured.

— Water...

— Of course.

Alim got up, walked a few steps away and returned with a ladle of warm water, which he carefully poured into the suffering girl, who clung greedily to the source of moisture.

— More?

— No.... Not yet. How much longer?

— It's midday.

— Hmmm...

Sitting back down beside him and scratching the bridge of his nose, the elf waved his hand uncertainly and asked.

— It was... It was amazing magic. The dark side of the art, surely. Yet the idea was madness. And it got even crazier when I saw it in action. Did your... Ambiguous experiences with the Order influence your battle tactics?

Licking her parched lips, the sorceress inhaled and exhaled slowly. Despite the pain, she breathed easily.

— Communication. That's a nice definition. Yes... Strong warriors, skilled, experienced hunters of the Hasindim rightly call witches deceitful women who play with the heavens. A southern compliment. Quite fitting for those who, without weapons, can kill a mighty beast not only dozens of paces away, but even out of sight. The Templars are no imaginary enemy to us. Especially when lyrium boils in their blood. "Punishment" is only the most visible trump card, like spots on a leopard's skin. And the hidden claws that are truly dangerous — "Purity", as it is loudly called. The space around the warriors in which magic dissolves and loses its power, the greater their potential. This is why, according to Mother's tales, powerful apostates are no more dangerous to hunters than kittens. But as the 'communication' showed, the secret of the Templars is simple — the amazing power within the warriors' own bodies does not work.

The man ran his hand through his hair in amazement. The man ran his hand through his hair in amazement, comparing the facts he knew with what he had heard, he gave the girl a puzzled look and said softly.

— Unbelievable. So that's why... I see. Touch acted as a conduit.

There was a short silence, then Alim asked another question.

— It's all falling into place. But I won't hide it, even if I had your knowledge and experience, I wouldn't dare to use such tactics. But there is one question I can't get out of my head. Why, Abyss, did you take your clothes off?!

After a pause, Morrigan replied in a rather serious tone.

— I like my own clothes. I didn't want to see them torn. I did get a hole in my trousers though. I should have taken them off as well.

The elf jumped, frozen, red in the face. But after a moment he laughed out loud and wiped away the tears. Then he sighed and summed it up.

— It makes a surprising amount of sense. In the light of everything else. And funny. Very funny. Even if it's no laughing matter.

— What about the others?

— Speaking of your magic. Young Carver was the first to pass out. Poor Leliana lasted a little longer and collapsed without a sound.

— Poor? Was that an expression of care and respect?

The elf coughed and continued the story, ignoring the question.

— The young man was being cared for by his friend. An honest and caring creature. Fortunately, he awoke at sunrise and, despite his poor appearance, went to help his sister. Leliana... Still unconscious. I'm a lousy healer, but her breathing is steady, and other than exhaustion, I see nothing to worry about. Or try not to. After all, this magic is meant to kill. Bethany...

Alim wiped his face with the palms of his hands and exhaled tiredly, searching for words to formulate the oppressive news. But before the man could gather his courage, the facts were spoken by his interlocutor, who had come to the right conclusions on her own.

— The mother of this family has died. I should have known. But hope is a greater blinder than the enemy. Horses?

— Yes, horses. One horse can no longer run quarry. His lungs are collapsed. The Templars have spared no expense to get here as quickly as possible. According to Carver's description of the road, it took them twenty minutes to get here from Lothering. Even if they had taken their time at the settlement, they had more than an hour to get to the farm.

Morrigan wrinkled her nose and clarified.

— Evu?

— The leader of the three. Black-haired.

— A blessing in disguise.

— How to look at it... How to look at it....

— They're alive. You're alive. Don't moan. Help me up.

The elf held out his hand willingly, and the girl, grasping it tightly, groaned and rose to her knees, then to her feet. She grabbed the mage's shoulder, unashamed of her weakness, lest she collapse on her side. But after a minute of panting, she was able to stand with only a little support. Once again, the witch handed the man his garment without a hint of embarrassment. Immediately there was a magnificent view of the woman's breasts, flat, barely muscled stomach and shoulders, combining feminine delicacy with the strength of a developed body. This time Alim didn't blush. After a fleeting glance at the graceful lines, he simply turned away in silence.

Checking where the sharp metal of the blades had penetrated the flesh, Morrigan found only a barely perceptible faint streak on the side where the last blow had struck.

— One of those things about you that may never get old — a mixture of dignity and upbringing that managed to survive in some amazing way into adulthood. With intelligence and all that, it's unique. But let's not waste time on manners.

Alim raised his eyebrows and looked over his shoulder to see the sorceress already pulling a woollen cloak over her shirt. She glanced at Leliana, who lay pale as death, and shrugged.

— I'm not wrong in assuming that you have no objections to her as a travelling companion? With all this talk of visions and the Creator. The fact that she's been killed like me, and that there's something broken behind the smiling sisters' entourage. Confused by the contradictions.

The mage looked closely at the man lying there. Not as a "body". But as the totality of what his companion had enumerated. And nodded slowly.

— I don't see that deep. And I won't ask where you're from. You sound suspicious when you say that. But the answer is yes. Let her go. To be honest, I think that even if we say no to Leliana, she might still follow us out of her own convictions. I'd rather listen to songs and stories than feel Leliana's back as a stalker.

— There's that line again. Amazing. Remember, it narrows your choices.

— What? What other options are there? Hang on... No, murder is out of the question!

The sorceress sighed and shook her head.

— I shouldn't praise you for being clever. It's enough to break one leg... One leg... Ha. A toe on each foot. And the redhead's plans will be ruined. All right, whatever. Let's find the others.

The girl's eyes swept the area in a semicircle. Not far away, three bodies in heavy armour lay huddled together. Each looked like a week old corpse. The skin had become translucent, revealing the pattern of dark veins hidden beneath. The flesh seemed scarred by decay. The eyes were sunken. The Morrigan shuddered to herself, showing no outward regard for the results of the spell, the knowledge of which had come to her out of nowhere. But in terms of brutal killing efficiency, the result was beyond even the repertoire her mother had freely used. Analysing the new memories and the pattern of the runes, the girl had clearly imagined the result beforehand. But imagining one thing... Most unpleasant of all were the thoughts about the nature of the source from which the memories of the vile magic came, which had only one purpose — to inexorably and painfully kill its victims. On the bright side, the training was considered a success.

Still, his gaze glided on. Past a small extinguished fire with a few burnt pots and a ladle to the horizon. The remains of the buildings around it continued to smolder, sending thin white tendrils of smoke into the sky. There was a suffocating smell of burning. The field and garden were burnt to the ground, a pitiful spectacle of devastation. Beds were still standing in a few places, and a few haystacks had strangely survived. But the exceptions only emphasised the full extent of the damage. There was nothing to hold on to. Soon, wandering eyes found the figures of the others in the ruins.

The Morrigan limped towards them, not the least surprised when the elf remained behind, near Leliana. As they approached, Bethany was the first to hear the uneven footsteps and turn.

— Oh! Morrigan. You're awake.

The sorceress twitched her lips in irritation at such a casual mention of a name so easily given without her mistress's permission. It reminded her of her dark thoughts about the elf's motives and her resentment towards him. As before — the girl had to gather her will into a fist to keep such thoughts at bay. But the younger, self-taught sorceress did not notice the shadow of those emotions. She straightened and bowed.

— Thank you! We owe you and Alim our lives. Whatever he says... I mean, if Carver says something disrespectful, don't hold a grudge. I saw it with my own eyes. My magic and his sword skills would have been swept away by those three Templars. I just...

The girl dabbed her soot-stained hand under her nose and sniffed. Her eyes darted involuntarily to the remains of the house and her lips curled in a struggle with emotion.

— I don't... I... If.....

Morrigan shook her head and shifted her gaze to Carver, who was in the distance, picking at the remains of some outbuildings with his girlfriend.

— Fight it, don't fight it, you can't win. The 'what ifs' don't go away so easily. It's hard for me to get family and home right. I think it's stupid the way it is. But when I look at you, I realise that what you've been through is as much a part of you as an arm or a leg. You can cut it off. But it's irrevocably crippling. It's better to face doubt with your eyes wide open than to run away. You'll save time. Yes, recklessly indulging your own sense of nobility, probably imposed by your family — you traded your home, your childhood and your mother for me and the elf. And perhaps for nothing. We're not that weak. It was a lousy trade, frankly. Even I can see that. But there's no other way. Keep moving. And don't be ashamed to hope that the wound will heal.

Bethany stared at her companion, a tear running down her dirty cheek. Then another. The girl's face suddenly cracked with inner pain, and sobbing openly, almost blindly, she pounded at Morrigan with her fists. The blows had no power in them. And soon, as the trembling, sobbing body fell into the sorceress' arms, they stopped altogether. She did not embrace the young woman explicitly, but held her by the shoulders. It was easy to tell from the gaze and the parted lips that the more collected of the two was annoyed by the outburst of uncontrollable emotion. Inwardly, Morrigan could barely stop herself from pushing the tear-stained creature away. Part of her was disgusted by the absurd display of weakness, but the other part whispered that such behaviour was inevitable and required patience, unless the goal was to destroy the relationship. That was not the goal Morrigan had set for herself. Not yet.

— Shh... Tell me — did you find your mother's body?

The girl nodded, but she couldn't stop the tears. So it was several long minutes before the older sorceress' eyes met Carver's. The young man had matured overnight. More inwardly than outwardly. And it wasn't a growth on himself, but rather the first signs of autumn in his soul. It was easy to read that his older brother was about to say something harsh, despite his sister's condition. Ebrin's keen sense of mood was just in time to give her broad shoulder a firm squeeze. With a painful groan, Carver emerged from his fog. He nodded grimly, either to the girl behind him or to his own thoughts, and turned back to the matter at hand.

Relatively recovered, Bethany pointed in the direction of the burnt garden. As they walked together at a slow pace, Morrigan found a flowerbed in the midst of the charred trees. A shovel was stuck in the loose earth at the edge, and a grave stood out like a fresh wound among the partially trampled flowers.

— Carver helped... But he's weak, and Ebryn and I did most of the work. Mother.

The girl continued with a ragged, vibrating exhale.

— There were signs of bruising on the body. Not much. She died of a clean blow to the heart. Probably. Almost painlessly. Mother was executed as being of no value. And waited for us. She loved flowers... Dad's grave in the hills nearby. Maybe it was wrong to separate them, but... Mom loved the garden and I... I...

— The memory is more important than the voice of the dead. I see no reason to put another stone of guilt around your neck. What have you decided about this place? Sooner or later, others will follow in Evu's footsteps. I'm not willing to repeat the deed. Especially when there are more than three enemies.

— Carver insists on going to the Southern Borders. Then it's either down the river straight to Denerim, or with the other caravans somewhere in Bannorn. Much depends on where Ebrin's family goes. They must be worried about her. And here she is, torn between her love for her family and her love for a man. And my brother awaits my decision. And I...

Morrigan wrinkled her nose tiredly and sighed inwardly.

— Stop it. The fact that I'm hearing this tells me one thing. There's a reason to choose a different path. Tell me.

The young girl trembled and hesitantly began to explain. The more she spoke, the more confidently the words came together in phrases and sentences.

— My father tried to teach me as much as he could, but I always avoided art. Being unique, special. In my father's example, that meant only one thing: hiding, hardship, giving up one's roots and, in the long run, the chance of any greatness. Sometimes it even occurred to me that life in the Circle might offer more prospects than becoming an unregistered mage in the wilderness, an a priori target for Templar hunters, forced to live quietly. All my life. Then why do it at all. Better to be normal. Less you know, less chance of making a mistake. We had an older brother. More talented than me and the pride of my father. But after Dad died, he went his own way. Left us behind as a useless burden, preventing us from going far and free. I haven't heard from him since... But perhaps I was wrong and he was right. My brother found the strength to leave, and in doing so, he made the family safe from his own presence. All this time, there was nothing to be afraid of. Maybe there is. Maybe it's too late. But now I want to learn. You have shown what you can become and... You have to take a sober look at where you are. I don't think I'll ever get another chance like this. Take me as your apprentice!

Bethany turned, but the first glimpse of the sorceress' face brought back the shadow of fear.

— No... Don't reject her right away, please. What would it take to change your mind? To swear allegiance? To serve you? If...

Morrigan stepped back in disgust, causing the young woman to cover her mouth in horror at the thought that she had carelessly made things worse. The sorceress' emotions were stirred not by the meaning of Bethany's words, however, but by a sudden flash of memory. The image of witches kneeling before Flemeth again and again, just as willing to wriggle in the mud for the sake of power and knowledge, came to mind. To change their own fate at the mercy of an outsider's favour. Something that made Morrigan an example to be despised, even though she herself was fed by the same hand and differed little in substance and content. But something in her mind whispered the truth — there was a difference. These women were not afraid to admit the truth of their place before the powerful. They were defined by purpose, while Morrigan was defined only by pride. And now — the girl found herself in the place of her own mother. An object of both affection and hatred. The silence dragged on, but the thoughts in the sorceress' mind raced at a frightening pace. Soon, the shock of the past was inexorably replaced by the cold judgement of the present.

Pulling herself together, Morrigan said.

— Drop it. From this moment until your last breath, remember. Make no vows to anyone, ever. Do not trade your freedom. Loyalty is only valuable until it falls irrevocably into the wrong hands. Remember, there are only actions and consequences. All other big words are smoke. I'm as far from my mother as I am from Dragon Mountain. But as long as you're determined, I see no obstacle to your studies. Nevertheless, you and your brother will part ways.

The Morrigan raised an eyebrow, expecting an informed response, and Bethany did not disappoint, her eyes downcast and pensive. Biting her lip, the girl nodded slowly, then looked up and repeated the motions more confidently.

— I'll talk to my brother.

The older sorceress wanted to smile, but stopped herself with a twitch of her lips. Nodding, she turned and went back to the elf.

Fortunately, Leliana came to her senses. Alim fluttered around uncertainly, trying to be on hand but at the same time not looking too fussy. After drinking, the girl looked up at Morrigan, then shifted her gaze to the three bodies nearby and said carefully, guarding her voice.

— Everything Sir Evu touches is tainted. These Templars with him once had only respect and a smile because of their youth.

— Keep your meaningless facts to yourself. It's time to make a decision about the road. We should cross the river and head north.

Alim glanced in the direction of the others. Out of earshot, the brother's figure gesticulated wildly with his hands, while the sister stood alone, shaking her head. And Ebrin seemed to have no place to be. Turning her gaze back to her companion, the elf frowned but remained silent. Leliana, on the other hand, objected firmly, pointing to her own destination.

— I have to get back to Lothering...

The sorceress cut her off immediately.

— No one is holding you.

The 'sister' sitting on the grass wrinkled her forehead and tried to act different.

— Look, Morrigan…

The mistress of the name turned away and pierced the mage with a look so sharp that he involuntarily smiled nervously. After an eloquent silence, Leliana coughed and continued.

— The route around Lothering takes many days over inhospitable terrain. But a boat will take you much faster to the chain of lakes that precede the Calenhad. And with a fishing rod, the problem of food is solved. I must make one last attempt to reason with the head of the temple. We've talked about this.

The elf tried to bring cold calculation to the exchange.

— What about the Templars? Do you think Sir Evu has kept our faces a secret? At least the men who captured us are not lying in this clearing.

Leliana nodded.

— That's true. But there's a difference between a targeted hunt and the danger of being recognised. Without Sir Evu, the network of informants is decapitated. There's no mastermind to direct subordinates to bypass higher orders and get to the right places. And those who shared Sir Evu's ideas no longer have anyone to cover for them. I'm more or less safe. That doesn't mean you're free to roam the settlement. But... as long as you stay out of sight, there shouldn't be any major problems.

Morrigan snorted and put her hands on her hips.

— "More or less." "Shouldn't." A bunch of vague phrases.

But Leliana was not backing down, quite the opposite.

— You need a guide. You need a boat. You need supplies. Fruit, firewood, dry rations, warm, thick cloaks, a change of underwear...

"Sister" went on, causing the men's eyebrows to rise in amazement at the depth of knowledge revealed in such an unexpected place.

— ...That's just the first thing that came to mind. You'll have to take your chances if you don't want to end up on the shores of a great lake with bloody feet and starving to death. No boat. Forests are sparse for a few days' journey north, animals are frightening. Don't rely on foraging or easy hunting.

Alim turned to exchange a glance with his companion, but stopped half-heartedly at the cold look in her eyes. Morrigan questioned her slowly, as if chewing.

— Is it possible that you missed something so simple? The river runs through the centre of Lothering. And right now every boat is worth its weight in gold. So we must wait for night. And then rely on the chastity and blindness of the night?

Footsteps sounded behind them, and a sad but collected Bethany approached the group. The older sorceress immediately turned her attention to the newcomer.

— Have you got it?

— You could say that. We managed to separate without a fight. But... In a heated tone. We agreed on how to find each other in the future and where to write letters. What did you decide?

— Oh... There is a "plan". Back to Lothering. For the sake of convenience and domestic comfort. And under the cover of night, skip...

Bethany politely touched her future mentor's arm, drew attention to herself and apologised.

— I'm sorry. But if you want to sneak a boat through Lothering, it's best not to do it at night. Early morning, at sunrise. Fog has been descending on the river for the last few days, and so it was today. Walking with a cane in the damp, cold air, in the twilight and through the fog, few can tell if it's an accidental splash from a boat or a fish.

Morrigan smiled faintly and pointed her eyes at the girl.

— Guide.

As if to end the discussion, the redhead clapped her hands. This gave the youngest of the group a strange look of surprise and concern, as if she had just realised that Leliana was no less a part of the story. Morrigan looked at each in turn, then let out an irritated growl and drew her own line.

— I see. Let`s play by your rules.