Chapter 16 - "Bitter"

Pain. Why is it sometimes associated with colours? Black with red streaks. Pulsating. Like something alive inside your skull. Crawling through the eyes and inside the eyelids, sending waves of sickness down your spine. Morrigan inhaled hoarsely and exhaled with a light groan. The girl was careful not to open her eyes, lest she release the beleaguered creature's head. The greater fear, of course, was the light as a source of subtle torture. But it was foolish to hide in the illusory darkness. The soft light pouring from the air vent poked needles into reddened eyes that reached to the back of head. But it could have been worse... The sorceress glanced around without hurrying, fearing dizziness from the sudden movement.

Still in the cell. That constancy was surprisingly comforting to the girl. The sound of breathing made Morrigan jerk instinctively against her fears. The payback was an impotent nausea from her empty stomach. Only by closing her eyes and taking frequent breaths did the girl manage to calm the bile that was rising to her throat. Repeating the attempt more carefully, she saw Valinci sitting in the corner, on the headboard of the bench. The man had his arms crossed under his breastbone, trying to keep warm and sleep.

She felt the strangeness of the image and blinked, trying to shake off the obsession. But the darkness did not lift. After ten minutes of persistent effort, the girl managed to sit up, wearily assuming a sitting position. Leaving the new mysteries aside for the time being, Morrigan concentrated on something else. Bringing to life in her mind what she had decided to keep under close scrutiny, she began to methodically go through one thing after another.

Memory. Despite her hopes, there was no improvement. Not a single new fact about «that» day. And the individual memories, or rather indefinable fragments, had not disappeared, had not formed a comprehensible mosaic and told nothing new about themselves.

The sorceress raised her hand to her face, where an inconspicuous band of gold had been, and frowned. Like other personal belongings, it had been left at the foot of the Tower before the climb. It was to be hoped that the knot had indeed passed into Leliana's hands with minimal loss. Morrigan was under no illusion that the Templars would have no interest in the witch's belongings. But the other thing was important. The extent to which the girl had cooled to the value of personal possessions, not just jewellery, was evident from the fact that she had not even found it necessary to inquire about their fate in her conversations with Leliana. And... Otherwise, nothing had changed. The fuss over valuables seemed trivial to the sorceress, and only important in terms of accumulating wealth. But the girl didn't see any sense in it for herself. If acquiring knowledge required wealth...

Clenching her fist and straightening her fingers, Morrigan jumped to the next question. Perception. Again, there was nothing worth mentioning at first glance. The sorceress also felt a strange detachment when she thought about her own body. As if it were a tool to be kept at the ready, like a blade to be used in battle.

Stopping herself in mid-thought, Morrigan hummed softly, realising the futility of over-expecting an immediate return to the past. Disappointment and the wildly growing bush of doubt had to be kept at bay. Of course, the changes that had already taken place would remain forever. Or until they were swallowed up by something new. All that remained was to hope that the new changes would be natural, would not shake the foundations of the girl's personality, and would not be imposed from outside. And, above all, that there would be a release from the exhausting nightmares. This would have to stand the test of time. And to begin with, it was worth patiently enduring at least the next night.

With a start, she turned back to her cellmate, only to find him still in the same position, but looking at the girl's profile with alert eyes, without a trace of sleepiness. Raising an eyebrow and immediately regretting it, Morrigan asked in a hoarse voice:

— How come you here?

Valinci sighed and, groaning at the lopsided position, carefully straightened himself. With a crack of his neck and a painful groan through clenched teeth, followed by a sigh of relief, he calmly parried the question:

— Is this what it's like, the warm friendliness of the prisoners?

Genuinely surprised and not bothering to hide her emotions, the girl interjected:

— What?

Smiling slightly at the corners of his lips, the man squared his shoulders and turned his torso first to one side, then to the other.

— Seeing you discouraged... A small but pleasant surprise. I wonder if that expression often crosses your face. I'm sorry. I guess my flat jokes are as off the mark as ever. Judging by the fluttering eyelids and dilated pupils. When the first thing the patient asks for after three days without a crumb in his mouth is not food, the awakening has not been sweet.

— Three... days?

Morrigan licked her chapped lips nervously, as if realising for the first time how rough they were. She shook her head in disbelief, unconsciously expecting the mage to claim the joke. But the man just nodded in agreement as he continued:

— Let's put the events in order. After the spell worked... Oh, you mean to ask, how was it determined that the spell had worked?

— Exactly.

— Well. Firstly, you immediately showed signs of sudden and complete mana depletion. Loss of consciousness, one. More like lethargy, actually. Sweat on your body, two. Slow breathing and heartbeat, three. Although the latter was confirmed afterwards. Secondly, there was almost no lyrium left in the bucket. That's impressive, by the way. So, the spell had worked, Mr Templar naturally reacted disapprovingly to what had happened. Harman. Did he? Well, never mind. It would be fair to say that your companion was foolish at the time. I should have let the warrior have his way. Hm, he could have doused me and Bethany beside you with Kara a few times. No harm to you or us. But pride was boiling in my veins. Explaining to an armed opponent in armour with bare fists that he was wrong was unconvincing. To be fair, Harman had been patient, but he could have broken my nose and knocked out a few teeth. Leliana. You know, your mate's got a hell of a foul mouth. A virtuoso. To make a long story short, I got my butt kicked. And I managed to get my fist through a Templar's eye once. Don't look like… I'm not enough lost control to use magic on him. Or use magic at all. And then Leliana cooled our mutual fervour. In the end, Gregor didn't let go. I suppose with the tacit approval of Irving, who reasoned that throwing me in a cell for a few days would be a good way to cool the head of his future right-hand man. Perhaps the only adjustment the First Wizard made was to put me here instead of in solitary. End of story.

Morrigan licked her lips again.

— How...

— That sentence is mine. So, um. How are you feeling? No excuses.

— My head is splitting. Or it's already splitting.

— No. It's something else.

The sorceress carefully considered her next words and shook her head negatively.

— I don't know yet. It's not like it's completely healed. But it hasn't got any worse. Maybe the best is yet to come. The next night or the night after will decide. Or the Seeker will decide.

— Well. The latter is nearer than the former.

The girl shook her head weakly and asked again:

— Is he here yet? But... Oh, yes. Three days ago.

— Arrived last night, stirred up the fortress. Must be a lucky tailwind in the sails.

There was a subtle note of irritation in the mage's sentence, masked by a deceptive ease and indifference. But in the girl's opinion, it was more a consequence of being in an unfamiliar, confined space. Perhaps it was also the lack of communication and opportunities to influence what was going on. The man, meanwhile, went on:

— At this hour, he might well have started looking around the Tower or for survivors. The sun is high. The weather, by the way, had been surprisingly fortunate for the Seeker. For two days in a row it had been cold and raining and thundering as if a storm was about to hit. Only without the strong gusts of wind. And today — quiet, sunny, calm...

Glancing at the sorceress, Valinci added thoughtfully:

— It's as if something terrible missed us and now nature is resting.

Massaging her forehead and temples in slow circular motions, the enchantress cautiously concluded:

— That's good. Food would have been nice.

— Let's see. Maybe there's something we can do. In the meantime... I'd like to know more about this so-called «posession». No euphemisms or evasions.

Morrigan pursed her lips, holding back both the snide remark and the unnecessary movement of her head.

— Tell me more convincingly about the impromptu fight with the Templar first.

Valinci rose to his full height, pressed his lips together and tilted his head, a slight confusion in his eyes.

— Why?

— Exactly my question.

— A trade then. So be it.

Moving his jaw, the mage began:

— The first moment I feared Harman would do something irreparable. No second floor. But then. I'll be honest, I weighed the options and imagined the moment you woke up...

— Oh, you mean you didn't even doubt waking up?

The man raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if the question had taken him by surprise. But after a moment's pause, he nodded and continued:

— Almost. So here goes. If there is truth in that «possession», how much truth is there? Who or what wakes up? Who is our bargain in this case? We have done something that can cast a long and dark shadow. So many lives will be drowned in that darkness... To take such a thing lightly... I don't have the right qualities for that. And in the end, it came down to a need for clear answers, even if I don't really believe in «possession».

The girl wrinkles her nose painfully at this clarification:

 — A vague statement. It's not a complete denial. So a drop of faith has been lost somewhere?

With an ambiguous twitch of his head, not denying but not agreeing either, the mage continued where he had left off.

— After this experience, I believe more in the performance of a personality than in an unprecedented deviation from the known. But the motive? The reasons? The logic of this «performance» is hard to grasp. That's not to say that there isn't one. But... OK. I'll admit there was one. A motive. If you had died down here, alone and by your own stupidity, and this moment had been missed... Such a phenomenal miscalculation could eat me alive. So, while we're alone, is the deal still on?

Morrigan squinted as she glanced at Valinci's form. His shoulders were tense, his posture like the string of a bow. Only his fingers were not clenched into fists, but they still trembled with tension. This trembling seemed threatening for no reason. The girl swallowed slowly, realising that her throat had long since gone dry. Finally, more quietly than she wanted, she said:

— Barely holding back, as if you're on the edge of a precipice. This conversation isn't just about «possession». Maybe it's about something else. Let me guess. There's a name involved. Tomara. You two were close, weren't you?

The man's jaw was clenched with effort, his facial muscles tense, and in profile it all looked especially «relieved». The man closed his eyes and answered without a trace of emotion in his voice:

— Not the way you think. We never crossed any borders... We always stopped one step before the crash, remaining colleagues, friends, comrades-in-arms. Companions since our youth. A constant in everyone's life.

The girl nodded.

— An irreparable loss. What can I give in return? Let the bitter sweetness of anger smother the sadness? Or...

— Answer the question first.

— Yes.

— And this?

— The answer to the question.

The mage blinked uncertainly and muffled his words, more to himself than to his companion:

— It's so simple...

— Like watching.

— I suppose. It's your turn to talk.

The girl looked at her interlocutor with a hard stare and turned away, dryly clarifying:

— Is there a point?

— Of course there is. You're not on a walk with an elf, you're in the middle of a serious conversation in a prison cell. Just start talking.

— Hmm... I've never tried to condense my experiences into a few clear sentences. Perhaps this experience will help. It all started on an ordinary day a month ago. Someone attacked my mother and me at home. Defeating Flemeth, believe me, was no easy task. But in the end, I woke up hours from home with no memory of what had happened. I soon noticed a change in my habits, in my character. From small things to things that were frighteningly extensive. But the main new thing was the nightmares. One in particular, over and over again. And each time I was not alone.

— Condensed.

— But to the point. Did you need a background story?

— And it dragged on for... A month?

Morrigan gave a barely audible nod, completing what she had said:

— Now you not only know the «why», but the «how». Did it make a difference?

Valinci visibly relaxed, shaking his head in a negative way as he inhaled and exhaled slowly. The man's face struggled with sadness and sharp annoyance. Perhaps a touch of irritation.

— Yes. Yes... Of course, it's more a matter of faith and trust than understanding. You're in a position where it's easy to accuse you, but hard to prove. At least not without the miracles of the Seeker. But thank you for your honesty. Perhaps it was more important for me to get a straight answer or just a vague half-truth.

Pursing her lips, Morrigan tossed:

— Truth... Truth... The truth is that you are struggling with anger. It's worth talking about. To someone.

— Not with you?

— I'm a stranger to you. That's part of the reward for simplifying things for someone like you. But I'm not sure that's the way to go.

The man snorted:

— Strange thoughts in the minds of Southern women.

— A certain Southern woman. And much stranger than she looks. Really, I'm in no condition to... OK, a straight talk about what's on your mind in exchange for food. You're right. Hunger can make my head rattle, too. And I'm can't even see the hunger behind the rattling.

— Is that a deal?

— Deal.

Valinci nodded and walked over to the air duct to speak loud and clear:

— Peter, are you still here?

From above came the distorted but sonorous voice of a boy barely a dozen winters old:

— Of course, Chief Warlock. But...

By the end of the sentence, the enthusiasm had been replaced by uncertainty mixed with slight consternation. Valinci immediately tensed to clarify:

— What's wrong?

— The Templars. They began to gather everyone to the area in front of the main entrance to the Tower. From the oldest to the youngest. I think I'm about to get caught.

— it's clear.

Covering his eyes for a moment, the mage began to give instructions to his young accomplice:

— Run as fast as you can to the gallery that leads to these chambers. If anyone asks you any questions, just say it's an urgent magical errand. Don't go into detail and don't stop to avoid further questioning. If there are any Templars in front of the stairs, you will have a message from the First Warlock for a Senior Warlock named Valinci as the Seeker checks begin. I'll cover this up later, in a pinch it'll lead to a birching. In front of the camera, repeat the story and play the stubborn fool. The main thing is to make the guards think it's easier to open the camera and hear the details than to argue. Have you got that?

— Of course I do! I'm coming.

There was a distant stomping of feet, and the mage's gaze met the sorceress's eyes, though with a twinge of pain, intrigued.

— What?

* * *

 Five minutes later, there was a familiar rustle and the creaking of stone shutters. But it was not the Templars on the other side, but a single, curly-haired, fair-skinned boy who could be described as handsome and short. He was flushed from running and, breathing heavily, bowed his head respectfully.

— Senior Enchanter...

With an irritated wave of his hand that cut short the greeting, Valinci looked out into the gallery and grimaced.

— No one on the stairs either?

— Yes. If you hadn't told me how...

— Shh. You don't know anything, I haven't told you anything. And no other way. No proud stories or innuendos. That's it.

Valinci froze, pondering. Peter desperately pretended his eyes were looking straight ahead, not squinting against his will at the «Saviour of the Circle» sitting at the back of the cell.

— The Seeker removed the Templars from their posts with a direct order, not bothering with the doubts and concerns of the local Corps Commander and the Circle's First Warlock. Ironic and dangerous. Then act differently, for this may not end in birth, but in pacification. Run as fast as you can, but stay out of sight. Get lost among the others. Take any job you can get. Pretend you've been doing it for a long time and don't work too hard. Even if it's an obvious reason for them to scold you. Run!

There was a pause, and the mage hissed with an angry expression:

— Shoo!

The child jumped up and quickly disappeared towards the stairs.

— There will be trouble with the food...

— Was it, er... worried? I'm sorry if I'm too surprised.

— Peter is a good boy. Hardworking. Focused. And even if that's balanced by a tendency towards adventure, now I've dragged him into one. For personal gain. Besides. You're right, not so long ago I would have been much harder on the guy.

Morrigan sighed softly. She thought she'd heard something like that recently. But the thought slipped away and it was painfully difficult to concentrate on anything. One conclusion, however, was simple enough to pierce even the fog of nausea and pain.

— We must go where the Seeker is. It's a good thing there are no guards.

Valinci turned and interjected, not hiding his surprise:

— What makes you think that, out of the blue?

The sorceress closed her eyes, imagining how many words she'd have to squeeze out of her mouth to make the explanation clear. Licking her lips again, she tried to be brief:

— I told you, Irving was interested in my crude method of getting rid of posession. An unwarranted interest. The First Wizard is certain that there are other possessed wizards. Personal paranoia or fact, it doesn't matter. But consider for a moment. Earlier, in the Tower, I mentioned that two men possessed the Shard. One stopped the other from going rogue. One was forced to leave. Where is the other?

The mage turned pale before his eyes, picked himself up and tried to object:

— But... I didn't think the second one was interested in anything but interfering with the first one. He even protected the children. As soon as the first one left, the protection was removed.

— And then he cleverly averted our eyes. Think about it, there's not a single assumption. It is a blindness imposed on you by your own tired mind.

— The abyss. But there is the Seeker, he is the one who will... The Seeker will stumble upon a possessed man.

— And if Irving didn't do anything about it, it would happen in the middle of a crowd of children. And a crowd of Templars. A Seeker and a demon of such power. I may not care. But do you? Besides, there's Bethany and Leliana and... Neria.

— Can you prevent that?

The sorceress hissed irritably, half in pain from the man's over-cautiousness.

— You won't know until you try. What I don't want to do is wait out the storm here. Whatever happens, there'll be a winner. After this, the Temple Remnants will definitely purge the mages. And I'll be at the top of the list.

With a throaty sound of frustration and anger, Valinci shook his head and moved closer to help the girl to her feet. They barely held the sorceress, but the mage's strong arms managed. It was both annoying to poke the sorceress in the nose at her own weakness, and annoying again when it seemed pleasant for some reason.

— There's food on the way...

Valinci just shook his head.

* * *

A barely perceptible breeze gently touched face, bringing with it the smells of damp woods and wet fallen leaves. This, together with the leaves that had turned yellow during the last few cold nights, gave a unique feeling of autumn. The sun in the cloudless sky, however, was playfully warm, as if hinting at the summer days to come. Morrigan could not boast of speed, moving forward only at Valinci's expense. How quickly her own body had betrayed her, draining her of energy, was an unpleasant revelation.

Resisting the darkening mood, Morrigan tossed a question at her companion:

— So you thought you'd end up in prison?

— M?

The man frowned, trying to catch the gist of the question, then grinned.

— You mean Peter. Not exactly. But I agree, given the events that have unfolded here, what could one expect from participating in a dark ritual involving the unauthorised use of lyrium, let alone in the cell of a prisoner who has actually been declared a Malefic? Of course, running after the lyrium was a reasonable precaution.

— The child at the air vent, forced to sit and wait all day?

— A cruel tyrant. No. Knowing the young man's inclinations, asked him for a favour, offering to be his mentor in the future when he overcame the torture. Though I would not be wrong in suggesting that the «adventure» itself tempted him more than the vague promises. Surely, if Peter had sat for days and nights near the only cells in the Tower filled with guests, he would have been scolded long ago and more than once. Peter had a good ear. All he needed was to be there at about the same time.

The sorceress gasped, stumbled, but stayed on her feet thanks to the mage's hands, straightened up and asked:

— But if you thought it was «dark» and dangerous... Why?

— Good question... Ask it in a few seasons, if the Creator allows you to live that long. Right now. It's hard to say. I haven't had a chance to interact with Leliana closely enough to understand her motivation. Neria, as I could tell when we first met, is susceptible to impulses against the voice of self-preservation. Emotions, idealism and commitment. Bethany. Talking to her, I realised that in the short time you've known her, a strong bond has developed. It's easy to imagine this girl doing dangerously stupid things for you with good reason. To compare yourself to her... Two or three weeks ago, I wouldn't have done such stupid things. But then I had clear goals. A clear path, clear commitments, no ambiguous rules. In return, I got restless sleep, the dirty underbelly of reality and a grim debt to the Circle. That and... Some other complications. Let's just say that helping someone who had already helped me, and probably saved me, seemed like the least dubious thing to do at the time. And also a bit of defiance of rules and fate.

— Nihilism and anarchism are growing in you.

The coughing Valinci shook his head in surprise and exclaimed in confusion:

— Your background and choice of words are often confusing.

Morrgina furrowed her brow and closed her eyes for a moment at the swelling pain in her skull.

— You're not the only one. And it's not about being learned. It's hard to tell you what it feels like. I remember not knowing those words before I opened my mouth. And yet I can clearly see the meaning behind them. Fragments of other people's memories or lost in my own past? What I fear most is that, despite my best efforts, they keep coming back from some dubious source.

Valinci raised his eyebrows and summed it up with feigned optimism in his voice:

— It helps a lot to be reminded, before meeting the Seeker, that possession is not only a «maybe», but the «might be» is still relevant.

— You're welcome.

As they rounded the corner of the tower, the two fugitives came upon a line of Templars surrounding the remains of the Circle. Several children were being led out of the building, and three more were hurrying away from the outer wall gate under close supervision. Judging by the number of children and adults shuffling about the square, this was where all the survivors had gathered. The familiar noise of the living mass was barely audible. Instead, the tension of anticipation, the nervousness and fear that wafted through the crowd, indiscriminately clawing at the hearts of young and old alike, was physically palpable. Morrigan noticed how the children tried to support each other without the older generation. On the contrary, they were almost entirely huddled together, leaving the younger ones to their impending fate. Girl's keen eyes picked out eight figures among the children. An old sorceress. The one who had taken charge on the ground floor of the tower when the Veil had been pierced. She was flanked by two other women who vaguely resembled the healers who had also taken refuge on the ground floor. Together they gathered the smallest of the group around them. Away from the trio, standing side by side in defiance, were the figures of Alim and Neria. They were surrounded by the older boys and girls. Bethany and Leliana, standing at the right edge of the crowd, appeared as if by chance in the midst of the action. And Jeanne. The man would rather be anywhere but here, judging by his expression. Yet he chose to stand out among the children rather than join the other wizards. Irving was the leader of the group of wizards. And among the other faces lined up behind the First Wizard's back, his gaze caught Lida's. Judging by Valinsi's twisted lips, he, too, found the woman's eyes not at all pleased with the way his native circle appeared before him.

The three closest Templars, who seemed vaguely familiar to Morrigan, turned to face the unusual pair and reflexively drew their weapons. But they were in no hurry to draw their blades from their sheaths, frowning as they exchanged glances with the senior warlock of the circle, who was holding the pale girl from falling to the ground. The nearby teenagers looked away as well, their attention immediately drawn to the warlock's eyes, feverishly glowing with dark malice. There was a startled whisper that caused more heads to turn. And again, and again. It was like a fire engulfing a field of dried wood. Valinci shook his head, one lip close to the girl's ear:

— Your friend, that's something. She didn't seem to be doing anything malicious, just answering questions and not drawing attention to herself. But each time she turned the conversation so that one curious person was replaced by two. Rumours are like fog. And neither Irving nor Gregor had any illusions about what was going on or who was to blame. But when they did, it was not easy to act rudely in anticipation of the Seeker's arrival. Especially when the source of the rumours spent much of his time praying to the statue of Andraste in the chapel.

The Morrigan glanced at Leliana. Noticing the crowd's reaction, she found the girl nodding eloquently with her eyes. Meanwhile, movement had also begun at the far end. Behind the group of mages, it was hard to see what was going on at first, until a figure accompanied by Gregor appeared. Obviously the Seeker. A middle-aged man, much younger than the Commander. No armour, just practical marching clothes, not only without any insignia, but not too fresh either. A frowning face, full of sharp angles. Protruding cheekbones, sharp Orlesian nose, narrow chin, days of stubble. A straw blonde with a simple short haircut that any barber could do. And the sharp, dagger-like gaze of grey eyes with a hint of celestial blue. There was no doubt who was commanding and who was obeying. As soon as the stranger pointed his finger at the seat beside him and said something softly, the First Wizard stepped forward and the Commander gripped the hilt of his weapon, frowning and focusing on his old acquaintance who had shared the duty of ruling the Circle for half his life.

With a measured movement, and without a shadow of doubt, the Seeker drew from beneath his robes a slender stiletto suitable for the role of «Blade of Mercy», pricked the centre of his left palm, holding it in the shape of a bowl, and deftly returned the weapon to its invisible sheath. Dipping the index finger of his right hand into the emerging blood, the man, without wasting time on unnecessary theatrics, placed a red dot between Irving's eyebrows. The first warlock seemed slightly discouraged, and even from this distance experienced eyes could see the effort the man was making to remain silent and still. Something... something happened in front of Morrigan's eyes. The girl found it difficult to make out exactly what it was. Something that had nothing to do with the many members of the circle or the Templars moved at the edge of her vision. Like a touch of magic, but that was all. And then the Seeker nodded and pointed to the next one. The strange ritual was repeated over and over until it became routine. Tension and fear began to leave the crowd. Most of the time, nothing remarkable happened. But each time, it seemed to Morrigan that the Seeker's seemingly simple actions summoned a presence into the sunny clearing, hiding in plain sight just beyond the edge of their fire.

When the main group of adults had dried up, Valinci asked quietly:

— Do you think he's hiding among the children? That would be... sad. Perhaps you and Irving were wrong.

The enchantress smiled weakly, torn between a strange tension, a headache and a nausea that promised an imminent attack of nausea on an empty stomach.

— It would be wonderful... But I don't think so.

The girl's eyes turned to the remaining adult figures standing apart.

The Seeker, meanwhile, shifted his gaze to the healers and, with the same indifferent gesture, pointed to the seat beside him. With calm, reassuring words, the women released themselves from the clutches of the younger children to be tested one by one. The first red dot, then the second.... And the man's hand shook for the first time. Morrigan felt a low, angry hiss reach the far corners of the open room, and then the red spot on the woman's forehead, whose attention had seemed disturbingly uncomfortable from the start, vanished....

A startled Valinci breathed an uncertain question above his ear:

— Wynn?

The passing woman's face still held a look of restrained, cold superiority. But there was something inhuman about it. Small details, like the overly fixed gaze, the fixed lashes, the stony posture. It seemed familiar to Morrigan, like a smell, recognisable in itself, but with no memory of when or what it had smelled like. An agonising sensation that forced her to search her own memory for a clue. The Seeker had no such worries, whipping the creature before him with a force similar to the Templar's «Kara» without any apparent benefit. He did the trick, which the Templars accompanied with very active movements and shouts, without so much as blinking. Gregor, with a broken expression on his face, began to pull the blade from its scabbard. And then a similar movement began to spread in both directions through the rest of the Templar formation. Irving slumped down and, from the outside, appeared to be squeezing his eyes shut.

Without warning, Morrigan was struck by a fragment of memory, thrown into it like a stone ricocheting off a water. A dark tunnel with a heavy ceiling that seemed to press down on her head and thoughts alike. The only source of light: an oil lamp in left hand. The warm yellow light tries to dispel the hungry darkness that creeps in front of her and behind her, but all it reveals is the greenish mud beneath her feet and the ancient stone walls that glisten with moisture. The stench clogs his nose: sweet old rot mixed with rotten water. Each step brings more of the same stench, overshadowing the other. Ahead are the sweat-soaked curls of straw and the broad back of a mate, one who can be trusted with life and honour without a second thought. Tristan. Behind, hours of travel through monotonous darkness. Somewhere in here lurks an unbearably long, elusive answer. The one that mockingly always proves itself to be elusive. But the relentless misfortune does not bother her as much as it used to. Mind is already preoccupied with another question... Another one. For the first time, Morrigan was not an unwilling observer, but a meaningful attempt to keep the kaleidoscope of images in focus, to get more than just another vague hint. But in vain. It dissipated as it had appeared: fleetingly. What was left was a muddy trail of doubts, questions and fears, revived with renewed vigour. In the midst of this, strangely harmonised with the sickening pain swirling on the other side of her eye sockets, were a few answers. First, the name of the Seeker standing on the other side of the crowd. Also a clue as to the nature and form of the enemy hidden within the sorceress named «Winn». Too much for the girl's constricted skull, and too timely to foolishly dismiss what had happened as an accident. Like an elaborate bad joke, nothing in this situation suggested free moments for thought or inaction. A hoarse, broken cry from Morrigan broke the heavy silence of the moments before the violence began:

— In the name of the living, Tristan! This is what has unleashed your light! You dare not.

At the last phrase, the girl's throat tightened into a tight ring of horror at the rash words that came out as if of their own accord. Like a powerful spell, they chained the Seeker's desperate gaze to the sorceress. Winn was the only one in the sea of faces who kept her expression blank. The woman's gaze remained fixed on Tristan, silently acting as an impartial judge. Returning his attention to his «opponent», the man gestured for Gregor to stop. The blond man's barely concealed fear was not lost on the Morrigan. The man's voice was subdued, but unexpectedly deep and firm, without a trace of excitement:

— If you are what this woman alludes to, then you should know: the truth must be proven. How long was the vigil of this servant of the Creator?

Without changing her posture or expression, Winn replied evenly, almost relaxed and without a shadow of emotion:

— Thirty-two sunrises.

Tristan grew visibly pale, but the only gesture he finally allowed himself was a brief nod. «Winn» continued after a short pause:

— The servant's sleep is corrupted. It must be stopped when there is no other threat.

The Seeker's jaw tensed before his lips silently repeated:

— Near...

Still, he nodded again, silently giving Gregor another brief command. The Commander asked incredulously, never taking his eyes off Winn for a moment, but received only confirmation. The last thing the Morrigan's consciousness registered were Valinci's strong hands, never letting go, and the Seeker's sharp gaze, trying to penetrate the mysterious essence of the interfering stranger...

* * *

Awakened from her oblivion by the cool cloth on her face, Morrigan opened her eyes and immediately tore at the wet linen flap. The movement was jerky and awkward. Instinctively jerking to an upright position, she was surprised that the sudden movement did not cause her headache or dizziness.

The sorceress found herself on a bunk, dressed and covered with a blanket, in a modest room with a typical Ferelden miniature window. Not part of an ancient Tower from the days of the Old Empire. Rather, a building of the Templars, scattered around the perimeter of the outer wall. Against the far wall, Tristan sat in a plain wooden chair. The man was concentrating on the contents of a handwritten journal, turning page after page. Without taking his eyes from the text, the Seeker turned to the only person he could speak to:

— Welcome back from the dream world. Passing out from hunger is an unpleasant way to get there. While you was away, figuratively speaking, I ordered to pour in you a good dose of a therapeutic composition: two parts warm chamomile infusion with one part honey and a glass of wine. Now, at last, let's talk.

The man deftly folded the corner of the left-hand page of the current issue of the journal, closed it without haste and placed it on the nearby dresser, on which the naked short blade was already resting. Crossing his arms over his chest, the Seeker gave the girl an attentive look for the first time since her awakening. Morrigan had no experience of such interlocutors, but the keen interest of a predator aware of his own power was hard to miss, even for her. And the fact that the man was sitting alone in a room with a sorceress who had been declared malefic spoke volumes about his confidence in his own superiority.

— Let's skip the ritual of introduction. I know the name, and what the Kinloch Circle Templars extracted from your companions. I also know what a Circle mage named Alim deigned to tell me. Of course, the other wizards of the firmament have also given me some details. You also happen to know my name. And I don't know what else.

Morrigan shook her head in mild surprise and took a moment to look around. It was an ascetic dwelling, judging by the furniture. From the look of the Seeker, the room might have belonged to the man himself. The only exit was blocked by a good oak door. Nothing insurmountable compared to the last dungeon, but the unknown magnitude of the Seeker's force made the situation difficult.

— The rules of this conversation seemed to have slipped away.

— No rules. Your life is in my hands. As does the phylactery. The lives of your companions are in my power. And even this Сircle is subject to my will. Big decisions in the real world often come with surprises. But you're just a firefly in the middle of a conflagration. Is that clear?

— Quite...

— I suppose you're comparing me to the Templars. Oaths, vows, clear conscience, high moral code. That's a mistake. None of that applies to me. So. To the questions. How do you know my name?

The sorceress wrinkled her nose and sighed. A seemingly simple question demanded a comprehensible answer. One that did not exist in nature.

— The answer is not obvious. In short, I don't know. Ever since you re-interviewed Alim, he's been aware of my condition and the oddities that go with it. Snippets of memory that don't belong to me, that's an oddity. And there in the clearing, such a memory touched you.

When Morrigan returned the man's «you» address, the Seeker hummed unhappily, but otherwise listened to the girl with full attention.

— What was in the vision?

— She was not used to getting straight to the point.

She raised her eyes to the ceiling and tried to recount in as much detail as possible the vague fragments that the passage of time had transformed into a vivid, living memory. Tristan made no comments or clarifying questions as he told the story, just a single word at the end:

— Kirkwall...

Shifting his gaze to the window and rubbing his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully, the man added:

— It's damned odd. Suppose you really did dream something that contained verifiable facts. My name, for example, is in that category. The nature of what penetrated the sorceress of the Circle. The principle of the Seekers is to rely on facts and to seek the truth based on worst-case assumptions. Worst case. That «fun ritual» you did the other day was supposed to solve your «problem», wasn't it?

— Fun?

— Not my characterisation. The charmer who carried you.... Valinci described the event with some scepticism.

— The intonation seemed to be more «funny» than «ritual».

— Answer.

— Yes, the ritual should help. But it's too early to tell. Although. It's not like you're talking to «something». You're talking to someone. So while I'm was unconscious, I'm already been tested. That's actually a good thing. It's really good.

Morrigan smiled weakly, surprised herself at the relief that came with the simple conclusion.

— I would not jump to conclusions. Firstly, the verification method does not provide a definitive answer to the question «What is in front of your eyes? It's a highly specialised tool that hasn't raised any doubts in traditional cases. But you are anything but a typical case. The set of facts that describe you is far from the norm. Let's start with origins and end with recent events. Second, since «alien», as you describe it, continues to produce memory fragments after the ritual, and under suspiciously fortunate circumstances, I see no reason for false complacency. Technically, you're clean. But not safe. Before we go any further, remember: absolutely everything about the creature in Winn is non-negotiable from the moment you leave this room. Never, not with anyone, not with anything. Normally, having this knowledge in your head would mean immediate execution.

Wiping any trace of a smile from her face, the sorceress narrowed her eyes in anger.

— That's a strange threat. With my judgement, it doesn't make sense. And if you want me alive, why mention it?

— For clarity. The truth is, you need to be alive for now, despite the problems that remain behind you.

— Thanks for the hope. But what of the rest of the Circle? They've all become witnesses.

— Nothing. Irving thinks I'm a dragon who flew in to peck the eyes and heart out of his brainchild in cold blood. Historically, that's a legitimate concern. But the current First Wizard isn't big on politics...

— He mentioned it. Strange how he weaves truth and half-truths together.

Tristan clucked his tongue and narrowed his eyes at the announcement:

— Don't ever interrupt me.

The man then continued the dialogue in a much calmer tone:

— In another situation, the Circle would have been moved. Whatever Irving might think to himself, for the Church the Circle's affairs were beyond the politics of individual countries. In the present outcome, with so many gifted children saved by the intervention of the «guest», extermination would never have been an option, even without the arrival of the Seeker. Astonishingly, your presence has twice determined the fate of the Circle, reducing everything to the only possible option. Fortunately, Kinloch is an island. As such, through the efforts of the two Templar corps, it will be quarantined here for the next decade. And the stronghold itself will be transformed from a full Circle into a Templar fortress.

Morrigan sat back, biting her lip in astonishment, and then made a cautious suggestion:

— You are... Quite flexible in what you say. And you're lying. How many Templars are left in Ferelden if the Church sends a full corps? Very few? With political instability and the threat of Blight, the most capable military order in the land is gathering its own forces on a well-defended island. Which can receive reinforcements from Orleans and weapons from Orzammar more easily than any other place.

The Seeker smiled fiercely.

— There are many interesting things in that head. And you try to pass yourself off as a wild girl from the south?

— You underestimate my mother.

— No, no, no. You've got it all wrong. Unlike Templars, I know what a Flemeth is. Asha'Bellanar is an old woman, translated from Elvish. Her first appearance in historical records, classified as documentary, dates back to the Age of Towers. Nearly seven hundred years ago. A figure in the legend of Ferelden's founder, Calenhad the Great. There are dozens of accounts of the «legendary witch» interfering in the politics of this land. Sometimes in the most unlikely of places. The consequences of such actions are sometimes fleeting, but often affect events beyond the time frame given to most mortals. For example, organising raids by the tribes of Hasind. Or making direct deals with the rulers of Ferelden. Your mother is anything but a common savage. And the creature's «daughters» have left no less of a mark. At least to my Order. So of the two of us, you're more likely to be the victim of half-truths and innuendo.

Morrigan did her best to hide her shock at the flow of facts, which were striking both in their completeness and in their inconsistency in detail with what the girl herself knew. It was impossible to tell which words were bluff. Still, the sorceress had something to parry the blow:

— I can hardly digest how a southerner's minimal understanding of your kingdom of northerners is astonishing. You know from Alim that a merchant ship brought us here. Apart from the fact that the hold was loaded with weapons from Orzammar, the ship's logs, books and the captain's notes tell a fascinating story. The ability to learn is, of course, the secret magic of the witches.

— I don't deny your intelligence. The hunch is right. Indeed. I have been called away from my own investigation to organise a Templar stronghold here in the face of the coming darkness. The request for reinforcements from the Kinloch stronghold came at just the right time to provide a good excuse to distract the Warlord. We'll see. So your main motive for going to the nearest Circle was suspicion of your own possession. When you add up the facts, the results of the test, there is a kind of subtle manipulation. You keep your own self, but at the same time something nudges you in the right direction. It feeds you fears, nightmares and visions. If that were all there was to it, the mosaic of events would fit together beautifully. Too well, in fact. The puppet arrived on stage just in time to put a fat end to the spectacle orchestrated by some entity behind the Veil. But there are a number of rough edges and unpleasant coincidences...

Tristan was silent, glaring at the sorceress with a scrutinising gaze that showed barely visible signs of irritation. Morrigan thought about what she'd heard, but she couldn't help but notice the compelling nature of the Seeker's rough sketch. It resonated strangely with Leliana's visions, squeezing her with the hopelessness of predestination. Relaxing her fists, the girl asked cautiously:

— It doesn't make sense. You were interested in me before you came to the island. So there's something else going on.

The Seeker nodded absent-mindedly and leaned back:

— That's right. If we take Gregor off the board, we're left with Irving. The First Wizard had decided to share the contents of his confidential correspondence. People who are cornered are dangerous because they throw away the rules that hold them back. This detail clarifies the events within the circle since my arrival. Back to the questions. What happened to Flemeth? How did this creature allow one of her «daughters» to come into the world under such strange circumstances?

Morrigan twitched her cheek, turned to the door and answered with silence. At first. She didn't want to talk about the moment that had started the events that followed. Especially when even a hint of trust was missing. But an emotional rejection of the situation certainly wouldn't help. Touching her cheek with the palm of her hand, the sorceress exhaled irritably and began to speak:

— To tell you the truth. I don't know.

The man raised his right eyebrow and the girl nodded, agreeing with the silent disbelief.

— I just don't remember. The day is gone from my memory. And to this day, nothing that was lost has ever come back. I know that a stranger came to visit my mother. Maybe a battle was fought. And then… I woke up far from home. I've been travelling ever since. I don't know my mother's condition or whereabouts.

— It was hard to imagine that Flemeth had inspired this. She hadn't worked with other Shadow creatures before. At least not that the Order of Seekers knew of. And «daughters» had never been a bargaining chip for her. Too important «Property».

— «Property»? But...

— The origin of the «daughters» is a mystery that few people are interested in. My guess is that the creature kidnaps suitable children in the neighbourhood. But who knows what the truth is. But the purpose of the children is much better known. The bodies of the daughters are Flemeth's way of prolonging her own existence. Who attacked you? I need details.

The somewhat stunned girl blinked and mumbled:

— A man. A knight, perhaps. Nothing more specific...

Tristan narrowed his eyes and stretched:

— A knight... Too good to be a coincidence. I'm looking at the living end of a long chain of events that are hard to explain. And my expectations were surprisingly fulfilled.

— Chains? Can I have the details?

— Of course not. What else characterised your posession, apart from nightmares and memory problems?

— Alim, on the other hand.

— Of course. And yet.

— Changes in habits. Behaviour.

— You forgot to mention spells.

— Elf son of a bitch. Yes. And weird magical behaviour.

— I think all the magical weirdness is still there. There's no way to detect and cut the threads of manipulation pulling from behind the Veil without a mage with the skills of a sleepwalker or rough Shadow penetration. And judging by the description of the work done, it's something of the same magnitude as the entity in Winn.

Morrigan grinned grimly, a deep voice summing up the situation:

— So. I'm an important piece of evidence, like a bloody knife. Only the knife might still be in the hands of the killer.

The man tapped his forefinger on his knee, thought about the sentence and nodded.

— That's not a bad way of putting it. What were the earlier alien memories about?

Frowning, the sorceress concentrated, trying to gather the vague sensations, emotions and smells into a clear answer.

— In fact, they're often just words, separate concepts. Often in other languages I didn't know. More often in Orlian. Sometimes the imprint of a place and the emotions associated with it, the flavours. There's little coherence. Perhaps the last memory is the most complex... complex... and lasting of all experiences.

— Let's say.

— What's going to happen to me?

Tristan sighed heavily, gathering his thoughts before answering.

— There are clear guidelines for similar cases. If you were only a vague threat, the answer would be quite simple. Given your value, however vague, you should be sent to Aeonar. A prison for the most dangerous subjects, especially magicians. But circumstances are strangely in your favour. Aeonar is now... temporarily unavailable. But I cannot stay on the island. I have been ordered to deal with the crisis in Redcliffe before I leave the port of Kalenhad. Once the situation here is stable. Sustainable. Bad news, indirectly indicating the presence of a demon. Again.

Seeker frowned at Morrigan and nodded slowly to his own thoughts before continuing.

— You're coming with me. It's best to keep something like you on a short leash and watch closely to see what happens next. The phylactery will serve as an excellent leash. With my knowledge, it will prove a more effective tool than the dusty back room of the Circle. We'll take your companions as well. A bard shouldn't muddy the water in this puddle. A bard. Who would have thought.

With a look of scepticism and disbelief on her face, the girl cynically pointed out her interlocutor's true motives:

— It's just that one leash isn't enough.

— I'm an advocate of maximising results at minimum cost.

— So. You, me, and...

— A few more Templars, of course. And a few Circle Wizards. Let's see who's willing to fly the nest against the odds.

The man rose smoothly and took the blade and the journal from the dresser. Both looked as if they belonged in the Seeker's hands, allowing to imagine him as both a bookworm and in the middle of a heated battle. Half turning to leave, Tristan added:

— Letters from the King and Empress. Why?

— I thought so. Mm-hmm. Imagine this. You're in an unfamiliar forest. And suddenly you have a pointy stick in your hand. Why not take it with you?

— Interesting... The boat leaves tomorrow afternoon. Until then, consider yourself free. Both Templar corps are aware of the situation. Hours until sunset, night and morning. Show wisdom in your stewardship of this treasure.

Easily opening the unlocked door, the Seeker stepped out without further ado and hurried off to attend to other matters...

* * *

Morrigan left the building where she had spoken to the Seeker with ease. The outside world greeted her with a chilly breeze that picked up under her clothes, reminding her of the autumn that had taken hold, and insisted on ruffling her black hair. The sun was setting, peeking through the heavy clouds that were moving towards it. The sky was still a piercing blue, but day was fading in the west, and night was rising in the east. Breathing in the scent of fallen leaves and the hearths of nearby houses, the sorceress smiled discreetly. The Templar standing at the exit kept his right hand close to his blade and squinted at the girl. But only just.

A quick glance was enough to sense the Seeker's words. The space between the tower and the outer wall was filled with Templars. Not all of them wore shining armour. Most of them were in ordinary clothes, working on household chores or rushing about on other business. Faded shades of wool, bleached linen and cheap leather. But the scabbards hanging from their belts, or lying nearby, suggested that they were warriors. And, of course, all the rough Ferelden trappings.

Feeling a slight shadow of dizziness, Morrigan descended the stairs with as much grace as she could muster. For some reason, she felt the need to show others how different she was. Body language seemed to be the perfect tool for self-expression. Even if, in the end, the sorceress herself seemed unsteady in her gait... But uncertainty the eyes of men was a better indicator of success than any torch in the dark. Could a sorceress who had recently been a prisoner be so arrogant as to walk through the Templar camp? The victory was fleeting, but it brought joy to the girl.

At the entrance to the Tower, a keen eye caught sight of Leliana and Valinci. The man was quietly explaining something to the three novices. But the mage had no desire to do so. It was easy to see that he was killing time, unable to neglect his duties as «Senior Mage». The red-haired «sister», wrapped in a woollen shawl, stood at a distance, leaning against the old wall of the tower and gazing thoughtfully at the horizon to the north. The girl immediately made her way to the group of young men. The young men were the first to notice the sorceress» approach, a change in their faces. Surprise, a shadow of fear, timidity? After a quick glance, they thanked the elder mage sincerely and retreated to the tower. And Valinsi found his guest beside him.

— They let you go?

— Did you tell the Seeker everything?

— Told him what?

The exchange of sentences happened simultaneously, causing the man to pause in confusion. But, quickly orientating himself, he hummed and shook his head negatively.

— Of course I did. I hadn't expected to be as silent as a mute to the Seeker's questions. It would look stupid. And it wouldn't have helped in the long run. He asked, I answered. Exactly what he wanted to hear and nothing more. Mostly the obvious questions about why you're like that. Oh no. Some things were said on my initiative. I tried to mention saving the Circle. He just brushed it off. Either the Seeker doesn't care about the Circle. Or the others... Lida and Jeanne have already been interrogated. The Seeker also asked about your behaviour over the past few days.

— Hmmm... «Fun ritual»?

Valinci rubbed his chin in mild irritation and stretched himself uncomfortably:

— Oh, that...

Morrigan just shook her head, without pushing. She glanced up at the clouds, which were turning scarlet, and then said cautiously:

— It would be good to eat. Finally.

He nodded willingly and motioned for her to follow. The girl glanced at Leliana, who made no attempt to come closer. There was both relief and an elusive, mischievous grin on «sister's» face. It was as if what she had just seen was the answer to questions that had not yet been asked. The sorceress said with a single lip, «Tomorrow», and the red hair swayed slightly, confirming that Leliana had seen and understood.

The ground floor was full of young people, scurrying back and forth. The second... Morrigan was surprised to find the corridors tidy, the floor clean, the simple doors of fresh wood replaced by wood. The Tower had been restored to its original state in recent days.

— Clear...

Valinci turned in surprise, freezing in the middle of the corridor, and nodded in agreement.

— The pacified. Thanks to the fact that we able to save so many people, many things are easier for them. When it comes to organising and carrying out work that requires patience and a lack of squeamishness, they are second to none.

The sorceress grimaced, realising what the reluctant one had once been. But the mage had already turned away and did not see the girl's emotions. A turn later, the man opened the door to a dozen-person common room, now empty and abandoned. Morrigan remembered visiting Neria in a similar room. But then there had been darkness, shadows and hopelessness. Now the evening light streamed freely from the narrow windows, and Valinci had no trouble adding a few fresh, fat candles to the illumination. The man laid the girl down on the bed and soon conjured up a lace shawl, a few generous slices of dried bread, two fresh apples that smelled of summer past, and a jar of flower honey with a wooden spoon.

— Water?

Morrigan nodded, digging into the still-juicy fruit, and Valinci stepped out for a moment, returning shortly with a ladle of cool, clear water. The mage sat down opposite her and asked a question:

— So the Seeker had gone... well? He was so anxious to get into the Tower. And judging by the absence of Irving, who was supposed to meet you first, the two of you had a lot to talk about.

Chewing her food properly, the enchantress shrugged her shoulders.

— You're right. The fate of the Circle is not the Seeker's priority. But there's no threat to the survivors. Though the Second Corps of the Templar Order will remain here. And... There will be a quarantine. For a decade.

The man's face fell, but he quickly regained his composure and quietly commented on the news.

— So that's it... I wondered why the Templars brought so many supplies. So no training for those who've just survived the torture outside the islands. And no influx of youth. And you?

— A short leash. I would have been disposed of without remorse. But it seems I'm a piece of a puzzle the Seeker is trying to solve. Is that good news? It's more yes than no. The other one tested me and I'm clean. That's reassuring. But then the Seeker showed me that what's happening to me could be a subtle form of outside manipulation. And that result immediately spoils the good news. Ah... My phylactery, did you do it?

Valinci hummed, running a hand through his hair, unconsciously rubbing the ring that was woven into his braid at the end.

— No... When did I'm learn? All the dark arts have one thing in common: a way to create a barrier against demons. By process of elimination, Irving did it himself. Adding up what I'm knew before and what the First Wizard told me afterwards, it turns out that the rest of those involved in blood magic in the circle are dead. So you will have to learn either from books hidden from prying eyes, or from the First Wizard himself.

— Cynical practicality...

The wizard raised his eyebrows in question, and the girl, licking her spoonful of honey, explained:

— The First Wizard has the blood magic spells the Circle needs. Once again, he need someone to do the dirty work.

— You mean this...

The man frowned and nodded slowly, while the girl continued:

— As long as the phylactery exists, all I can do is foolishly risk a few lives in an attempt to break free. What the Seeker hopes to find may be of use to me. But I won't agree to live on a chain forever. One way or another, I'm going to break free.

— That's a bold statement.

— Have you noticed what the Seeker's method of verification looks suspiciously like?

Glancing out the window, where the dusk was already gathering, Valinci grimaced before formulating his own thoughts.

— Something to do with blood magic. Irving, judging by his expression, also saw something different from what he had prepared for. But it's absurd, even if some of the characteristics are there. There's a mage at the head of the Templars?

Morrigan finished the second apple, finishing her meal and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand:

— Is there a clear statement of what Seekers are? Or a requirement that blood be shed?

— Logic dictates that it is highly unlikely that a gifted person would be one of the overseers of those who guard the mages. Apart from that, I don't know enough about the subject to speak freely. Ask your bard or the First Wizard. And blood magic. The little I know says that the only difference is that Bloodmagic spells do not require mana, but life force drawn from fresh blood. Because it works in a different way, it can sometimes produce unusual results. For example, the creation of phylacteries cannot be replicated using mana. In both cases, the primary goal is to create a spell from the runes. It is possible to learn runes and combinations of runes. But to be able to build a spell from the formula in your mind, without having mana to check the result for errors... It's hard to imagine. That is my personal opinion, but what does the mountain know about mountains?

Morrigan smiled at the attempt at a joke and gave the mage a wary look. Valinci looked a little tired, but not physically. It was more the result of the constant psychological pressure and inner doubts that were wearing him down. Watching the man's eyes wander slowly from the candles to the window and back again, it seemed as if he sometimes lost himself in his own thoughts, barely keeping the thread of the conversation going. And the fact that his gaze inevitably returned to the girl's figure told another story. The mage could be anywhere at that moment, preoccupied with a dozen other things. But instead, for no good reason, he was entertaining the sorceress with conversation and a modest meal. Suddenly making up her mind and taking her companion by surprise, Morrigan rose and took a step towards Valinci, dipping her graceful fingers into his hair.

— Say I am a mirage. Convince me I'm wrong to accept fiction as truth. Desire, interest, resentment, anger, frustration and despair. You've got it all in you. Like other fools, duty has you firmly in its grip. And with the best of intentions, you build your own cage.

Leaning close to the man's lips, which smelled faintly of soap, ink and smoke, the girl added more quietly:

— Here and now, what do you want? Revenge? Warmth? Control? Flesh? Or are your thoughts driven by a thick, fiery mixture of all of the above?

— It's not worth playing...

— Choices and consequences. I'm not naive and I know what I'm playing with. I'm not the one on the edge. A step forward? Or back?

For five heartbeats, a blanket of silence enveloped them both. The wizard's gaze focused on the dark gold of the Morrigan's wide-open eyes, reflected in the flames of the nearest candle. The way the man's fists clenched and his back tensed, it looked as if he was resisting desperately. But in the depths of his grey eyes, there was only doubt. Until the fire of desire drove the excess away.

Valinci drew the girl to him as he rose. The kiss was hungry, like a traveller who, after a dry thirst, had fallen into a cool spring and dismissed concerns about the purity of the clear water. Breathing heavily from lack of air, they began to undress each other simultaneously. Tearing their mouths apart only when absolutely necessary, the robes of the Circle took turns being tossed aside. Valinci's gaze, like the sun at sunset, inevitably fell on the girl's naked bosom, which rose proudly as she breathed against it. Squeezing the tender flesh to whiteness, the man's hands elicited an angry hiss from Morrigan that reminded of an enraged cat, but she did not interrupt her attempts to unzip the mage's trousers for a single heartbeat. Rolling the hardened nipples between his fingers, Valinci found the scarlet lips again and pinned the sorceress against the nearest wall. In a series of jerky movements more reminiscent of wrestling than caressing, the trousers, shoes and undergarments disappeared from the two mages. Ignoring the cold stone of the floor and the equally refreshing air, the two bodies pressed against each other, flesh burning between them.

Taking advantage of the weakness of the sorceress, who had not quite left her, and the superiority of his brute strength, Valinci swung her hips up and lifted her into the air. Morrigan willingly wrapped her legs around the man's torso. The shattered ribs caused the man to exhale in surprise. A moment later, the girl's breathing became ragged as the heated masculinity slid down her wet belly, trying to achieve its goal in one jerky motion. Showing no sign of superiority at the failed attempt, Morrigan leaned back against the wall and bent to the right to find her partner's tense shaft with her hand. With a smug smile, she made a few measured sliding motions along the man's flesh, guiding him in the right direction.

The mage took his time this time, lowering the sorceress slowly, savouring the sensation of silky softness in contrast to the fierce golden fire of the piercing eyes. In the end, both lost in the silent duel. But the woman's moan through clenched teeth broke the silence of intermittent breaths first. A low, masculine growl followed, a symbol of defeat before the strength of the sorceress» inner muscles. Plunging the shaft to its limit, Valinci gave a sharp pelvic thrust. Then he repeated it again and again, listening to the woman's equally sharp exhalations. Pinning the sorceress against the wall again, the mage began to increase the pace of the wet thrusts. With a mixture of surprise and pleasure, Morrigan watched as the last remnants of the collected man succumbed to the pressure of animal passion. But what followed was still a surprise to the girl. The mage leaned down to gently kiss the pale skin glistening in the candlelight on the enchantress» graceful neck. Then he grabbed her roughly by the throat, searching Morrigan's wide-open eyes. There was no tenderness or joking in the movement. The rhythmic thrusts that accompanied it took on a sharp, aggressive character. The strange change reverberated in the sorceress with confusion, drowned in a mass of other experiences. Even as the man's hand began to tighten, noticeably restricting her breathing, instead of fear, the distance only increased, allowing her to concentrate on the pleasure. Panting from the speed and the overwhelming emotions, the mage gasped:

— You. They all died because of you.

Morrigan reacted in no way to the sudden outburst of rage, rising at that moment on a wave of heightened sensations and losing her ability to hold even the one thought that had substance, drop by drop.

— And... At the same time. Abyss! You're a demon! Bright, sharp, intelligent. Of all the things I've ever experienced!

With a low, guttural sound like a murmur, Valinci withdrew from the girl's heated belly in a single convulsive movement, showering the wall behind her with his seed. But Morrigan didn't even notice, clenching her thighs to the point of muscle ache and sinking her fingernails into her partner's flesh under the power of a flash of ecstasy that eclipsed the rest of the world. Tilting her head back, the sorceress let out a gasp that was more animal than feminine in nature. Only on the other side of the peak, slowly relaxing, did she collapse into the gentle embrace of the man who was still holding her in the air.

Desperately trying to catch their breath, they were both in a strange state of mind under the influence of the moment. Neither could deny that they had experienced something new and unforgettable. The fading pleasure left a deep shadow in their minds, and in its place were: surprise, fatigue, cold, aching pain from scrapes, scratches and bruises....

Gently sitting down on the bed, Valinci lowered Morrigan onto his thighs. Despite the strange mix of emotions, the man did not take his eyes off the girl, admiring the graceful line of her eyebrows, the half-closed eyes of a memorable colour, the scarlet lips, all surrounded by a halo of tousled black hair. The sorceress studied the man in return, radiating a silent question. She wanted to understand better what had happened between them. But at the same time, Morrigan had to admit that she enjoyed the attention the man focused on her. It was pure power, something the girl had never felt before. And now she wasn't sure if she could do without it from now on. Running her fingers through the mage's hair, the sorceress said hoarsely:

— It's cold. Shall we share a bed?

— Of course.

The girl added with a chesty chuckle:

— It was... Bright.

— I'm...

Valinci was obviously back to his old self, inexorably beginning to feel guilty for his outburst of aggression, and was about to start explaining himself. The girl tapped him on the forehead with the knuckle of her index finger and said:

— Don't worry. I'm not with anyone who's afraid to tell the truth or embarrassed to tell the truth. I can stand up for myself.

With a confused buzz, Valinci shook his head uncertainly. Touching the girl's cheek with his fingertips, tracing a line from her cheekbone to her earlobe, the man gently moved her to the bed beside him. Standing, and not the least bit embarrassed by her nakedness under the probing gaze, the sole occupant of the huge bedroom began to straighten the adjacent bunk. Watching the mage's broad back, the sorceress crossed her legs and muttered a few thoughts:

— There was one more point. About the one before us. The Seeker leaves tomorrow. That means I'm going with him.

Valinci froze for a moment, but then continued methodically rolling up the blanket. Without seeing the man's face, it was hard to tell what was on his mind. But the Morrigan continued:

— The Seeker is taking some Templars with him. A modest group. My companions too. According to him, there's no room in the circle for Leliana. And Bethany. In that case, I don't quite understand his motives. Besides, the Seeker is taking some volunteers from the circle with him.

When he had finished with the bed, Valinci turned and took the girl in his arms. The man carried her to the prepared bed and sat down beside her, his eyes wandering openly over her curves.

— You know, don't you?

— I know. I know what you really want. It's not hard to guess what you're choosing between. But the choice is yours.

— That's right...

The mage sat down next to her and put his arm around the girl, repeating barely audibly:

— And not like this...

* * *

The first thing that occurred to Morrigan was that she didn't remember the dream. That in itself didn't mean anything. It had happened more often lately. Still, forgetting was better than nightmares. Especially if it was a specific nightmare. Despite the Seeker's unequivocal opinion of the situation, it was not easy to kill the girl's hope for a better outcome.

Leaving the man's measured breathing behind her, the sorceress left the comfortable bed and gazed out the windows at the sky. The dark, heavy clouds heralded rain, but the blue sky and the sun still shone through the gaps. Still feeling the warmth of another's skin, the sorceress wrapped her arms around herself, trying to fully comprehend the unusual bouquet of emotions. Valinci was not the first man. But before, the girl had not stayed with her partner until dawn, trusting him to sleep. There was novelty here, and risk, and something elusive. With a shake of her head, Morrigan stretched and moved fluidly from a trivial bend to a series of complex exercises that flowed from one to the next. Just then, a voice sounded behind her:

— There's something unreal about this.

— About what?

— Waking up and seeing you in the morning light and no clothes...

Morrigan hummed, glancing over her shoulder with a touch of curiosity, and continued to pull on her robes. Meanwhile, she dropped the word:

— Are you going to clean up the mess?

Pointing at the traces of yesterday's events, the girl skilfully gathered her hair into a bundle.

— Probably...

Valinci's uncertain answer caused the Morrigan to raise her eyebrows in question. Seeing the silent question, the mage glanced around the room and explained:

— Usually it was the pacified ones who did the cleaning for the older mages.

Pressing her lips together, the sorceress fell with more venom than she should have:

— Convenient.

— I suppose. But there's plenty of other work for them to do.

Nodding, Morrigan walked to the door, pausing only long enough to speak without turning around:

— Don't wait too long to make a decision.

As she quietly closed the door behind her, she noticed Leliana standing a few paces to her left, leaning against the wall. Looking away, the «sister» smiled faintly at the corners of her lips and nodded in greeting. But it was the Morrigan who spoke first:

— How long ago?

— Not that long. Is it serious?

Glancing at the door behind her, the girl strode determinedly down the stairs. Only when she had taken six or seven steps did she utter a reply:

— Time will tell.

The red-haired interlocutor who came next shook her head in disbelief and spoke what was on her mind into the air:

— There's a bit of the bard in you.

— That doesn't look like a compliment.

— It wasn't.

Morrigan made a weak gesture, brushing aside her companion's concern, and clarified:

— Bethany?

— Downstairs.

— Good...

Leliana grabbed the sorcerese's arm to stop her, and with some uncharacteristic nervousness asked:

— You know what's going on, don't you? I won't hide the fact that I don't like to be swept along by events like an unwilling blanket. I like to be in control of what's going on. But that's a text. After the «possession test», the circle shattered into a thousand pieces, like a fragile vase falling to the ground. The mages are divided into several ideologically disparate movements, as well as smaller «special interest» associations, and when poorly led, they coexist within the Circles like spiders in a glass. But there are too few survivors for these «games». By tactful action, I managed to unite most of the teenagers around simple ideas, including the «saviour of the Circle» and Neria as key ingredients. Winn remained the centre of attraction for the children. And the few adult magicians rallied under Irving's hand. With few exceptions... But now... Winn may behave much as it did before, but nothing can stay the same. Everyone knows the truth. The woman is almost completely isolated and takes it stoically, without a scene or show of emotion. It was as if she was aware of her own condition. Many picked up on this as well as I did, adding to the gossip. The Seeker had to act immediately, but he kept a low profile. There was a conversation between him and the First Warlock last night. Reading the Seeker was as difficult as making out the features of a face hidden behind a thick mask. Irving preferred not to appear in public after that. What's in store for us? What's in store for you?

Morrigan grimaced and, with a careful, controlled movement, released her own hand from the grip. Meeting the gaze of the green eyes firmly, she replied:

— First things first. The Seeker appreciates your work.

«Sister» smiled sadly.

— My abilities aren't what they used to be. We're two sides of the same coin called «The Game». A bard and a seeker, nothing more opposite. No wonder he understood.

— Hmm. He's serving today. Someone can pull his leash. It's hard for me to grasp the hierarchy all at once. The important thing is that the Seeker knows something about me. Something I might not know myself. Or he's a master of your abilities, juggling truths and half-truths. And there's no way to take the Seeker by the hand. But he has my leash in his fist. For now. So we'll go with him. Bethany. The Seeker is taking her too.

— That's a good thing.

Morrigan arched her eyebrows in confusion and Leliana immediately rushed to clarify:

— Bethany. She prefers to be closer to familiar faces, and more familiar to you. The things we discussed on the ship. I suppose... I, um...

— You crippled a girl. And something about the friendship between mentor and mentee has been distorted. Does she only feel safe with me?

— Yes. Very precise wording. Ruthlessly precise. I'm surprised. Except for Neria, she doesn't get along with anyone here.

Morrigan nodded, and «Sister» hurried to clarify:

— And off we go...

— Redcliffe.

— Lineage of Garrin...

Biting her lip, Leliana nodded, obviously trying to remember everything she had heard or read about this noble family.

At the exit of the tower, the trio of original travellers were reunited. Bethany sat modestly on a chair in the corridor, staring at the tips of her boots. The young sorceress looked both lonely and thoughtful. And the latter partially compensated for the former. When she heard footsteps approaching, she reflexively looked up and smiled openly. Morrigan returned the smile, though it was less sincere and warm. But the sorceress immediately corrected the mistake:

— Simple human warmth, but also an art in which there is much to be learned from you. Why are you here alone and idle?

— Not at all. I'm a... Morrigan?

Leliana interrupted, seeing that Bethany was in a quandary and wouldn't be able to come up with a decent answer anytime soon.

— Don't mind her. Our golden-eyed sorceress is practising her witticisms, trying to jolt you out of your reverie in the most radical way possible.

Bethany relaxed and gave her mentor a slightly reproachful look. The Morrigan shrugged and continued:

— Nevertheless. I know this view from personal experience. Those thoughts that like to go round and round, don't let them. One circle, another. It doesn't help. But a book would help. I didn't send you to the local library for nothing.

The three of them left the building at a leisurely pace, out into the crisp autumn air, damp with the moisture of the approaching rain. But the wind was light, and there was no sign of thunder in the distance, or of the grey veil that bound the clouds to the horizon. Breathing hard, Bethany tried to object:

— Books are not the same. Sometimes it's worth thinking about. About different things...

— Thinking... Nonsense. You should be thinking about the essentials. Set a goal and then look for ways to achieve it. Of course, doubts can be overwhelming. But they're not an end in themselves. As for books. That's a misconception. Even my mother, although she was in favour of personal experience, considered books a valuable tool. It's a pity we didn't have more than one in our house.

— That's fine. But how does a work of theology or half-forgotten practices and outdated spells help me to become stronger, for example? You're stronger without them.

Morrigan cast a wry glance at Leliana, who looked away, and hummed.

— Power. Our friend will tell you more about it than I can. She's seen more. I think you're confused about what you want. The difference between a warlock and a mage is significant. The former is like a blade in your hand. All that matters is how sharp it is and how many times you can swing it. In this metaphor, it's more about the «well». Otherwise, it's about mana. All that matters is how fast and how many times the most deadly or effective spell is repeated. Second... This is a master whose skills can be used anywhere. Whatever the situation, he has an answer. Even when mana is scarce, the breadth of their repertoire of known spells is important. Not everyone can remember dozens of complex formulas. This is where you need to train your memory as well as your wit and imagination. Reading, one of the ways to achieve the desired with benefit.

Bethany blinked in surprise, trying to comprehend what had been said.

— That's... Interesting. I'll think about it.

Leliana stifled a chuckle, addressing the Morrigan more than Bethany:

— Looks like more work needs to be done here.

Ignoring the hidden mockery, Bethany brought a new question into the light:

— Thought. It may just be a personal delusion... You demonstrate a mastery of magic far deeper and more meaningful than anything I've ever known. And I'm surprised to find that in many ways the mages in the Circle are almost as inferior to you. I don't know what that says more. But! The way you fought then. And my ideas about life in the southern lands.... In short, I thought you were more about fighting and winning than anything else.

Morrigan squirmed before casting an appraising glance at her pupil and answering:

— In short, I'm not about «winning». I'm about «surviving». And to survive, you need to know more. You need more skills. For example, brute strength will do nothing against cold, hunger or disease. And these are more likely to kill than a sharp blade or magic.

Ashamed, but letting the meaning of the words sink in, Bethany nodded. And then the girl asked suddenly and frankly:

— Well, at least you not locked in a cell?

Hiding a flash of irritation behind the hand rubbing the bridge of her nose, the older of the wizards waved her other hand in the direction of her redheaded «sister».

— Leliana has the details. Waiting for the Seeker.

* * *

It was an hour before the Seeker emerged from the Templar buildings. But he seemed focused and ready to go. Morrigan suspected that feeling was not far from the truth. Surely the ship must have been ready at the docks by first light in the east. The man's focused gaze made the three girls unconsciously tense, reminding them that none of them could boast such readiness, either in practice or psychologically. Following Tristan were three Templars. The warriors wore no heavy armour, just practical clothes, ringlets and warm cloaks over them. The uniforms bore the symbols of the Order, so it would be impossible to mistake the men for mercenaries. The three men were not very different in age and, as the older wizard guessed, each belonged to the corps the Seeker had brought with him from Denerim.

Nodding to the ladies, Tristan motioned for them to follow. Leliana smiled wryly. Morrigan grinned, noting for herself how a single gesture was more powerful than a dozen words. And then came the footsteps, footsteps that made the leader of the unusual group quickly guess where he was going. As if sensing the movement of a dangerous predator, the small population of the tower disappeared from sight. Only the rare restrained ones remained on the path, seemingly indifferent to any presence and faithfully carrying out their duties. Morrigan was somewhat relieved that the children were absent. There was no need for them to go through experiences that would not be useful. Besides, what happened was no longer directly relevant to them.

On the fifth floor, a group of seven people, three of whom were men, leaving the presence of three women unnoticed, were greeted by the adult community of mages, led by the First Warlock. Morrigan noticed immediately that only Wynn stood out from the others. It would have been foolish to assume that the adults and the elves had taken a few steps away from her in an orderly fashion. So the older sorceress had kept her distance of her own accord. There was a stoic humility on the woman's face, and if it was a mask, it was a good one. Though she knew roughly what was hidden inside, Morrigan didn't understand where the desire to get as far away from the healer as possible came from. It wasn't fear, but rather a complex mixture of rejection and a sense of lurking threat.

The rest were just waiting for whatever it was to be over so they could disperse. Almost everyone... As he looked around, dark golden eyes stumbled over Alim's return gaze. The elf kept a neutral expression, but it was his eyes that gave him away. There was too much emotion to sort out without Leliana's help. Gathering her will into a fist, Morrigan forced herself to turn her head and move on to the next face. Neria's warm smile drew a smile back from the icy sorceress so naturally that she didn't even notice how it happened. Valinci and Irving stood out from the others. Both seemed tense beyond measure, as if waiting for a sneak attack. No matter how hard she tried to catch the broad-shouldered wizard's gaze, his attention was focused solely on the Seeker's figure. Only then did Morrigan realise that the three Templars who had arrived with them were the only representatives of the Order in the large room.

As if the theatricality had long since worn off, Tristan took a few steps forward and addressed the audience in a clear voice that echoed off the walls of the vast room:

— The Сircle of the Kinloch firmament is clear.

At these words a dozen pairs of eyes turned to Winn, but no objections were raised and the Seeker continued:

— But this does not mean that it will be the same as before. As of today, the Church has declared a ten-year quarantine on the islands of the Fortress. The two Templar Corps will ensure that this decree is strictly enforced. According to the Nevarran Treaty, the Circle is first and foremost subject to the Council of Cumberland, the decisions of the current Grand Wizard, and the will of the Church as communicated through the Order of Templars, of which I am now the leader. Only then will regional laws take effect. No mage will leave the islands until the end of the quarantine without a special order, under penalty of death. No one will be allowed to dock on the islands without the knowledge of the Order. Outgoing correspondence is forbidden. Mail birds will be killed. Incoming correspondence will be subject to inspection by the Order without exception. However, the Circle retains the right to appeal the Church's decision by writing to the Grand Wizard, Fiona of Cumberland. In light of the upcoming trials and the state of the Circle, this action is deemed necessary. The current candidacy of the First Enchanter of the Circle of Kinloch is not up for discussion. The internal affairs of the Circle will continue to be conducted according to general order. For the duration of the quarantine, Commander Gregor will command the two сorps stationed here. That concludes my work. However.

There was a pause while everyone who didn't know what was happening digested what they had heard. The few who knew tensed, caught by the Seeker's last word. Tristan's eyes were fixed on the azure vault and he looked as if he was counting the seconds in his head before he continued:

— I have been granted the right to use a limited number of Circle volunteers to carry out a new mission for the Church. We are leaving the Fortress tonight. To be clear, no one can return to this circle until the quarantine is lifted. Accompanying the Seeker is a dangerous business. Don't expect fun and games. The selection process is simple. The first three who dare. There's no time to weigh, to think, to consult. You must decide here and now.

Winn stepped forward immediately after the Seeker's words. Many glances crossed again at the woman's stern figure, her eyes showing a hint of sadness for the first time. Tristan twitched his lips in slight irritation, but nodded in agreement and closed his eyes, waiting for the next candidates. Morrigan tensed against her will as she realised who or what she would have to share the road with. But it also meant that there were only two volunteers left. Involuntarily, her dark golden eyes returned to the figure of Valinci, white fists clenched and staring at the stone slabs of the floor. She caught a glimpse of Irving, leaning on his staff, showing signs of physical weakness for the first time. But there was no pain on the man's face, only a strange mixture of relief and... shame.

Suddenly, the rustling and heated whispering, fading to a hum, was broken by a familiar ringing voice:

— No, I'll go!

Neria stepped forward from the crowd. The girl was flushed, having just ended a heated argument with Alim. The young sorceress stared straight ahead, concentrating on nothing but standing upright. Behind her, the pale elf gulped for air and immediately glared at Morrigan. This time, the emotion running through her was crystal clear. Fury. There was no doubt who the mage blamed for what had happened. And that sudden blow had no doubt penetrated deep beneath Alim's armour, catching him off guard. Duty against duty, devouring each other in the mage's mind at that moment, would have pleased the girl, if not the situation. Irving tensed openly, trying to assess what was happening under his nose. But most importantly, Valinci finally raised his head towards Morrigan, allowing her to see the depth of the uncertainty. The mage had delayed his decision for an inordinate amount of time. The gold of the sorceress» eyes began to turn dark red, as if copper had been injected into them. Clenching his jaw, the man took a slow step forward, bringing a shock of realisation to the First Warlock's face. At the same time, the heel of another boot clicked on the stones of the floor. The two mages turned sharply, as if to cross blades, and the quiet voice of the Seeker, who still hadn't opened his eyes, announced:

— A mage called Alim was the first. So be it. Winn, Neria and Alim.

Morrigan let out a sharp breath, squeezed her eyes shut in pain, and felt the touch of Bethany's warm hand on her shoulder. The contrast made the girl realise how cold she was. And she didn't see Valinci turn pale, realising immediately that he had made two huge mistakes in an instant, through his own fault of hesitation. He had betrayed the fragile trust of someone he wanted to be with but could not. And betrayed the trust of someone he didn't want to be with but had to live with. Irving's look of shock was replaced by grim realisation, pain and anger. Surely another man in the room was silently blaming a certain sorceress. Another small victory that didn't bring an ounce of triumph.

Over Morrigan's ear came Leliana's barely audible whisper:

— The bard's curse, to cause suffering and to suffer herself.

The «sister» was probably not addressing anyone specifically. But for the sorceress, the accidental injection was painful.

Tristan waved his hand and the Templars motioned to the three volunteers.

— We leave in an hour. The ship is ready. These gentlemen will see that you are not delayed or disturbed.

* * *

Morrigan stood at the bow of the ship, staring out at the grey shroud of rain to the south. It was a symbol of the uncertainty that lay ahead, joining the cold grey sky and the dark, cold waters of the lake in one continuous pattern. The cross wind ruffled the loose black hair that hid the distant face.

The last hour was filled to the brim with resentments, unspoken accusations and farewells. Neria was beaming with anticipation, gathering up impetuously and dragging Bethany behind her like a little whirlwind. Alim flickered on the edge, quickly coming into balance with the new reality. The mage was proving once again that Neria was the only true value to him. Irving was painfully aware of the betrayal of the two individuals upon whom he had sought to rebuild the «edifice» of the Circle. Outwardly, however, the wizard played his official role of seeing him off to perfection. And only once, at Morrigan's side, did he silently wish, with well-distilled vindictiveness, never to visit the Kinloch Islands again. Valinci... The man did not avoid the girl, and apologised sincerely. As if that would have made any difference. But later the Morrigan held back, recognising that a clean cut was better than a laceration and deserved some respect. As Valinci embraced the tense girl, probably for the last time, he left behind a quickly fading warmth, full of regret for this newness, and a forbidden gift. A black leather-bound volume on magic, unadorned, from a locked section of the Circle's library that should never have left the Tower under any circumstances. The sorceress marvelled at the contradiction with unusual acuity: the mage had not decided to take a step back in time, and had «simply» broken a whole series of other rules.

Another mistake... Squeezing the side of the ship with her fingers until they were white, Morrigan cleared her mind of unnecessary things. She should have stayed in control. Stay alert. Not lose her humanity. And prepare to break the Seeker's invisible leash. And to do that, she needed to understand exactly what Tristan was capable of, what drove him, and grow stronger.