Dragon Age

came to do. Now it is done.”

“I came here to deliver him,” she insisted. “Not to kill him.”

“You have delivered him, and his army. To us.” One of his hands slipped gently into his robe, reaching for whatever weapon he had stored there. She made no indication that she was aware of it, however, and continued to meet his steely eyes. “I came here to give you your new orders, elf. It would be a shame if I were to send word to the mage that his little spy met an accident during the battle instead.”

She paused, very aware of the distance between them. The tension was punctuated only by the shrill howls of wind overhead. “I am not Severan’s servant,” she said clearly.

“No? Are you not in his employ?”

“I was brought here at great expense to perform a specific task. Once that task is done, he and I are through.”

He chuckled, low and menacing. “Then I suppose you are through.”

The Rivaini made to draw his blade and lunge at Katriel, but she was too fast for him. Her dagger was out and flying through the air before he had taken half a step toward her, and his eyes went wide with shock as he realized a blade was stuck up to its hilt in his throat. Stumbling to a stop, he let out a muted gasp and reached up with a hand to pull the dagger out. His eyes widened still at the resulting fountain of blood gushing from his neck and running down his robe.

He looked at her helplessly, and she shrugged. “Perhaps Severan did not tell you. I am far more than just a spy. Or just an elf.” Her tone was icy, and when the Rivaini lunged at her with his short sword, she adeptly stepped aside and let him stumble to his knees.

The gurgled gasping continued as Katriel watched him dispassionately. Then she stepped near and reached down, pulling her blood-coated dagger from his hand. He let go with little struggle and collapsed. The blood pooling around him on the floor was bright and angry, a sharp contrast to the dull color of the old stones. Whatever ghosts roamed this place had no doubt gathered to greet the newest addition to their number.

And there will be many more yet to come, she thought grimly.

She stared down at the body of Severan’s agent thoughtfully and considered her options. Technically this was self-defense. Part of her was enraged that Severan would change the terms of their arrangement, and if he actually instructed his agent to slay her then he was more the fool than she would have guessed.

Even so, it was done. The Orlesians were obviously dealing with Maric on their own. She could leave now and say whatever she wished about the Rivaini, one more body amid the pile would make no difference. If Severan truly was trying to betray her, she could deal with that then. The smart thing to do would be to get out now before the fighting began.

So why wasn’t she moving?

It’s not done yet, she reminded herself. Not yet.

It was an impossible thought that ran through her, and yet she could not dismiss it. Even if she were to somehow help Maric now, he would not thank her for it. She had already delivered him up like a calf for the slaughter; what would be the point? As the Rivaini had said, if Maric did not die now he would certainly die later.

The thought of his face crossed her mind. Those innocent eyes, so trusting. And when he had touched her that night in the tent, he had been gentle. Far more gentle than she had expected, certainly.

Looking down at her own hands, Katriel found herself troubled by the amount of blood she found there. Removing a kerchief, she began to wipe her hands and her blade, and tried to remind herself what it meant to be what she was. A bard must know history so she does not repeat it. She tells the tales but is never part of them. She watches but remains above what she sees. She inspires passions in others and rules her own.

But it was pointless. She stopped wiping, as the kerchief was already soaked through with blood and she was no cleaner.

In the distance, a great muted clanging sound began to ring. It was the sound of the fortress gates opening.

Katriel dropped the kerchief and began to run.

“Commander Loghain, the gates are opening!”

Loghian nodded and continued to watch the fortress off in the distance. So far, everything was going according to plan, and that was beginning to disturb him. They had met no other ships during the stormy passage into the Waking Sea, pirates or Orlesian frigates or otherwise. There had been no troops waiting for them at the sandy cove where they disembarked in leaky longboats, and no surprise ambushes as they spread out into the rocky hills. Not a single lieutenant had reported meeting resistance, and other than a few late-season merchant wagons trying to avoid the main roads, they really hadn’t met much of anyone at all.

He had been camped directly east of the fortress, an old and ominous-looking stone sentinel that stood high in the hills and looked down on the vast sea sprawled beneath it. Its high towers made him nervous, despite the assurances from Katriel and the other agents inside that said those towers were rarely manned—indeed, if anyone actually tried to ascend the stairs to the old watch stations, they were more like to end up falling through the boards to their death. Chances were good that no one could see Loghain’s forces, or Arl Rendorn’s forces on the other side of the fortress to the west.

Still, it bothered him that everything was going so smoothly. He had hoped for a surprise attack on Gwaren before they left, an ambush, an alarm raised at the fortress, something to put his mind at ease. He had over four hundred men in his command, and the Arl was in charge of an even larger force, easily the greatest army they had assembled to date, with many strangers provided by the nobles who had joined them at Gwaren. Any one of them could be a traitor. They had been careful, but for it all to go exactly as planned made his skin itch.

Maric was pleased, naturally, and taunted Loghain for deliberately looking for trouble. Loghain was tempted to punch him in the mouth to wipe that smile off his face, but that probably wouldn’t look good in front of the men.