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Greagoir pulled the heavy robe around his body to ward off the chill. The Circle Tower was cold and drafty most of the year and it was worse at nights. That made the heavy robes of the mages and the armour of Templars far more comfortable than in the other nations. It was hard to overheat in Ferelden.

He put on slippers and left his room. It was light in the tower, but it was always light in the tower. There were only a few windows so they made generous use of light sources, mundane and magical, even during the day. He walked down the stairs, past Templar guard in full harness, and knocked on the door to the First Enchanter's room. "Come in," said Irving.

Greagoir opened the door and stepped into the room. The First Enchanter's room was comfortably, but not luxuriously, appointed. Irving was a smaller man than Greagoir, who seemed to have been born to wear full harness and swing a sword. Like Greagoir his hair and beard had turned grey but Irving wore his hair longer and his beard was an almost wild bushy growth in contrast to closely clipped line of gray around the Knight-Commander's jaw.

Greagoir closed the door behind him. "How are you?"

"Well enough," said Irving, talking a seat at a side table. The older man still wore his formal robes, which were rather plain leather and wool. "I believe it is your move."

Greagoir sat down opposite him and stared down at the game board. "Yes, that is so."

He reached down and moved the black grand cleric on square diagonally.

"One square. Is that all?"

"Yes. Your move."

"Did you think about that move all day?"

"I decided on it this morning," replied Greagoir.

"I see," said Irving. He looked down at the chess board. "Such a little move. The question is, where is the trap? You do so love traps Greagoir."

"And you have your intricate plans laid out ten moves ahead."

"Indeed I do," replied Irving. "I would make a poor first enchanter if I did not." He moved a pawn forward.

"That was quick. What did I miss?"

"That is for you to discover."

"Of course it is." Greagoir glared at the board, as if to force it to reveal it's secrets by pure will.

"Now are you going to tell me what was in that letter that upset you so much or are you going to continue to brood on it."

"Does anything get past you?" Greagoir asked irritably.

"Yes, but then we all tend to regret it."

"It was from a templar in Kirkwall."

"Oh? And what does young Cullen have to say?"

"I didn't say it was from Cullen."

"What other templar would look to you for advice? Come Greagoir, it is obvious."

Greagoir stared at Irving. "Do you want me to continue or do you want to impress me with how clever you are?"

"By all means, please continue Greagoir."

"The complaints you've heard are true. The have made mages who have passed their Harrowing Tranquil."

"So now that a Templar says it you will take it seriously."

"There's worse," Greagoir said. "He says the Knight-Commander keeps a Tranquil like a pet. Like a slave. And there's more. There's talk that some of the templars have been . . . they have been sexually exploiting young apprentices, threatening them with making them Tranquil. Raping them once they are Tranquil."

"And now finally action will be taken."

"It isn't that simple Irving. It`s Kirkwall, not any other place. It breeds mages and maleficars. Something's not right about that place."

"There are theories that something the Tevinter mages did weakened The Veil in Kirkwall. That`s why there are so many mages and so many demons. It also accounts for Kirkwall`s tendency to play host to . . . . colourful criminal elements. But that would mean paying attention to mages."

"That's not the point Irving! It's Kirkwall. It's a tough assignment and it needs a lot of templars. Vigilant and strong templars and that means what the templars want matters."

"You're saying the Grand Cleric is afraid of disrupting the balance of power by holding the knight-commander accountable for her crimes."

"Yes," said Greagoir. "It's not like here. Kirkwall requires more vigilance, a stronger hand. That gives the knight-commander a lot of power. Meredith is well respected in the order and everyone knows that Kirkwall is a hard posting. They'll be inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt."

"By which you mean members of your order."

"Yes," said Greagoir. "And with that many templars under her command she can plunge the city into civil war."

"If her command is seen as legitimate. This letter suggests it does not."

"There are doubters in Kirkwall, but is it enough to gamble on? I don't know, but as far as the rest of Thedas is concerned she'll have the support of the rest of order. Kirkwall is not like the rest of Thedas, they'll say. They'll want to hear her side of it."

"So they'll do nothing."

"Not without overwhelming evidence," said Greagoir. "And what we have hear is an accusation, not a conviction."

"You know what will happen in Kirkwall," said Irving. "They'll be blood in the streets and worse. Enough to make what happened here look like a torch compared to a barrel of Qunari explosives."

"I know," said Greagoir. "But I am the knight-commander who lost control of his Circle. Against a templar as respected as Meredith, my word won't carry enough weight."

"What if we take another road?" said Irving. "The grand cleric may fear upsetting the local balance of power too much to intervene, but what about the Divine? She may realize what a disaster there is in the making."

"That is a possibility," said Greagoir. "If she pays attention to my warning."

"How could she not?" said Irving. "How often is it that a First Enchanter and a Knight-Commander warn her of the same danger?"

Greagoir rubbed his beard. "That may work. If there is substance behind these charges, the Seeker and the full weight of her office might be enough to forestall a catastrophe."

"Let us hope so," said Irving. "I do have some other news."

"Oh? What is it?"

"Gareth is on his way back."

"Maker's breath."

------


The Qunari marched through the street two abreast. A full score in number they wore armour of heavy pauldrons, greaves, cuirasses, helmets, and vambraces over padded undersuits reinforced with patches of mail to cover the gaps between plates. None of the giants had horns and the smallest of them was bigger than the largest human who made way for their column. Red and white paint marked their armour and bodies with abstract lines and symbols. Most carried massive two handed weapons, although some carried shields or bows.

They wound through the cramped streets of Highever, pausing occasionally to make harsh, barking inquiries of merchants and beggars. Men and women quickly found other places to be. A few words were exchanged in their harsh tongue. Guards looked at them nervously, but no one lifted a hand against them. No one dared.

One of Qunari turned his head to look across an alley to see a blond woman staring at them. She was tall for a human and dressed in worn brown leathers. Her hair was caught up in a braid and scar ran down her right cheek. She also carried an arsenal. The look in her eyes was pure poison.

He narrowed his eyes. The woman made a clearly understandable hand gesture and walked away. The Qunari turned away. Hostility from the locals was to expected. They had yet to be brought into the Qun. That would change, sooner or later. The victory of the Qun was inevitable.

Across the alley in a nearby street the woman joined two men keeping a shop between them and the Qunari. One wore a heavy black robe that fastened on the left side with brass clasps. He had a short black beard and his hair was a little wild. He had a staff of red steel topped with two inward facing dragon heads and a polished piece of amber.

The other man wore armor of similar make to the Qunari because he shared their physiology, although his dwarven forged armor had smaller pauldrons and better plate coverage. The coverage of his helmet was imperfect because of his horns, but it guarded most of his skull. A pole-axe was slung over his back. He was Tal Vashoth and to ask him twice if he was Qunari was to risk a killing offence.

"How many Katrin?" the Vashoth rumbled.

"A score, give or take," she replied.

"Any Saarebas?" he asked.

"What?"

"Mages," said the mage. "They wear armor-masks and chains."

"None of that," she said. "And they don't have horns."

"Beresaad," he said.

"Sounds right," said the mage. "Why are they here?"

"For the same reason they are in Kirkwall," rumbled the Vashoth. "Whatever that is."

"They are looking for something," said the mage. "Why else send the Beresaad to places near Kirkwall? To see if they can find some sign of whatever it is."

"It does not matter," said the Vashoth. "They are my enemies."

"There's twenty of them Chain Breaker," said Katrin. "Maybe more."

"We took an oath."

"We did," said the mage.

"They are your enemies as well. Yours and Katrin. All must submit to the Qun."

"Twenty," Katrin repeated.

"They have no mages. We have Gareth."

"Okay," said Gareth. "We took an oath. They are your enemies and I don't love them either but twenty of those bastards is twenty of those bastards. They're Beresaad, not green recruits. We look to see if we can do them harm without committing suicide, but only if we can get away with it. We took an oath, not a suicide pact."

"Agreed," said Chain Breaker.

"Andraste's cunt," swore Katrin. "Fine. We keep an eye open and if we can fuck them over and get away with it, we do. But twenty fucking giants. Fuck me."

Fascinating. Is the Vashoth meant to be Sten? Perhaps the mage is the Grey Warden? Or am I completely misunderstanding things here?

It's been a while since I played through Dragon Age, but it remains one of my favourites. The world is rich and there's huge potential for stories within it. Dragon Age II did nothing for me, but this is interesting.

Have you had this project in mind for a long time now or is it something else that has prompted the beginning of a new tale?

Vashoth is the singular of Tal Vashoth, who are Qunari who reject the Qun. The Vashoth has horns so he's definitely not Sten and the mage is not the Grey Warden. Thedas is a big place. You'll learn more about these guys as the story progresses.

As for when the story came to me, it was earlier this week when it forced its way to the front of my brain and decided to stay there.

The look in her eyes were pure poison.

I think that should be a was because it's the look that's being described and that's a singular. I wouldn't take my word for it though; my memory's not so good.

Chain Breaker looked down from the second story to the inn's main floor. They had holed up in Drowned Stag while the Beresaad searched the town, guessing that whatever the Qunari were looking for they were unlikey to spend much time looking for it in a dockyard slum. They, on the other hand, had ways of watching the Qunari. One of which was making his way passed tables and drunk sailors to the rickety stairs.

The boy climbed up quickly. He was somewhere between ten and twelve, relatively clean and dressed in worn and patched clothes. "I know what they're looking for!" he said excitedly.

"Oh," said Gareth, across the table from Chain Breaker. "What would that be?"

The boy held out his hand.

Katrin laughed. "Someone has learned his lessons. Took me a while for that one."

"His father probably isn't a bann," Gareth replied. "Alright kid," he said as he pulled a small silver coin out of his coat, "here you go. Now spill it."

"It's a book. A big, fancy book. Old. They've been asking the posh types about it and where one buys stuff like that." Gareth looked over at Chain Breaker.

"Yes, it could be. You did well boy. Tell us when they leave and where they're heading and there is another for you."

"But from his purse," said Gareth.

"Yes," said Chain Breaker. "Go."

The boy headed down stairs. "What is it?" Gareth asked. "What are they looking for?"

"A holy book. One of the early works of the faith," said Chain Breaker. "Such a relic might force the Arishock to remain in Kirkwall with an army."

"And when he doesn't find it in Kirkwall," continued Gareth, "he sends out search parties in case it got smuggled out. It makes sense. Which also tells us where they're going next."

"Where?" asked Katrin.

"Denerim," Gareth replied. "If it was burning a hole in my backpack, I would head to the Wonders of Thedas. And that's in Denerim."

"By water or by land?"

"Either way, we'll know," said Gareth. "The Beresaad won't vanish in a puff of smoke. Plenty of people will see them go."

"If they go by sea, they'll get out of our reach," said Katrin. "Unless you can conjure up a friendly pirate ship."

"That pirate wench in Kirkwall is as close as I can manage."

"I'm fairly sure she wasn't actually a pirate," said Katrin. "Although she didn't take coin so she wasn't technically a whore . . ."

"Enough," said Chain Breaker, his voice like a falling tombstone.

"Right," said Gareth. "If they leave by sea, then they're out of reach. But if they go by land, then they're still on the menu. So to speak. Now we wait."

"And if they find us?" Katrin asked.

"Then we kill them," said Chain Breaker. "Or run. Depends on the numbers."

"Keep up the good cheer," said Gareth. "It's beginning to make me miss the Circle. Almost."