Chapter 9 - "Fruit of Doubt"

Morrigan settled in the Captain's private quarters on a three-legged stool at a narrow table nailed to the floor. Though it was a stretch of the imagination to call it anything other than a den. The room did not reflect the Captain's status, either in size or in decoration. But considering the size of the ship and the crew, it was good that it had a door. Using the light from the open window with its six tiny square panes, the sorceress studied the ship's log, the ledger and the few parchment rolls of maps, documents and letters. The papers were of real interest to her. They allowed her to look through a keyhole into the lives and minds of strangers. The letters, figures and symbols that made up the lines subdued the strange feeling of envy of other people's successes and achievements. No matter how insignificant those achievements turned out to be on closer inspection. The girl was tapping her finger thoughtfully on the surface of the table, polished by hundreds of touches, when the desk creaked warningly. With a gust of fresh air that swept through the room and out the window, the red-haired beauty lit up the room with her presence. Gently closing the sash, she looked around for a second piece of furniture to sit on. She looked around for a second piece of furniture to sit on, but there was no such luxury, so she settled on a hammock stretched along the wall, leaning against it with her legs hanging down.

Morrigan glanced around her companion with a look in which suspicion and curiosity usually vied for supremacy.

— Any success? Asking me to leave it to you sounded strange. But for a 'sister', you are surprisingly shrewd and aware of people's passions and the subtleties of negotiation.

— Not that it was difficult to get people to talk after such a "demonstration". A pleasant demeanour and a reassuring smile work wonders without tricks and gimmicks. Although... I can see it in your eyes, I can't dissuade you. It takes patience and instinct — knowing when to listen and when to speak. Back to the results. The ship was loaded with arrowheads and spearheads taken from the wharves of Garlen's Pass.

The sorceress clucked her tongue and poked her forefinger into the rough, worn leather of the ledger cover.

— Yes. Judging by the scribbles that northerners like our wizard use to mark quantities, it's a lot of cargo. To take a chance on a ship at this time of year... That seems to be the reason.

The girl touched a curl, twisted by a thick cord, with her palm and continued.

— The paper is called a contract. A contract with a person that the captain, in his personal diary, thought was fictitious. A merchant from Hayevere who had chartered a ship in Amaranthine. But the money, according to the notes in the margins, is considerable. Enough to pay the crew and replace the equipment. And most importantly, there's no need to worry about the goods. According to the notes, the money for the purchase and the voyage was handed over immediately. Later, the curious captain made two mysterious notes. From the other side, to the sellers on the road to the pass, the transaction looked routine. No suspicion, no recalculation of the sum, no talk of news. And then there were the goods themselves. From the look of them and the labels, they were goods from Orléigh. But the captain noticed that the chipped moulds were still intact.

She arched an eyebrow and phrased what she said as a question, even if she didn't say it properly. Leliana shrugged and reluctantly explained.

— Not bad... For someone who grew up in the wilds of Korkari. Weapons are forged in Orleigh and Ferelden. And many other places. The same goes for arrowheads, for example. The only people on this side of the world who have mastered the art of casting moulds without the characteristic loss of strength are the dwarves of Orzamar. It's not worth digging any further. It's like a painting of a political conspiracy. It's unlikely that the ship is the only one. Those who plan something like this rarely put all their eggs in one basket. There could be two or three layers to the plot. If you're guessing. For example, someone in Ferelden wanting to frame an opponent in a hurry. Or the need to arm a medium-sized army... No, more like a militia. Yeah, I'd bet on a bunch of people being armed in a hurry. It also looks like an attempt to provoke an incident with Orleans. The only question is, who's got that much money? I don't know.

Morrigan nodded slowly for a few moments, agreeing with her conclusions. But the green-eyed woman jumped to another topic without wasting any time.

— Actually, talking to the crew has helped to distract me and put things into perspective. You know... Whatever conclusions you came to after talking to me, the tactics you chose to hijack the ship definitely didn't fall into the category of reasonable and, most importantly, safe. It seemed... Well, to tell you the truth, pretty crazy. I can't help but mention that I'm noticing a certain tendency towards... barebacking. To put it mildly. And a disregard for self-preservation. After a long rainy day in the same boat, a certain impression is formed. And a performance like today's is not your typical behaviour. Is it?

Morrigan gave her a sombre look and paused for a long, long time. What had happened earlier, as well as other things going on in her own mind, was not a subject the girl wanted to reveal to everyone she met. The few conversations she had had with Alim, which had shed some light on her innermost thoughts, had only touched the surface of the problem. But as she considered the situation, Morrigan realised the inordinate risks of keeping the secret from her companions. Even in the unrealistically optimistic scenario of arriving at the stronghold in two or three days, being welcomed with open arms, and finding the answers she needed in the Circle Library immediately, there was still time for unforeseen events. Past conversations with Leliana allowed the sorceress to vividly imagine the unintended reactions of uninformed humans and elves to such complications. And though something deep and irrational in the girl desperately resisted the idea of opening herself up to anyone... Rationality provided strong arguments in favour of such a step. In addition, there was the comforting thought at the back of Morrigan's mind that the threat could eventually be eliminated. The ease with which it took its place among the other considerations encouraged another round of dark doubt and self-examination. Stopping the flow of thoughts, the sorceress sighed slowly and decided to try an experiment.

— Sharp eye. Let's start with the fact that a few months ago there was hardly any chance of being here. But even if I had... Hmm. I'd prefer murder by other means. Clean and safe. But... No. It would be too easy to avoid encounters with unnecessary people altogether. Unrecognised and unnoticed, I would have achieved the ultimate goal. The displayed softness is an external influence. Alim and Bethany's worldviews are soft, but there's no reason to trample on it before its time. Even more reason it would be challenging to break Alim. And so they will change. And we can`t know in advance what they'll lose in the process. The other sharp edges are my problem.

Morrigan tapped her forefinger gently on her temple and hummed unhappily before continuing.

— Of course it's in my head. And since art is under my control, it's not hard to guess what's causing the nightmares and the behavioural changes.

Leliana twisted her ears to listen to her interlocutor's facial expressions, trying to pick up the slightest trace of emotion behind the wall of words. She blinked at the fact that was left unspoken and in plain sight.

— Obsession. Not an expert on the subject. But even what little I know doesn't match your appearance and the naturalness of your behaviour. The way you speak is embarrassing. Can't argue with that. Sometimes the solutions seem paradoxical, as do the questions. But... It's easier to put that down to eccentricity and background. Perhaps the traits of an unconventional personality. It's strange to me that you seem both confident and sincere when you talk about such things. If — assuming you're right. It's hard for me to imagine what it's like. The uncertainty, the doubts that gnaw at you.

The sorceress suddenly tapped the table gently and smiled predatorily.

— Is it so hard? Isn't doubt your companion? Do you not listen to the voice outside? At this hour and this minute, my fate leads you on. It's easy to imagine that another figure might have occupied this place in the past. For something or someone drove you into the wilderness. You can imagine better than most what it's like to look for a trick in your decisions and thoughts. Doubts that bleed like blood every minute. The right word here is not 'difficult', but 'too familiar'.

She leaned back against the wall, rubbed the bridge of her nose and let out a soft sigh. She looked up at the ceiling and continued the conversation, paying little attention to how accurately and deeply Leliana was being hit by the carelessly thrown phrases.

— Let's just say I'm serious. But don't mistake this for a landslide. Unstoppable and uncontrollable. Before. Now, and hopefully beyond, the shape of change is tangible. Just as you watch the face of the person you are talking to without taking your eyes off them, I watch the movement of my own thoughts. Every motive can be analysed and the essence found. During the days on the lake, however, I was faced with a dilemma. If a small part has changed, the situation is understandable and clear. But if it is a large one? Isn't it more correct to consider the rest of the old part as an aberration? Surprisingly, we usually don't notice such small things. In each of the stories you've told, the characters have been changed. Some at the beginning, others in the epilogue. At certain moments, if you had thought about it, you would have been able to see that the flow of thought had changed. Or at least you would have realised that this was a new me, the past only fragments. Meanwhile, those who change always pay no attention to that. In the end, I decided that I could at least use the apparent changes to my advantage. And not avoid them by restricting my freedoms. So it's not so clear-cut with madness.

The redhead shook her head in disbelief, her lips tightening. The redhead shook her head in disbelief, frowning and choosing her words carefully.

— Comparing the changes that everyone goes through on a daily basis with obsession ..... sounds... dangerous. Scary. Disturbing. A dozen more epithets to make it clearer? From the outside, it sounds like the first step towards ending the resistance. I realise now that the purpose of the journey to the Fortress is first and foremost an attempt at resistance.

Shrugging her shoulders, the sorceress replied thoughtfully and evenly.

— Rationalising the new in me, I had a clean victory. No sacrifice. Result achieved. Yes, it looked frightening from the outside. I'll grant you that. But on the inside, believe me, it was much easier. The trick was more magical. It's just... Indifference to pain and violence kills the fear, the fear of being hurt again. And it allows you to do with your eyes open what your instincts stifle in their infancy. What surprises me more is how calmly you take this conversation. Whether it reveals the strength of your convictions. Or the extent of your blindness.

Leliana arched an eyebrow and, unable to hide the sarcasm in her voice, interjected.

— Did you expect me to rush out and throw myself overboard when I found out I had doubts about possession?

— Hmm. What did I expect... A good question. One of the options. Certainty. Sureness. That's what I got.

Nodding and shaking her red hair, the green-haired woman smiled sadly. And she said in a low voice.

"...It will assume your brother as your enemy.

And call a good friend a villain instead.

The world will turn into a desert

From it you`ll try to run and separate;

And doubt in your chest will nestle

The nightmares grim are settled in its shed.

But used to doubt, you will not reject them

And secretly, soon sinful thoughts will start

Intruding, and you`ll be inoculated

While the dreams prosper on a lively heart.

And here are the fruits of unhappy musings,

With the doubt of lingering chats:

You, slave to his unrighteous compulsions,

By doubt you cloud the light of faith.

Then, then, by seal of the rejection

Shame lights up the apostate's forehead,

And in the triumph of the wicked hesitation

To you will be your judgement read..."

[Excerpt of "SOMNION" — Nikolai Nekrasov (1821-1877)]

After pausing for a few heartbeats, just enough to breathe in and out, she added.

— Yes... Gaining a solid foundation is valuable. For example, I've come to believe in my role. Slowly, through my presence alone, you become... more complex. Diverge your paths and it will diminish you. Whatever your place in the Creator's plan, you must stay close.

Morrigan straightened and turned her scratchy gaze to the girl swaying in the hammock. As she opened her mouth to object, she froze. A shadow of doubt flickered across the sorceress' focused face, but it was replaced by a grim half-smile. The words of her interlocutor hurt her pride, but logic coldly confirmed their correctness. Most of the conclusions and decisions made today were based on communication with the red-haired 'sister'. Over the past few days, she had shaped Morrigan's thoughts as much as the oddities in her own mind. And in focusing only on herself, the sorceress had lost sight of that fact. Licking her lips, the witch nodded.

— Strange to admit. But in those words...

With a shriek, the door swung sharply open, slamming shut and letting in another gust of wind. The culprit was a frowning elf. He was met by the thoughtful gaze of Leliana, who continued to sway gently in her hammock. And an equally curious pair of yellow eyes. Neither of the ladies appreciated the dramatically abrupt appearance.

— Morrigan. I think it's time we talked about what happened.

Without stopping to look curiously at her interlocutor, the girl deliberately interrogated slowly.

— Is it fair to assume that you deliberately waited for Leliana to come to me? And break the ice first.

Alim tensed, but relaxed almost immediately. With a nod he openly confirmed the suspicion.

— Mistress Leliana has a way with words. Having had a taste of your suspicion, I assumed the lady would be the best indicator of your state of mind. And since the conversation has gone so well, there is something else to discuss. I seem to be the only one who sees the problem. And though it is only a personal opinion, both Leliana and Bethany should be as privy to your circumstances as I am. All of them.

Morrigan sighed heavily, interrupting the elf's rant halfway through.

— It's a strange nobility... You did ask the ladies if they wanted to be privy to the 'situation', didn't you?

— Um...

The mage glanced at Leliana. But she, hiding her emotions, eloquently shifted her gaze to her own fingernails. The man blinked, sucked in air noisily and turned sharply to the sorceress.

— You told them?!

— More than I told you. I understand the concern. But your principles are a headache. But I'm willing to put up with them as long as they keep you in line. As a person, Magician Alim is better than most I've met. And more interesting than most. But in our group, you're my biggest problem. Don't argue with me. Yes, Leliana is more dangerous than you.

At these words, the red-haired girl raised her eyebrows in surprise, glancing at the sorceress and then at the frowning mage. From his expression, he seemed to know what she was getting at. Morrigan continued, not giving a chance to speak.

— She's the least clear and predictable of the three. You can dream about her, but... A few words here, a hint there, and the ship's crew is in the palm of her hand against a terrible witch. I'm not talking about a good bow and a knife.

Here the hero of the witch's monologue sat up straighter, no longer swaying at all. Leliana was surprised by the high praise and details of the girl sitting in the captain's seat. And she returned the favour by picking herself up and taking things more seriously. At least outwardly.

— But this girl has faith. It doesn't bother anyone that she's just as crazy. It's about my "antics". You've had enough of your own observations and clues to doubt me right away. And Leliana, listening as she did, did not believe the words about possession. For if she did, the foundation of her faith is false. In short, her motives are firmly rooted in me. Bethany? The truth is like poison to her. A girl must learn faster and become stronger. Not distracted by nightmares. I have no reason to fear my apprentice yet. I believe her intentions are also connected to me. Or will be. But you... Firstly, any principles you may have will be dissolved by the mention of your sister. And with it, your sense of duty. Secondly, those same principles will easily push you over the edge when that happens. I don't see what I can rely on but one path for both of us.

The elf glared darkly at the sorceress, unable to find a suitable objection. In truth, it was close to the truth. As if twisted in some strange way to make it look grotesque, but... Alim stepped forward, trying not to look like he was agreeing, and immediately came to the Morrigan's conclusion.

— I think that's enough for a serious conversation.

The man nodded and played with his cheeks. He was about to reach for the door handle when he turned and half turned to ask a question.

— You really had no practice or habit of using magic without shorthand?

The sorceress nodded slowly in confirmation. The elf grimaced and added.

— So, with such a complex method of spellcasting as a foundation, you mastered its rapid and repetitive application in a few weeks without the crutch that accompanies learning the art from the very basics?

The girl replied in silence. It was easy to read that such conclusions had crossed her mind. But to hear it from someone else was doubly unpleasant and disturbing. Nodding, Alim looked at Leliana in silence and left, leaving a heavy aftertaste in the air that encouraged unhappy thoughts.

* * *

It was not without difficulty that the ship set sail. It was as if the ship itself, the wind and the crew were all against the idea of returning to the cold waters of the Calenhad at the outbreak of Matrinalis. Many hours of manoeuvring in the wide outflow of the Dane River resulted in little progress being made. The atmosphere on deck was oppressive until late in the evening of the first day's navigation. During the hard work, each of them kept replaying in their minds what had happened, wondering why the crew had been subordinated to four strangers, three of whom were women. And, once again, the unhappy thoughts came to an obstacle. Each of them was convinced, or seemed to be convinced, by a neighbour — at least some of the foursome possessed the art. For sailors, the term was not an accurate one. Filled with rumour and superstition, it smacked of mysticism and had a rich emotional background. To the vast majority of the uneducated inhabitants of the land, magicians were rare and extremely dangerous creatures. It was not for the sake of a red word that the Templars watched over them. Only the power of the Templars forced mages to use their gift for good. And when the leash was broken, they were happy to make others' and their own nightmares come true. A clear demonstration on deck of "that power" only reinforced the already ingrained fears. And even if mages, like ordinary people, breathed air and were still made of blood and flesh, malleable to good steel. But it was one thing to have a blade that pierced the heart, if you could not deal with the master of that blade. It was another to die with a snap of the fingers, or worse, if the mage caught a sideways glance... Such a risk discouraged the desire to play heroes. Each of them silently made a reassuring decision — they should look around carefully, be ready, and for now — be patient.

The captain, of course, saw further and knew more. The man had a clear idea of the specific limitations of the mages and how the passengers could be dealt with over the next few days at the cost of a few or three sailors' lives. Art was art, but the need to eat, drink, sleep and defecate could not be ignored. And as the voyage progressed, other weaknesses could have been found. Each, if approached in the right way, a vulnerability. He was stopped by a pair of eyes the colour of molten gold and a laugh that echoed in his skull. The memory of that sound and that defiantly naked figure sent a wave of goosebumps through his body and confused his thoughts. And experience told him — it was better not to mess with this 'beast'. Not in any of the ways he could think of. Trusting his own instincts, Capital left the problem to the conscience of the Templars, whose meeting at the destination could hardly be avoided. All that remained was to avoid the sharp edges.

And corners appeared in the most unexpected places.

In the twilight of the sunset that same day, the crew and passengers had their first encounter. A ship approaching them. Morrigan was sitting on the deck, using a coiled rope as a prop. Together with Bethany, the two sorceresses continued their training, concentrating on the task at hand rather than personal thoughts. From the sparse conversation of the sailors, it was easy to see that they recognised the ship by its sails. It had appeared behind them a few days ago. But the low landing had made the ship slower and less manoeuvrable. As a result, it was no longer behind them at the next sunrise. When the sides of the ships were level and there were a dozen and a half paces between them, the second crew whistled merrily, never missing an opportunity to demonstrate their wit and dark sense of humour. The phrases and gestures aptly shattered the pride and self-esteem of the sailors of the captured ship, which was on its way home. The joyless sailors who were the target of the ridicule just grimaced in response. They looked around. And glanced warily at the yellow-eyed witch. But the brief meeting of the two captains' eyes, snatched from the mess, seemed to say more than any letter. Morrigan turned deliberately to see the ship in the distance. Expectedly, she found herself looking back at the anxious attention, scrutinising the culprit of the unexpected encounter. Rising from the hold near the end of the incident, Leliana seemed indifferent to the receding silhouette. But when she turned to the sorceress, she raised an eyebrow in question.

It would seem... But Morrigan's strong will and sharp mind prevented her from letting the incident go to waste. The men around her are guaranteed to be the source of rumours about what happened. And the girl herself will be an integral part of the distorted and embellished stories. Communicating with the red-haired "sister" provided the sorceress with plenty of clues to help her understand the mechanism and power of rumour. At least, she thought she had a good idea of the scale. But she had to start with the arrival at the destination. And a margin of three or four days. Of course, it happens, even on Kalenhad, that ships go missing. The lake looked more like an inland sea. But now... Some rumours would appear much sooner and spread much further. And besides, the disappearance of the ship didn't seem like a reasonable option anymore. Morrigan wrinkled her nose and found that such an option could not be considered reasonable under any circumstances.

Before the moonlight silvered the ship's gears and cast a rippling light of indistinct shadows across the deck, the mistress of yellow eyes had another conversation. A harbinger of more trouble to come. There were only a few places to sleep on the ship. And apart from the Captain's cabin, neither of the remaining two offered the luxury of privacy. At the same time, the deck was losing out to the common hold in terms of openness to the weather. Yes, and the need to make do with hard wood or stiff ropes and canvas. Against this background, the old aromatic hammocks hanging in the maze of the hold's stiffening ribs looked like luxury. As she descended to occupy the far corner, separated from the rest of the crew by at least a few extra metres, Morrigan found Leliana waiting at the nearest post. In the darkness below deck, filled with murmurs and mutterings, the bright square of moonlight revealed only the girl's shoes. The girl's shoes were the only thing that caught the bright square of moonlight, and they glistened with alert, pale green eyes.

— Do you have a plan in case of, er, violence?

The sorceress furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of the question.

— You suppose the lesson I've already demonstrated isn't enough? Sincerely so...

Leliana shook her head negatively, interrupting her interlocutor.

— This is not about rebellion. This step only makes sense if we join forces. But everyone knows that they'll likely die before they see the end of it. No.

Looking back into the darkness, the girl licked her lips and continued.

— It's an act that usually lacks collective responsibility. Which, with a bit of luck, can easily be blamed on an unspecified neighbour. There are a dozen men here. There are three women. Attractiveness is not so important, although it does not work in our favour. You'd scare everyone on this ship. Although…

Leliana wrinkled her nose and sighed before finishing the sentence.

— Although, I have to admit, the nightmares would have an overtly erotic tinge to them. As for me, I'm sure I'm capable of breaking a few fingers off anyone who chooses to pile on in the dark instead of making a polite offer.

Morrigan arched an eyebrow and asked with a slight sneer in her voice.

— So it would be okay to be politely addressed as "Sister"?

With a shrug that went almost unnoticed in the ambient light, the interlocutor gave a vague answer.

— It always depended on circumstances, mood and the certainty that your partner was not a fan of strange experiments or a carrier of characteristic diseases. A casual relationship, no matter how you look at it, is a risky proposition. At such a time it is like fortified wine before a serious matter. It stirs the blood, calms the nerves, but is deadly. It's not for nothing that the Song of Light condemns such relationships in every way.

Seeing the growing interest in her yellow eyes in response to her reservations, Leliana opened her mouth to curse. But at the appearance of a shadow falling from the deck, she froze in silence. The last of the sailors not on night watch had gone below. With a cautious glance at the two girls, who glided inexorably towards the barely lit outlines of the women's bodies, he shrugged his shoulders and hurried away into the darkness of the hold, his mouth still shut. Morrigan glanced at him, noting with envy both the springy gait and the confidence with which the man made his way through the jumble of poles, hammocks and cargo hidden in the darkness to his own berth. Meanwhile, the red-haired woman was trying to bring the conversation back to the problem she had originally raised.

— Closer to the point. It's about Bethany. The girl grew up on a farm and, as far as I know, never stayed in a drinking establishment until sunset. Perhaps a direct confrontation with an evil man or elf in daylight would be no problem. But when... In the dark, at an unfortunate moment, and that moment is always unfortunate for the victim, and if the opponent is more massive... Without training or... some experience, it's a different story. Of course I keep my eyes open. Alim... Huh... The greasy glances of other men, gliding over me, do not have the most favourable effect on the psyche of a miser. Of course, he won't even admit it to himself. And I don't want to say that the elf's concern is unpleasant. Regardless of the fact that it's useless. But Alim's attention seems to be focused only on me and those who look in my direction, which makes him a bad assistant. But the important thing is that what can happen will happen. The simplest and most painful lesson of my life. So think about what you are going to do afterwards. I don't want to deal with this situation alone, and I don't want to see your impulsive reaction to a fait accompli.

With a cautious nod, the sorceress indicated that she had noted Leliana's concern. Nodding, she considered the conversation over and retreated into the darkness, towards the still-stirring Alim and the peacefully sleeping Bethany.

* * *

Already clearly aware that she was in her own dream, Morrigan watched the events unfold, trying to note and remember the clues as to the nature of what was happening. The place looked ordinary. For a nightmare repeated over and over... .... Once glimpsed, the surroundings were not even confusing. The girl became accustomed to the laws and restrictions that did not allow her to make any major changes or move freely. After some thought and fruitless attempts to find a metaphor behind the forest, the ashes, the fog and other details, Morrigan dismissed them all as meaningless decorations.

What she couldn't get used to were the emotions that came in irresistible waves when the outline of the 'guest's' figure appeared in the mist. But now the girl was sure of at least one thing. The 'guest', at least externally, was more likely to be of the female gender. From the nightmare before, there was a memory of the 'guest' almost — almost — emerging from the surrounding darkness. Then the figure had frozen at the edge, clearly distinct but still lacking in detail. Logic insisted that there was only one last step to take, but instinct whispered that it wasn't that simple. The Guest's movements at this moment seemed uncertain from the outside. As if she had reached the window of the house, she was now trying to find out where the door was.

So when the familiar outline reappeared vaguely in the line of sight, the mixture of nervousness, silent horror and longing for a solution was particularly pungent. "Guest", as before, was in no hurry. Sometimes it seemed as if there was a riddle behind every step. Often the figure would freeze in place, only to move slowly and cautiously. Sometimes a thought crept into the girl's head — what if the 'guest' crossed the unalterable line? What would she do? First of all, cold logic immediately changed "if" to "when". Then... Whatever the creature seeking the meeting was, the hope of a favourable outcome was simply a disguised desire to ignore the grim facts. And so, with such thoughts running through her mind, the sorceress found herself repeatedly faced with the dilemma of whether to fight or hide. She had no heart for the former. And the second, the girl openly acknowledged as stupidity...

Finally, the figure of the "guest" was on the same line as last time. A step away from the first encounter. His behaviour no longer seemed lost. But there was no intention of continuing. For the tiniest moment, existence froze in a precarious balance, as if balancing on the edge of a knife. Not even the strange ashes rippled in the air to stop the fall. A static scene without movement. It couldn't be said that this place was characterised by a rich variety of sounds. Rather, silence reigned here... It was only when the small sounds in the background disappeared without a trace that the sorceress realised the difference. Morrigan's face contorted with a suppressed itch to scream, to make sure there was no deafness. As if in answer to that longing, a whisper came. A genderless voice, similar to the rustling of autumn leaves underfoot, said.

— Give it back... Give me mine... Give it back and get out...

The sorceress listened intently to the swell of words, the intonations that promised defeat and the meaning behind them. She murmured to herself and concluded.

— It gave me something. And it certainly didn't make it better...

Suddenly, the ash, which had been languishing in uncertainty, finally 'made up its mind' and began to move, rising into the sky with an eerie naturalness. Just as it had fallen. Something seemed to have changed in the air itself, saturating the sterility with the anticipation of an impending storm. Morrigan's body stiffened with tense muscles, her pupils dilating uncontrollably and her breathing quickening. Tense fingertips twitched and the girl's senses split in two. Part of her still stood in the eerie appearance of the forest, staring at the dark figure behind the thin shroud of grey mist. A figure that resembled her own reflection in the wavering, murky surface of the water. And the other... There too, but the grey haze opposite was empty. Instead, a stranger's presence pressed painfully against the back of his head, directly behind him. A warm breath touched my hair, and a deep male voice with a slight whistle and rich timbre said softly.

— Something is happening... Now.

* * *

With a sharp intake of breath, Morrigan arched up in the swaying hammock and froze, staring into the darkness with open eyes. The uneven creaking of the ship, the snoring of the sailors, the crashing of the waves against the hull — every sound told her that this was already reality. But the feeling of unease that had been painfully embedded in her memory along with the last words of the dream had not disappeared. It was as if the sensation had seeped out of the nightmare and into reality.

Slowly lowering her bare feet, the sorceress looked around. The darkness had lost its caring homogeneity when she had been in it long enough. The world was filled with a plethora of grey shapes and outlines of familiar objects that looked slightly different. Taking a few quiet steps towards the neighbouring hammocks, Morrigan felt Alim's deep, calm breathing, Leliana's quiet, barely perceptible exhalations and.... Her hand slid gently along the edge of the third hammock — not finding her mistress inside. Turning back to the peacefully sleeping Leliana, Morrigan frowned. Suspicion swarmed behind her narrowed eyes and confidence grew — the red-haired 'fox' had seen and noticed more than she had said. Yes, the cunning beast was firmly following the 'visions', still in the grip of her own delusions. Yet... Licking her lips, Morrigan admitted that she had seriously underestimated the 'sister's penchant for manipulation.

With a flying leap to the stairs, the girl climbed a third of the way up, leaving only her head above the deck. The night breeze came in at once, softly ruffling her night-blend hair and lazily flapping the sail above her head. It was as if the deck was empty. Having stepped out completely, the girl moved silently on her toes towards the stern. The silvery glow of the moon was lost in the clouds, leaving only the diffuse starlight of the clear part of the sky to guide her. Still, it would have been hard to miss the empty helmsman's seat. But the wheel wasn't dangling there by itself. Someone had put a stop through it. After a few steps, the outline of a familiar flatboat appeared on the right. After the events of the afternoon, the sailors had pulled the inconspicuous river barge onto the deck out of an innate sense of hoarding. From behind the hull, the wind carried the muffled sounds of wrestling and rustling. Two steps and a keen eye caught the dark figures to the left against the stars. They stood at the edge of the stern. Two of the three on night watch. Both were gazing at the southern horizon, but it was hard to make out the faint conversation from this distance. A third step, and the last thing the Morrigan wanted was to catch a glimpse of what was going on. The silhouette of the woman on the deck was Bethany by elimination. Above her, she was pinned to the planks by the large body of a sailor who skilfully held the girl's wrists behind her back. The victim's face slid across the smooth wood, her cheek swollen from the improvised gag. The girl's trousers and underwear were already down to her knees. And the sailor was fiddling with his own instrument, trying from an awkward position with his free hand to place it where the girl, who had not stopped trying to crawl away, was still crawling.

The sorceress froze, coldly considering — what did Leliana expect to gain from what was happening? A deep furrow cut across her forehead. Meanwhile, the sailor had succeeded. The man's hips jerked forward, accompanied by a muffled moo. In a situation like this, the girl no longer thought of resisting with art, reduced to purely animal reactions dictated by paralysing emotions. The eyebrows of the casual observer of the copulation slowly drew together at the bridge of her nose. But it was not the sight itself that caused this. On the contrary, it did not make Morrigan angry or disgusted. What confused and angered the sorceress was her inadequate response. Even though her memories and logic were crying out for a correct course of action. And, as if that weren't enough, the question pulsed in the girl's head — why should she react like this? Why did she even care? Rubbing her fingers forcefully across her forehead at the sound of the accelerating blows, Morrigan drew some quick conclusions. The depth to which the doubts about the appropriateness of her own behaviour had penetrated had become critical. And even the reliance on past experience, coupled with abstraction and logic, no longer helped her make decisions. So an outside view was needed. And Bethany, trembling under the onslaught of the man, was best suited to the role. Taking in the cool night air, Morrigan shook her head. With a sweeping step, the sorceress knelt sharply in front of the twitching man's arse, reaching down to the point where the two bodies met. The jerks became jagged and sharp, reflecting the sailor's proximity to the finale, which dulled the rest of his senses. Until the growing crescendo was replaced by a piercing pain. A piercing scream echoed across the night surface of the water, bursting through painfully clenched teeth with the full force of his lungs. When she was sure that the man's most vulnerable part had been thoroughly crushed in her clenched fist, the enchantress rose to her full height and kicked the carcass aside.

This couldn't help but attract the attention of the rapist's partners. As they rushed to the scene, they found the yellow-eyed demon frowning, his colleague whimpering in the fetal position, and the sobbing victim, her posture clearly indicating what had happened. Morrigan looked at the newcomers and asked quietly.

— Who's the helmsman?

Reflexively, the thin man to the left of the sorceress raised his hand, only to realise a moment later how dangerous it was to admit anything.

— Nigrum putredo quad devorat anima.

As strong and hardened as the sailors seemed to be, their constitution was no match for that of the Templars. That's why the helmsman's neighbour, sobbing strangely, immediately swayed and collapsed on his left shoulder. The convulsions lasted a minute and a half before the corpse finally subsided. But Morrigan immediately lost interest. She pointed to the steering wheel and crouched down beside Bethany.

— No matter how you feel, the danger has passed. You can breathe and then pull your trousers up. This isn't the first time, is it?

Bethany pulled out the gag and spat, sucking in the invigorating sea air. When she opened her mouth to reply, she giggled, unexpectedly to both her mentor and herself. It was like hysteria, but in a strange way. When she calmed down a little, the girl sniffled, rolled onto her back and gently felt between her legs. Only then were her trousers and underwear pulled up to her waist.

— I thought I hadn't peed yet. And then I thought I should have done my business in the cargo hold, in the opposite corner. It sounds crazy, but...

— Madness looks different. I guess...

— You think? Well, if that's the case. No, it's not the first. Or the second. I've been to the hayloft. Mum couldn't keep up with a household and two small children. It's just... It just happened.... You know what? Humiliating? Stupid? Oh, creator...

— I don't think he's involved in any way. Stupid? Yes... Foolish to lie on the ground and not punish the enemy with art. Isn't it?

Bethany shook her head negatively. The girl took a sitting position, leaning against the hull of the boat. Pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees, she explained with a short sniffle.

— At first I wanted to fry the bastard. But then it occurred to me — we're on a wooden boat in deep water. What could be more stupid than using fire? That... I was stunned. And then... Hot breath and hands and...

The girl actually clenched in a defensive posture, rubbed her cheeks violently, and looked at her mentor with reddened eyes, asking in a low voice.

— Is it bad... so bad that you want to cower in a corner or run away from everything?

From the hold came footsteps and muffled shouts. The glow of a burning lantern began to flicker in the black yawn of the stairwell. The Morrigan realised that the time for idle conversation was over. With a slight curl of her lips, she replied.

— Fear plays an important role in pointing out dangers and threats. Life is preserved by fear where stupidity triumphs over intelligence. The only bad thing is that in your case, fear was at the centre of it all. Listen carefully. Sometimes, when you meet a terrible beast, you miraculously survive. And there are exactly two peaks left. If you know the limit, you must accept it. And avoid the beast from now on. Or, having licked your wounds, grow stronger. And slay the beast. Between them lies a dark thicket of self-deception. So don't waste precious time looking for a path between them that isn't there. Make your choice. And never think of it again.

Bethany bit her lip, nodded uncertainly and immediately threw the question back at her.

— If I choose to run, would I be useless?

The sorceress gave the girl a strangely detached look and said slowly, stretching her sentences beautifully.

— There are no useless tools. Only the short-sightedness of fools who don't know how to use them. The usefulness cannot be trivialised in such a way. But you'll become less interesting…

At these words, three sailors came out of the hold, followed by the captain's assistant with a lantern in his hand. The first thing it did was to illuminate the pale face of the helmsman, and he turned to look at the four bodies at once. Calling to one of the three to run after the captain, the man approached and said in a trembling voice.

— What... What happened?

Rising to her feet, Morrigan snorted and threw it haughtily.

— The fatal result of stupidity and false expectations.

The door slammed and hurried footsteps announced the approach of the central figure of the ship, who did not wish to enter the stage uninvited. As he appeared in the circle of light, he was immediately confronted by a pair of yellow eyes, but as before, he yielded to the first. With a twitch of his cheek, the man said curtly.

— Who has been hurt?

The assistant waved at the first.

— The one curled up is Grahame. The other…

Crouching down, the man reached out to check the other body's pulse and froze.

— Hmm... Martin is dead.

Squinting his eyes, the captain glanced around quickly to gauge the mood of the other sailors and cautiously began to ask the next question.

— Anyone knows...

The sorceress interrupted him half-heartedly with a cluck of her tongue.

— It's very clear.

At the same time as the words were spoken, Leliana and the sleepy Alim who had followed her emerged from the hold. While the former scanned the scene with an anxious gaze, the latter looked only at the backs of the heads of the nearest sailors. Meanwhile, Morrigan continued.

— Grahame was filled with rage and lust. And the most defenceless victim, for some reason, he let it out. It's hard to understand the stupidity of others. But the main problem with each of you is your narrow-mindedness, your inability to comprehend even the concept of fear. I don't care who is to blame. One of you has attacked one of us. So what? We could have achieved our goal. We could have gone our separate ways. But someone thought the narrow valley between open mouths and mass murder would tie a witch's hands.

Catching Leliana's gaze and linking her green eyes with the gleam of molten gold, the sorceress continued as if speaking directly to her.

— This is a mistake. The culprit will live, but he will be crippled. The accomplice is dead. Now a lesson in fear.

Morrigan narrowed her eyes, deliberately not breaking the eye contact that rang with silent tension in the stillness of the night, and snapped her fingers without opening her mouth. The sound was deafening. One of the sailors jerked, moaned softly and collapsed to the deck like a piece of meat. The gruesome spectacle was accompanied by brief death spasms, after which only the indifferent sail dared to move. As if convinced that the message had reached its pale recipient, the sorceress slowly shifted her gaze to Alim. The elf frowned, glancing between the three girls and the ship's crew. When she stumbled upon the warlock's arched eyebrow, he merely curled his lips, showing no additional emotion or thought. Turning to a stunned-looking Bethany, Morrigan held out a hand and helped her to her feet. Standing between the crowd and the student, the girl spoke quietly.

— A moment to choose. And to demonstrate usefulness. Answer me honestly. How do you see my actions?

— Cruel. Ruthless. Makes me sick to my stomach, but that feeling of vengeful satisfaction is ready to be experienced again. A choice. I want to be stronger. Like you. So that fear has no power over me. But halfway I'm afraid I'll break. And... You should know that I say big words. But right now, more than anything, I want to cower in a corner, cry and sit there for the rest of the journey.

— Interesting...

Turning on her bare heels, Morrigan moved past the living statues with an easy stride, heading for the descent into the hold. Bethany hurried to follow, her hand still in her mentor's firm grip. The girl leading the way paused only for a moment at the cautiously blinking Leliana. The mage twitched, but managed to control herself in time. Both intention and movement were not lost on the sorceress, however. She leaned towards her red-haired companion and said in a low voice.

— There's no proof. Just a coincidence, that's all. But I know it was you who pushed the rock down the slope. To watch the beasts of the forest run away. I sincerely hope for your complete satisfaction. Otherwise, the price in bodies will be too high. You've learned more about me. I've learned more about you. And, you're right, you definitely make me more complicated. In a way. Sweet dreams.

* * *

The next day, the weather reflected the new dynamic of the mood on the ship. Rain fell softly from the sky. The crew did their duty in silence, accompanying their dead comrades on their final journey to feed the fish in the lake. There were no jokes, no gossip. No unnecessary chatter for chatter's sake. Everyone wanted to reach their destination as quickly as possible and escape the grip of this nightmare. And each promised himself that for the rest of his life he would not lend a hand to any random travelling companion and would not let them on board his own ship. And so it was with the four companions.

Leliana kept to herself, keeping a close eye on Morrigan and avoiding contact with Bethany, in contrast to her traditional behaviour. Alim also began to shy away from the yellow-eyed sorceress, keeping the easily sparked conversations to a minimum. He did, however, make time for more delicate conversations with Bethany. He listened to the concerns she dared to share. And even distracted the girl with a variety of nonsense that made the world around her look a little brighter. The elf had had only one long conversation with Leliana, after which a distance had grown between them. It was impossible to say for sure if the mage had fully understood what had happened the night before or not. But something had made him think. The man still preferred to keep his red-haired companion in his line of sight without noticing. Bethany herself tried to communicate more with Morrigan, only occasionally retreating to the far corner of the hold for a little rest. The young sorceress immersed herself in the study of art with purpose and desperation, not distracted by moments of reflection or contemplation of the scenery. Following her mentor, she did not avoid the rest of the team. But a casual observer would have easily noticed the frequent clenched jaws and white knuckled fists.

Out of the blue, Morrigan began to pester her pupil with diversionary questions, often asking for her opinion on diametrically opposed conclusions. The sorceress herself showed no signs of stress or remorse, spending hours in contemplation. The girl's gaze, only occasionally touching her apprentice, glided blindly across the cloudy sky. Along the coastline, shrouded in an airy veil of mist. Along the ridge of hills burning with the fire of near autumn. Along the turbulent element of the darkening water. What had happened had already happened and therefore, in the sorceress' opinion, had no power to cause her concern. But what was to come was not. Strangely, it was not the nightmares that came first. It was the scraps of Orlesian phrases that began to reappear in his memory. Sometimes single words — now understandable in their native meaning. Sometimes phrases whose meaning was difficult to grasp. A memory that came out of nowhere. And if we leave aside the delusions of the Creator's providence, the only source was obsession. And it was progressing against the background of a will that was weakening under the alien onslaught. Hence the doubts about stability and clarity of judgement. Perhaps even emotions. Many things that had been clearly interpreted as anomalies now sucked the mind into a quagmire of suspicions and questions. Often, the sorceress' thoughts returned to the pressing matters at hand. First, Leliana and the girl's motives. Second, the problem of the Circle. That is, the problem of dealing with the fortress' guards and inhabitants.

At sunset, the dubious light found a gap in the wall of cloud above the western ridge. Its peaks were barely visible on the horizon. The yellowish light coloured some of the clouds scarlet, gold and orange from below, while others turned solid black. The view was equally majestic, mesmerising and disturbing. The Morrigan, drenched to the skin, crossed her bare feet and sat calmly, as if on a throne, on a barrel by the mast. Bethany, who sat stubbornly nearby, was already trembling. The girl looked her over from head to toe and said.

— Get down in the hold. Dry yourself off. Get warm.

— No, not at all...

— Look.

Morrigan pointed to the northwest, drawing the attention of the young sorceress and the sailors on deck. In the distance, sunlight illuminated a tower of titanic proportions. Unnoticed in front of the darkening clouds, it stood out clearly in the golden glow of the sunset. Like a red-hot pole poking out of the cold water.

— The Kinloch Fortress, I think. With the current wind, an hour at the most. Dry off. And warm up.

Bethany nodded in fascination at the unexpected gem. News of the end of the voyage spread quickly among the crew. Everyone was relieved, many were happy, the bravest even dared to smile. As the girl left, despite the continuing drizzle, Leliana came up on deck. She gazed at the approaching tower with both curiosity and nervousness. It was evident in the hands clasped tightly at her sides, in the bitten lip. Glancing over her shoulder at Morrigan, the 'sister' looked as if she expected something. And there was barely enough time. The mage who followed was visibly relieved by the sight. For the elf, this was home. A symbol of the end of the craziest and longest adventure of his life. And, more importantly, a promise of an imminent rendezvous with his only sister. Sighing, the man smiled modestly and even stopped slouching.

The closer the ship got, the more massive the tower became. Its monumental buttresses stood out at the base, recalling the architecture of Ostagar. But just as Ishala's tower looked like a pale copy of the fortress, so these buttresses looked like decorative ornaments against the whole structure. Up to its mid-height, the tower was a clear rectangle, its monolithic appearance broken only by the neat rows of windows that looked like loopholes from a distance. Above that, the tower began to taper in gentle slopes until it converged on the clouds with a pointed roof with smooth lines of four ribs, like a blade at the tip of a spear. A keen eye detected signs of repair. A few fresh roof slopes were conspicuous. Here and there were patches of rust on the walls and other signs of the constant presence of the inhabitants.

Rising to her feet, Morrigan took a gliding step towards Leliana and spoke softly, without a trace of Ferelden or any other accent.

— An barde doit conetro le foliage pur ne pas la repete. Il raconte le zistoire me no fae jami parti. Il obserch me rest udesue de se kil voy. Il aspire de pasciun uz rete e mode le cien.

There was a pause during which Alim, who had only caught fragments of the sentences, changed his face and gave the girls a look of astonishment. Leliana, judging by the expression in her profile, had not only heard the Orlesian phrase clearly, but had also fully grasped its meaning. As if by magic, this relieved the red-haired beauty of the tension that had built up over the past two days. The sorceress opened her mouth again and continued.

— The phrase came to me, but I could only see the words. And suddenly it seemed perfect for the moment. But more for you.

The interlocutor smiled slightly and spoke the translation carefully.

— A bard must know history so that it doesn't repeat itself. Tells stories, but is never part of them. Observes, but remains above what he sees. Inspires passions in others and controls his own. A motto and an allegory that perfectly illustrate what an Orlesian bard is and looks like. Both to those who see a facade. And to those who look beyond.

— Thank you. Looking back, I see your motives. And I recognise your skill. But right here, right now, let's make a deal. Don't go behind my back, without my knowledge, to bind others to me, to break fates and minds. And don't deceive yourself. I saw a personality in Lothering. Deep, freedom-loving, tired, imperfect, even broken. In the darkness of doubt, groping principles painfully for those to follow. Trying to become a better person, albeit through the foolishness of delusion. Now I see a mirror. And in it, a monster. It's a rewarding experience to realise some things. Before it's too late. Such a reflection undoubtedly makes one stronger. But is it ultimately what your faith dictates? Yes, I'm aware of my own problems. But I deal with them carefully, step by step, using the power of reason. Your beliefs are paralysing you. And instead of thinking seriously, you blindly follow the easiest path. And if that's the price you're willing to pay, then my verdict is different. Soon you'll be flat and uninteresting, like a mindless extension of your hand. And I can find a sharp knife anywhere.

During the long tirade, Leliana tensed again, harder and harder. The girl's face was pained and frightened. It was as if some of the memories she had tried to push into the past had suddenly returned with a vengeance. As soon as Morrigan had finished, the girl closed her eyes and bit her lower lip with a violent, bloody bite. She nodded uncertainly and said softly.

— I... I know how to follow.

— But you tried to lead.

— No luck.

— I don't think you ever really tried.

— In the years that passed, I just fulfilled the will and...

— I think you ran away to a convent to do that. Did you?

— Yes... But...

— Self-deception.

— What does that mean?

— You're lying to yourself. I don't know why. Think about it. You make decisions over and over again. You just don't make big decisions.

— But if, let's say, I choose a goal. And it is against the will of the Creator to be near you, then .....

— Visions again. I don't know anything about will or the Creator. But I don't have to be your friend. If we part, so be it. But in the end, you'll still be you. Which is valuable.

— I mean, if I choose to break "destinies and minds" of my own free will — no complaints and moaning?

— Hmm. clever. That's what it means when you can't argue with the bard. I just pointed out a flaw. Now it's up to you to decide what to do about it. Or not.

— The answer is just as smooth. It's like a conversation from the past. Get it.

Meanwhile, the island with the fortress was close at hand. It was a little more than half a kilometre across and oval in shape. A grove of trees grew thickly along the rocky shore. The girth of the trees was that of trees that had seen more than a hundred winters. At such a distance it was difficult to determine the species, but it seemed to be oak. In the middle of the grove were the roofs of the outbuildings and the tower itself. Compared to the trees, the tower stretched a good hundred and three paces into the sky. Off to the side was a thin, wooded isthmus. Off to the side was a chain of boulders, held together by roots. A keen eye could still make out the pitiful remains of an imperial road, a scaled-down copy of the Tract, among the vegetation. After another hundred and four or five paces, it ended in a smaller island with no vegetation at all, just rocks. From there, there were wooden moorings and boats with small masts tied to them, capable of travelling across the calm lake to the nearest villages and towns. There were eight of them.

There was a strange commotion at the docks. A dozen men in the distinctive Templar armour emerged from the canopy of trees. They took up a waiting position in the open, clearly reacting to the approaching ship. Morrigan narrowed her eyes and asked Alim.

— Is this kind of escort normal practice?

The elf jerked his shoulders away from the table and shook his head negatively.

— Naturally, they're suspicious of approaching ships. But the stronghold and the island are not closed areas where outsiders are not welcome. That's why, on a typical day, there are two Templars on duty at the docks, ready to escort guests up to the tower if necessary. At the base there is a solid detachment, ready to defend the stronghold from outside threats and vice versa. And another squad occupies the fourth floor, dividing the tower itself into two parts. And anticipating the question — there was plenty of time to spot a ship and send such a squad to the docks.

Tapping the wood with her knuckles, the sorceress commented thoughtfully.

— Twilight and darkness are a dozen and a half minutes away. And these gentlemen, I'll wager, are not here for a lavish gathering. With the ship's crew all together, it's not a good combination. How many Templars are there on the island?

Scratching his chin and giving the girl a worried look, Alim replied uncertainly.

— A dozen veterans, a few newcomers, their commander and the corps commander on the fourth floor. Downstairs, a dozen or three or four Templars, a dozen rookies and a couple of commanders. That's enough for a start.

— And a sixth of the Corps is meeting us. Well, we'll have to live with that somehow. I don't see any other way in yet. With the guards around the tower, not even the cover of night will be safe.

Footsteps sounded behind them until Bethany appeared with wet, dishevelled hair. She placed the dry shoes she had left in the hold next to Morrigan and joined in the contemplation of the waiting squad of Templars. There was a look of fear in the young sorceress' eyes that she tried hard to control, or at least hide.

Without a sail, the ship soon came to a halt, bobbing on the choppy waves. The waves crashed with moderate noise against the pilings of the quay and the horse-sized basalt boulders beyond. No one was going to drop anchor here for any length of time. Instead, the crew concentrated on lowering the flatboat. Passing the frowning captain, Morrigan said with a slight sneer in her voice.

— You don't want to mess with the Templars?

The man's chin twitched, but he held back any harsh words.

— I don't know if that escort is waiting there on purpose, or if something has happened that neither you nor I know about. But I do know that I don't want any part of it. It's an abyss. It's easier to get rid of you and set sail faster. Which is what I'm doing. You had to come here. Please.

— It's best for both of us.

Nodding, the girl adjusted her bag on her belt and, with a sigh of relief, made her way to her boat dinghy, which had just slipped into the water. It didn't take long for the whole group to descend. Grabbing a spare oar that had been thrown from the deck to replace the pole, Alim sat down on the aft longitudinal bench and used it to steer the boat towards the moorings. Despite the deep mark the strange foursome had made in the lives of the crew in such a short time, no one gave them a second glance. The unfortunate crew set sail with redoubled enthusiasm. Everyone was driven by the desire to get away from the horizon as quickly as possible.

It didn't take a dozen minutes to reach the moorings. But it took that long to approach them cleanly without hitting a wooden pile on the crest of a wave. Whether by amazing coincidence or some supernatural cause, by the time everyone had successfully disembarked from the boat, the sun had finally disappeared behind the clouds, casting a curtain of grey twilight over the surrounding world. The main dominant feature of the landscape behind the Templars' backs, having lost its warm colours and details that stood out in the sunset rays, began to resemble a smooth tombstone of exorbitant size. The men in armour themselves looked like discoloured shadows at first glance.

Morrigan and the elf stayed in front as they approached the armed group. Leliana was to the left and slightly behind, so that she could keep an eye on both her companions and the Templars. The girl maintained a relaxed posture, the bowstring remaining coiled and hidden in her inner pocket. Bethany moved behind her, making no secret of the fact that she was following the older sorceress. When the Templars were a dozen paces away, the apparent commander stepped forward. A man with noticeably tighter technique removed his helmet. A short haircut with silver-grey streaks, clean-shaven cheeks, a scar on his right hand where a blade had once pierced it, and vivid, steel-coloured eyes came into view. A hoarse, cracked voice, full of wonder, said.

— Alim? Alim Surana?

The mage staggered for a moment, then nodded, stepped forward and extended his hand in greeting.

— Yes, Sir Palu.

Rather reflexively than happily shaking the outstretched hand, which did not escape the eyes of Morrigan and Leliana, the Commander nodded and moved on to the next question.

— As far as we know, you left the walls of the stronghold with Lord Duncan as a recruit of the Grey Guard. And the general battle of Ostagar ended sadly, to say the least. And though it was not mentioned at the Council ten days ago, nothing was said, as far as I know. But according to the official position of Denerim, the Grey Guardians played no small part in the defeat, whether by negligence or design, by providing the King, rest his soul, with false information about the enemy's disposition and the size of the enemy's forces. Therefore. Before we continue this conversation, I think you should explain how and in what status you returned to the circle.

The elf sighed heavily, but did not allow himself the weakness of turning to his companions for support. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the mage said.

— Leaving unimportant details aside, Sir Palu, the case is as follows. Yes, I was present at Ostagar. But not as a recruit of the Grey Guard. I refused to undergo the initiation ritual. Sir Duncan, in anticipation of a difficult battle. I can't help but add that I know he went to great lengths to dissuade the king from fighting. As did the warlord. So Mr Duncan argued that my death sentence for disobeying him at the last moment should be postponed until after the battle. Afterwards. And afterwards there was no one to carry out the sentence. Since there was no one to rely on my person, for lack of an oath, I was sent to... not the most important section. This allowed me to miraculously survive the meat grinder. And here I am, not in the Free Mark. What is my status? I have no idea, Sir Palu. All I know is that I'm alive. And that I have never betrayed my principles.

Palu shook his head sceptically and looked the elf over from head to toe. The man didn't look convinced, but he took the mage's story to heart. The Templar's gaze slid to Morrigan, tracing her figure from top to bottom. There was no interest in her as a woman, only dry scepticism and professional caution. The Templar took note of weapons, things, the cut of clothing, jewellery. Then it was Leliana and Bethany's turn.

— Suppose... And who was brought in on his own tail? Strange company for a wizard and a hermit.

Alim turned to his companions and began to introduce them one by one.

— Phelandaris, of the Chasind. She had not been directly involved in the battle, but the Plague knows no borders and does not discriminate between nationalities. The girl's tribe was slaughtered just before the general battle. We were lucky enough to meet in the forest, and it is only because of the craftswoman's knowledge and skill that I am standing here unharmed.

Morrigan remained calm and unperturbed throughout the sentence. With a polite nod to the Templar, she gave Alim only a brief glance that was a combination of sparkling amusement, barely concealed gratitude and bursting curiosity. Palu, on the other hand, frowned at the mention of the Plague, as if it were a turn of phrase that had already made him uncomfortable or at odds with his current 'correct' position.

— Bethany and Leliana are refugees from Lothering. The town is dying, abandoned by the retreating army. It's every man for himself, and the Corps stationed there is struggling to maintain order and do its duty. In the course of this chaos, Bethany's family is killed and... Well, they didn't have much to fall back on. And with my company already diluted by Phelandaris, the girls felt we were a safe option. And I didn't keep my own objective a secret. The stronghold looks like a better target than Gwarren, for example.

The Templar nodded slowly, pondering the information he had heard. After a brief glance over his shoulder, he continued, jumping to another topic.

— I'm afraid the end of the journey was not as happy as it seemed at first, Alim. And it's not because of me or you. There was an incident. By order of Commander Gregor, no one is to enter or leave the tower. Including the Templars. Even our presence here has nothing to do with you. Only to warn you that the towers are closed to the public and await the arrival of reinforcements.

The elf's face widened in confusion and, not fully realising the gravity of the words, he cast a questioning glance at the dark silhouette of the spire before asking again.

— An incident? Can't anyone, er... get out? Reinforcements? What happened out there, Sir Palu?

The Templar gave the young warlock a weary look and shook his head negatively.

— You won't get the details from me. If the Commander decides to inform you personally, so be it. But regardless, you and your companions will remain under surveillance at the perimeter camp. Until the ambiguity of your situation is resolved. One way or another.

Palu turned and nodded to the three men to the left of the formation, indicating them with his hand.

— These gentlemen will escort you back to the camp. Try to follow all their advice and instructions.

The pale mage nodded with a troubled expression. The pale mage nodded with a troubled expression. He was now struggling to maintain his presence of mind and some semblance of manners, and his anxious gaze kept returning to the tower. The Templars were distributed around the group in a professional manner. The leader, pointing the way, moved to Alim's right and slightly ahead. The second was to the left of the group, pushing Leliana from her position. The last followed a few steps behind. All kept their hands on their sheathed weapons. In contrast to the commander's excellent self-control, there was an obvious nervousness and tension in everyone's movements.

Morrigan touched the elf's shoulder, distracting him from his obvious thoughts.

— What would it take for the Templars to cut off access to the tower? Stop letting anyone out, even their own brothers. If the commander of this troop is to be believed.

The elf gave her companion a look of fear that the girl had never seen before in any of the situations they had been through together.

— Insurrection. Or... A breach in the veil.

— Neither of which they can handle?

— You mean reinforcements. No. It's more about the seriousness of the situation, or... Mm-hmm. Sorry, it's hard to concentrate. Or the number of casualties. It's really just a guess.

— So from their current position, they won't go into the tower?

— Well, if you believe what is .... said about reinforcements. Until they arrive, it's highly unlikely...

As if expressing her own thoughts rather than a conversation, Morrigan interrupted the elf with a sentence.

— And will dozens of these brave but nervous and frightened men end up in the camp?

Slowly, Alim shifted his gaze to the sorceress, already more frightened by the words than by the latest news, and stretched out slowly and uncertainly.

— Yes...

— There's nothing to think about.